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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/36853-0.txt b/36853-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b2a5939 --- /dev/null +++ b/36853-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11821 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Very Naughty Girl, by L. T. Meade + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Very Naughty Girl + +Author: L. T. Meade + +Release Date: July 25, 2011 [EBook #36853] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A VERY NAUGHTY GIRL *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + A VERY NAUGHTY GIRL + + By L. T. MEADE + + Author of “Palace Beautiful,” “Sweet Girl Graduate,” + “Wild Kitty,” “World of Girls,” etc., etc. + + A. L. BURT COMPANY, + PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK. + + + + + CONTENTS + + CHAPTER PAGE + I. Sylvia and Audrey 1 + II. Arrival of Evelyn 10 + III. The Cradle Life of Wild Eve 25 + IV. “I Draw the Line at Uncle Ned” 36 + V. Frank’s Eyes 43 + VI. The Hungry Girl 57 + VII. Staying to Dinner 68 + VIII. Evening-Dress 78 + IX. Breakfast in Bed 106 + X. Jasper was to Go 117 + XI. I Cannot Alter my Plans 126 + XII. Hunger 143 + XIII. Jasper to the Rescue 163 + XIV. Change of Plans 169 + XV. School 184 + XVI. Sylvia’s Drive 198 + XVII. The Fall in the Snow 213 + XVIII. A Red Gipsy Cloak 228 + XIX. “Why Did you Do it?” 242 + XX. “Not Good Nor Honourable” 253 + XXI. The Torn Book 264 + XXII. “Stick to your Colors, Evelyn” 276 + XXIII. One Week of Grace 281 + XXIV. “Who is E.W.?” 295 + XXV. Uncle Edward 311 + XXVI. Tangles 330 + XXVII. The Strange Visitor in the Back Bedroom 343 + XXVIII. The Room with the Light that Flickered 362 + XXIX. What Could it Mean? 368 + XXX. The Loaded Gun 377 + XXXI. For Uncle Edward’s Sake 391 + + + + +A VERY NAUGHTY GIRL + + + + +CHAPTER I.—SYLVIA AND AUDREY. + + +It was a day of great excitement, and Audrey Wynford stood by her +schoolroom window and looked out. She was a tall girl of sixteen, with +her hair hanging in a long, fair plait down her back. She stood with her +hands folded behind her and an expectant expression on her face. + +Up the avenue a stream of people were coming. Some came in cabs, some on +bicycles; some walked. They all turned in the direction of the front +entrance, and Audrey heard their voices rising and falling as they +entered the house, walked down the hall, and disappeared into some +region at the other end. + +“It is all detestable,” she muttered; “and just when Evelyn is coming, +too. How strange she will think it! I wish father would drop this horrid +custom. I do not approve of it at all.” + +Just then her governess, a bright-looking girl about six years Audrey’s +senior, came into the room. + +“Well,” she cried, “and what are you doing here? I thought you were +going to ride this afternoon.” + +“How can I?” said Audrey, shrugging her shoulders. “I shall be met at +every turn.” + +“And why not?” said Miss Sinclair. “You are not ashamed of being seen.” + +“It is quite detestable,” said Audrey. + +She crossed the room, flung herself into a deep straw armchair in front +of a blazing log fire, and took up a magazine. + +“It is all horrid,” she continued as she rapidly turned the pages; “you +know it, Miss Sinclair, as well as I do.” + +“If I were you,” said Miss Sinclair, “I should be proud—very proud—to +belong to an old family who had kept a custom like this in vogue.” + +“If you belonged to the old family you would not,” said Audrey. “Every +one laughs at us. I call it perfectly horrid. What possible good can it +do that all the people of the neighborhood, and the strangers who come +to stay in the town, should make free of Wynford Castle on New Year’s +Day? It makes me cross anyhow. I am sorry to be cross to you, Miss +Sinclair; but I am, and that is a fact.” + +Miss Sinclair sat down on another chair. + +“I like it,” she said after a pause. + +“Why?” asked Audrey. + +“There were some quite hungry people passing through the hall as I came +to you just now.” + +“Let them be hungry somewhere else, not here,” said the angry girl. “It +was all very well when some ancestor of mine first started the custom; +but that father, a man of the present day, up-to-date in every sense of +the word, should carry it on—that he should keep open house for every +individual who chooses to come here on New Year’s Day—is past endurance. +Last year between two and three hundred people dined or supped or had +tea at the Castle, and I believe, from the appearance of the avenue, +there will be still more to-day. The house gets so dirty, for one thing, +for half of them don’t think of wiping their feet; and then we run a +chance of being robbed, for how do we know that there are not +adventurers in the throng? If I were the country-folk I would be too +proud to come; but they are not—not a bit.” + +“I cannot agree with you,” said Miss Sinclair. “It is a splendid old +custom, and I hope it will not be abolished.” + +“Perhaps Evelyn will abolish it when she comes in for the property,” +said Audrey in a low tone. Her face looked scarcely amiable as she said +the words. + +Miss Sinclair regarded her with a puzzled expression. + +“Audrey dear,” she said after a pause, “I am very fond of you.” + +“And I of you,” said Audrey a little unwillingly. “You are more friend +than governess. I should like best to go to school, of course; but as +father says that that is quite impossible, I have to put up with the +next best; and you are a very good next best.” + +“Then if I am, may I just as a friend, and one who loves you very +dearly, make a remark?” + +“It is going to be something odious,” said Audrey—“that goes without +saying—but I suppose I’ll listen.” + +“Don’t you think you are just a wee bit in danger of becoming selfish, +Audrey?” said her governess. + +“Am I? Perhaps so; I am afraid I don’t care.” + +“You would if you thought it over; and this is New Year’s Day, and it is +a lovely afternoon, and you might come for a ride—I wish you would.” + +“I will not run the chance of meeting those folks on any consideration +whatever,” said Audrey; “but I will go for a walk with you, if you +like.” + +“Done,” said Miss Sinclair. “I have to go on a message for Lady Wynford +to the lodge; will you come by the shrubberies and meet me there?” + +“All right,” replied Audrey; “I will go and get ready.” + +She left the room. + +After her pupil had left her, Miss Sinclair sat for a time gazing into +the huge log fire. + +She was a very pretty girl, with a high-bred look about her. She had +received all the advantages which modern education could afford, and at +the age of three-and-twenty had left Girton with the assurance from all +her friends that she had a brilliant future before her. The first step +in that future seemed bright enough to the handsome, high-spirited girl. +Lady Wynford met her in town, took a fancy to her on the spot, and asked +her to conduct Audrey’s education. Miss Sinclair received a liberal +salary and every comfort and consideration. Audrey fell quickly in love +with her, and a more delightful pupil governess never had. The girl was +brimming over with intelligence, was keenly alive to the +responsibilities of her own position, was absolutely original, and as a +rule quite unselfish. + +“Poor Audrey! she has her trials before her, all the same,” thought the +young governess now. “Well, I am very happy here, and I hope nothing +will disturb our present arrangement for some time. As to Evelyn, we +have yet to discover what sort of girl she is. She comes this evening. +But there, I am forgetting all about Audrey, and she must be waiting for +me.” + +It so happened that Audrey Wynford was doing nothing of the sort. She +had hastily put on her warm jacket and fur cap and gone out into the +grounds. The objectionable avenue, with its streams of people coming and +going, was to be religiously avoided, and Audrey went in the direction +of a copse of young trees, which led again through a long shrubbery in +the direction of the lodge gates. + +It was the custom from time immemorial in the Wynford family to keep +open house on New Year’s Day. Any wayfarer, gentle or simple, man or +woman, boy or girl, could come up the avenue and ring the bell at the +great front-door, and be received and fed and refreshed, and sent again +on his or her way with words of cheer. The Squire himself as a rule +received his guests, but where that was impossible the steward of the +estate was present to conduct them to the huge hall which ran across the +back of the house, where unlimited refreshments were provided. No one +was sent away. No one was refused admission on this day of all days. The +period of the reception was from sunrise to sundown. At sundown the +hospitality came to an end; the doors of the house were shut and no more +visitors were allowed admission. An extra staff of servants was +generally secured for the occasion, and the one and only condition made +by the Squire was, that as much food as possible might be eaten, that +each male visitor might drink good wine or sound ale to his heart’s +content, that each might warm himself thoroughly by the huge log fires, +but that no one should take any food away. This, in the case of so +promiscuous an assemblage, was necessary. To Audrey, however, the whole +thing was more or less a subject of dislike. She regarded the first day +of each year as a penance; she shrank from the subject of the guests, +and on this special New Year’s Day was more aggrieved and put out than +usual. More guests had arrived than had ever come before, for the people +of the neighborhood enjoyed the good old custom, and there was not a +villager, not a trades-person, nor even a landed proprietor near who did +not make it a point of breaking bread at Wynford Castle on New Year’s +Day. The fact that a man of position sat down side by side with a tramp +or a laborer made no difference; there was no distinction of rank +amongst the Squire’s guests on this day. + +Audrey heard the voices now as she disappeared into the shelter of the +young trees. She heard also the rumble of wheels as the better class of +guests arrived or went away again. + +“It is horrid,” she murmured for about the twentieth time to herself; +and then she began to run in order to get away from what she called the +disagreeable noise. + +Audrey could run with the speed and grace of a young fawn, but she had +not gone half-through the shrubbery before she stopped dead-short. A +girl of about her own age was coming hurriedly to meet her. She was a +very pretty girl, with black eyes and a quantity of black hair and a +richly colored dark face. The girl was dressed somewhat fantastically in +many colors. Peeping out from beneath her old-fashioned jacket was a +scarf of deep yellow; the skirt of her dress was crimson, and in her hat +she wore two long crimson feathers. Audrey regarded her with not only +wonder but also disfavor. Who was she? What a vulgar, forward, +insufferable young person! + +“I say,” cried the girl, coming up eagerly; “I have lost my way, and it +is so important! Can you tell me how I can get to the front entrance of +the Castle?” + +“You ought not to have come by the shrubbery,” said Audrey in a very +haughty tone. “The visitors who come to the Castle to-day are expected +to use the avenue. But now that you have come,” she added, “if you will +take this short cut you will find yourself in the right direction. You +have then but to follow the stream of people and you will reach the hall +door.” + +“Oh, thank you!” said the girl. “I am so awfully hungry! I do hope I +shall get in before sunset. Good-by, and thank you so much! My name is +Sylvia Leeson; who are you?” + +“I am Audrey Wynford,” replied Audrey, speaking more icily than ever. + +“Then you are the young lady of the Castle?” + +“I am Audrey Wynford.” + +“How strange! One would think to meet you here, and one would think to +see me here, that we both belonged to Shakespeare’s old play _As You +Like It_. But I must not stay another minute. It is so sweet of your +father to invite us all, and if I am not quick I shall lose the fun.” + +She nodded with a flash of bright eyes and white teeth at the amazed +Audrey, and the next moment was lost to view. + +“What a girl!” thought Audrey as she pursued her walk. “How dared she! +She did not treat me with one scrap of respect, and she seemed to +think—a girl of that sort!—that she was my equal; she absolutely spoke +of us in the same breath. It was almost insulting. Sylvia and Audrey! We +meet in a wood, and we might be characters out of _As You Like It_. +Well, she is awfully pretty, but—— Oh dear! what a creature she is when +all is said and done—that wild dress, and those dancing eyes, and that +free manner! And yet—and yet she was scarcely vulgar; she was only—only +different from anybody else. Who is she, and where does she come from? +Sylvia Leeson. Rather a pretty name; and certainly a pretty girl. But to +think of her partaking of hospitality—all alone, too—with the _canaille_ +of Wynford!” + + + + +CHAPTER II.—ARRIVAL OF EVELYN. + + +Audrey met her governess at the lodge gates, and the two plunged down a +side-path, and were soon making for the wonderful moors about a mile +away from Wynford Castle. + +“What are you thinking about, Audrey?” said Miss Sinclair. + +“Do you happen to know,” said Audrey, “any people in the village or +neighborhood of the name of Leeson?” + +“No, dear, certainly not. I do not think any people of the name live +here. Why do you ask?” + +“For such a funny reason!” replied Audrey. “I met a girl who had come by +mistake through the shrubberies. She was on her way to the Castle to get +a good meal. She told me her name was Sylvia Leeson. She was pretty in +an _outré_ sort of style; she was also very free. She had the cheek to +compare herself with me, and said that as my name was Audrey and hers +Sylvia we ought to be two of Shakespeare’s heroines. There was something +uncommon about her. Not that I liked her—very far from that. But I +wonder who she is.” + +“I don’t know,” said Miss Sinclair. “I certainly have not the least idea +that there is any one of that name living in our neighborhood, but one +can never tell.” + +“Oh, but you know everybody round here,” said Audrey. “Perhaps she is a +stranger. I think on the whole I am glad.” + +“I heard a week ago that some people had taken The Priory,” said Miss +Sinclair. + +“The Priory!” cried Audrey. “It has been uninhabited ever since I can +remember.” + +“I heard the rumor,” continued Miss Sinclair, “but I know no +particulars, and it may not be true. It is just possible that this girl +belongs to them.” + +“I should like to find out,” replied Audrey. “She certainly interested +me although——Oh, well, don’t let us talk of her any more. Jenny +dear”—Audrey in affectionate moments called her governess by her +Christian name—“are you not anxious to know what Evelyn is like?” + +“I suppose I am,” replied Miss Sinclair. + +“I think of her so much!” continued Audrey. “It seems so odd that she, a +stranger, should be the heiress, and I, who have lived here all my days, +should inherit nothing. Oh, of course, I shall have plenty of money, for +mother had such a lot; but it does seem so unaccountable that all +father’s property should go to Evelyn. And now she is to live here, and +of course take the precedence of me, I do not know that I quite like it. +Sometimes I feel that she will rub me the wrong way; if she is very +masterful, for instance. She can be—can’t she, Jenny?” + +“But why should we suppose that she will be?” replied Miss Sinclair. +“There is no good in getting prejudiced beforehand.” + +“I cannot help thinking about it,” said Audrey. “You know I have never +had any close companions before, and although you make up for everybody +else, and I love you with all my heart and soul, yet it is somewhat +exciting to think of a girl just my own age coming to live with me.” + +“Of course, dear; and I am so glad for your sake!” + +“But then,” continued Audrey, “she does not come quite as an ordinary +guest; she comes to the home which is to be hers hereafter. I wonder +what her ideas are, and what she will feel about things. It is very +mysterious. I am excited; I own it. You may be quite sure, though, that +I shall not show any of my excitement when Evelyn does come. Jenny, have +you pictured her yet to yourself? Do you think she is tall or short, or +pretty or ugly, or what?” + +“I have thought of her, of course,” replied Miss Sinclair; “but I have +not formed the least idea. You will soon know, Audrey; she is to arrive +in time for dinner.” + +“Yes,” said Audrey; “mother is going in the carriage to meet her, and +the train is due at six-thirty. She will arrive at the Castle a little +before seven. Mother says she will probably bring a maid, and perhaps a +French governess. Mother does not know herself what sort she is. It is +odd her having lived away from England all this time.” + +Audrey chatted on with her governess a little longer, and presently they +turned and went back to the house. The sun had already set, and the big +front-door was shut; the family never used it except on this special day +or when a wedding or a funeral left Wynford Castle. The pretty +side-door, with its sheltered porch, was the mode of exit and ingress +for the inhabitants of Wynford Castle. Audrey and her governess now +entered, and Audrey stood for a few moments to warm her hands by the +huge log fire on the hearth. Miss Sinclair went slowly up-stairs to her +room; and Audrey, finding herself alone, gave a quick sigh. + +“I wonder—I do wonder,” she said half-aloud. + +Her words were evidently heard, for some one stirred, and presently a +tall man with a slight stoop came forward and stood where the light of +the big fire fell all over him. + +“Why, dad!” cried Audrey as she put her hand inside her father’s arm. +“Were you asleep?” she asked. “How was it that Miss Sinclair and I did +not see you when we came in?” + +“I was sound asleep in that big chair. I was somewhat tired. I had +received three hundred guests; don’t forget that,” replied Squire +Wynford. + +“And they have gone. What a comfort!” said Audrey. + +“My dear little Audrey, I have fed them and warmed them and sent them on +their way rejoicing, and I am a more popular Squire Wynford of Castle +Wynford than ever. Why should you grumble because your neighbors, every +mother’s son of them, had as much to eat and drink as they could desire +on New Year’s Day?” + +“I hate the custom,” said Audrey. “It belongs to the Middle Ages; it +ought to be exploded.” + +“What! and allow the people to go hungry?” + +“Those who are likely to go hungry,” continued Audrey, “might have money +given to them. We do not want all the small squires everywhere round to +come and feed at the Castle.” + +“But the small squires like it, and so do the poor people, and so do I,” +said Squire Wynford; and now he frowned very slightly, and Audrey gave +another sigh. + +“We must agree to differ, dad,” she said. + +“I am afraid so, my dear. Well, and how are you, my pet? I have not seen +you until now. Very happy at the thought of your cousin’s arrival?” + +“No, dad, scarcely happy, but excited all the same. Are not you a +little, wee bit excited too, father? It seems so strange her coming all +the way from Tasmania to take possession of her estates. I wonder—I do +wonder—what she will be like.” + +“She takes possession of no estates while I live,” said the Squire, “but +she is the next heiress.” + +“And you are sorry it is not I; are you not, father?” + +“I don’t think of it,” said the Squire. “No,” he added thoughtfully a +moment later, “that is not the case. I do think of it. You are better +off without the responsibility; you would never be suited to a great +estate of this sort. Evelyn may be different. Anyhow, when the time +comes it is her appointed work. Now, my dear”—he took out his +watch—“your cousin will arrive in a moment. Your mother has gone to meet +her. Do you intend to welcome her here or in one of the sitting-rooms?” + +“I will stay in the hall, of course,” said Audrey a little fretfully. + +“I will leave you, then, my love. I have neglected a sheaf of +correspondence, and would like to look through my letters before +dinner.” + +The Squire moved away, walking slowly. He pushed aside some heavy +curtains and vanished. Audrey still stood by the fire. Presently a +restless fit seized her, and she too flitted up the winding white marble +stairs and disappeared down a long corridor. She entered a pretty room +daintily furnished in blue and silver. A large log fire burned in the +grate; electric light shed its soft gleams over the furniture; there was +a bouquet of flowers and a little pot of ivy on a small table, also a +bookcase full of gaily-bound story-books. Nothing had been neglected, +even to the big old Bible and the old-fashioned prayer-book. + +“I wonder how she will like it,” thought Audrey. “This is one of the +prettiest rooms in the house. Mother said she must have it. I wonder if +she will like it, and if I shall like her. Oh, and here is her +dressing-room, and here is a little boudoir where she may sit and amuse +herself and shut us out if she chooses. Lucky Evelyn! How strange it all +seems! For the first time I begin to appreciate my darling, beloved +home. Why should it pass away from me to her? Oh, of course I am not +jealous; I would not be mean enough to entertain feelings of that sort, +and—— I hear the sound of wheels. She is coming; in a moment I shall see +her. Oh, I do wonder—I do wonder! I wish Jenny were with me; I feel +quite nervous.” + +Audrey dashed out of the room, rushed down the winding stairs, and had +just entered the hall when a footman pushed aside the heavy curtains, +and Lady Frances Wynford, a handsome, stately-looking woman, entered, +accompanied by a small girl. + +The girl was dragging in a great pile of rugs and wraps. Her hat was +askew on her head, her jacket untidy. She flung the rugs down in the +center of a rich Turkey carpet; said, “There, that is a relief;” and +then looked full at Audrey. + +Audrey was a head and shoulders taller than the heiress, who had thin +and somewhat wispy flaxen hair, and a white face with insignificant +features. Her eyes, however, were steady, brown, large, and intelligent. +She came up to Audrey at once. + +“Don’t introduce me, please, Aunt Frances,” she said. “I know this is +Audrey.—I am Evelyn. You hate me, don’t you?” + +“No, I am sure I do not,” said Audrey. + +“Well, I should if I were you. It would be much more interesting to be +hated. So this is the place. It looks jolly, does it not? Aunt Frances, +do you know where my maid is? I must have her—I must have her at once. +Please tell Jasper to come here,” continued the girl, turning to a +man-servant who lingered in the background. + +“Desire Miss Wynford’s maid to come into the hall,” said Lady Frances in +an imperious tone; “and bring tea, Davis. Be quick.” + +The man withdrew, and Evelyn, lifting her hand, took off her ugly felt +hat and flung it on the pile of rugs and cushions. + +“Don’t touch them, please,” she said as Audrey advanced. “That is +Jasper’s work.—By the way, Aunt Frances, may Jasper sleep in my room? I +have never slept alone, not since I was born, and I could not survive +it. I want a little bed just the ditto of my own for Jasper. I cannot +live without Jasper. May she sleep close to me, please, Aunt Frances? +And, oh! I do hope and trust this house is not haunted. It does look +eerie. I am terrified at the thought of ghosts. I know I shall not be a +very pleasant inmate, and I am sorry for you all—and for you in special, +Audrey. What a grand, keep-your-distance sort of air you have! But I am +not going to be afraid of you. I do not forget that the place will +belong to me some day. Hullo, Jasper!” + +Evelyn flitted in a curious, elf-like way across the hall, and went up +to a dark woman who stood just by the velvet curtain. + +“Don’t be shy, Jasper,” she said. “You have nothing to be afraid of +here. It is all very grand, I know; but then it is to be mine some day, +and you are never to leave me—never. I was speaking to my aunt, Lady +Frances, and you are to have your little bed near mine. See that it is +arranged for to-night. And now, please, pick up these rugs and cushions +and my old hat, and take them to my room. Don’t stare so, Jasper; do +what I tell you.” + +Jasper somewhat sullenly obeyed. She was as graceful and deft in all her +actions as Evelyn was the reverse. Evelyn stood and watched her. When +she went slowly up the marble stairs, the heiress turned with a laugh to +her two companions. + +“How you stare!” she said; and she looked full at Audrey. “Do you regard +me as barbarian, or a wild beast, or what?” + +“I am interested in you,” said Audrey in her low voice. “You are +decidedly out of the common.” + +“Come,” said Lady Frances, “we have no time for analyzing character just +now. Audrey, take your cousin to her room, and then go yourself and get +dressed for dinner.” + +“Will you come, Evelyn?” said Audrey. + +She crossed the hall, Evelyn following her slowly. Once or twice the +heiress stopped to examine a mailed figure in armor, or an old picture +on which the firelight cast a fitful gleam. She said, “How ugly! A queer +old thing, that!” to the figure in armor, and she scowled up at the +picture. + +“You are not going to frighten me, you old scarecrow,” she said; and +then she ran up-stairs by Audrey’s side. + +“So this is what they call English grandeur!” she remarked. “Is not this +house centuries old?” + +“Parts of the house are,” answered Audrey. + +“Is this part?” + +“No; the hall and staircase were added about seventy years ago.” + +“Is my room in the old part or the new part?” + +“Your room is in what is called the medium part. It is a lovely room; +you will be charmed with it.” + +“I by no means know that I shall. But show it to me.” + +Audrey walked a little quicker. She began to feel a curious sense of +irritation, and knew that there was something about Evelyn which might +under certain conditions try her temper very much. They reached the +lovely blue-and-silver room, and Audrey flung open the door, expecting a +cry of delight from Evelyn. But the heiress was not one to give herself +away; she cast cool and critical eyes round the chamber. + +“Dear, dear!” she said—“dear, dear! So this is your idea of an English +bedroom!” + +“It is an English bedroom; there is no idea about it,” said Audrey. + +“You are cross, are you not, Audrey?” was Evelyn’s remark. “It is very +trying for you my coming here. I know that, of course; Jasper has told +me. I should be ignorant and quite lost were it not for Jasper, but +Jasper puts me up to things. I do not think I could live without her. +She has often described you—often and often. It would make you scream to +listen to her. She has taken you off splendidly. Really, all things +considered, you are very like what she has pictured you. I say, Audrey, +would you like to come up here after your next meal, whatever you call +it, and watch Jasper as she takes you off? She is the most splendid +mimic in all the world. In a day or two she will be able to imitate Aunt +Frances and every one in the house. Oh, it is killing to watch her and +to listen to her! You would like to see yourself through Jasper’s eyes, +would you not, Audrey?” + +“No, thank you,” replied Audrey. + +“How you kill me with that ‘No, thank you,’ of yours! Why, they are the +very words Jasper said you would be certain to say. Oh dear! this is +quite amusing.” Evelyn laughed long and loud, wiping her eyes with her +handkerchief as she did so. “Oh dear! oh dear!” she said. “Don’t look +any crosser, Audrey, or I shall die with laughing! Why, you will make me +scream.” + +“That would be bad for you after your journey,” said Audrey. “I see you +have hot water, and your maid is in the dressing-room. I will leave you +now. That is the dressing-bell; the bell for dinner will ring in half an +hour. I must go and dress.” + +Audrey rushed out of the room, very nearly, but not quite, banging the +door after her. + +“If I stayed another moment I should lose my temper. I should say +something terrible,” thought the girl. Her heart was beating fast; she +pressed her hand to her side. “If it were not for Jenny I do not believe +I could endure the house with that girl,” was her next ejaculation. “To +think that she is a Wynford, and that the Castle—the lovely, beautiful +Castle—is to belong to her some day. Oh, it is maddening! Our darling +knight in armor—Sir Galahad I have always called him—and our Rembrandt: +one is a scarecrow, and the other a queer old thing. Oh Evelyn, you are +almost past bearing!” + +Audrey ran away to her room, where her maid, Eleanor, was waiting to +attend on her. Audrey was never in the habit of confiding in her maid; +and the girl, who was brimful of importance, curiosity, and news, did +not dare to express any of her feelings to Miss Audrey in her present +mood. + +“Put on my very prettiest frock to-night, please, Eleanor,” said the +young lady. “Dress my hair to the best advantage. My white dress, did +you say? No, not white, but that pale, very pale, rose-colored silk with +all the little trimmings and flounces.” + +“But that is one of your gayest dresses, Miss Audrey.” + +“Never mind; I choose to look gay and well dressed.” + +The girl proceeded with her young mistress’s toilet, and a minute or two +before the second bell rang Audrey was ready. She made a lovely and +graceful picture as she looked at herself for a moment in the long +mirror. Her figure was already beautifully formed; she was tall, +graceful, dignified. The set of her young head on her stately neck was +superb. Her white shoulders gleamed under the transparent folds of her +lovely frock. Her rounded arms were white as alabaster. She slipped a +small diamond ring on one of her fingers, looked for a moment longingly +at a pearl necklace, but finally decided not to wear any more adornment, +and ran lightly down-stairs. + +The big drawing-room was lit with the softest light. The Squire stood by +the hearth, on which a huge log blazed. Lady Frances, in full +evening-dress, was carelessly turning the leaves of a novel. + +“What a quiet evening we are likely to have!” she said, looking up at +the Squire as she spoke. “To-morrow there are numbers of guests coming; +we shall be a big party, and Audrey and Evelyn will, I trust, have a +pleasant time.—My dear Audrey, why that dress this evening?” + +“I took a fancy to wear it, mother,” said Audrey in a light tone. + +There was more color than usual in her cheeks, and her eyes were +brighter than her mother had ever seen them. Lady Frances was not a +woman of any special discernment. She was an excellent mother and a +splendid hostess. She was good to look at, and was just the sort of +_grande dame_ to keep up all the dignity of Wynford Castle, but she +never even pretended to understand her only child. The Squire, a +sensitive man in many ways, was also more or less a stranger to Audrey’s +real character. He looked at her, it is true, a little anxiously now, +and a slight curiosity stirred his breast as to the possible effect +Evelyn’s presence in the house might have on his beautiful young +daughter. As to Evelyn herself, he had not seen her, and did not even +care to inquire of his wife what sort of girl she was. He was deeply +absorbed over the silver currency question, and was writing an +exhaustive paper on it for the _Nineteenth Century_; he had not time, +therefore, to worry about domestic matters. Just then the drawing-room +door was flung open, and the footman announced, as though she were a +stranger: + +“Miss Evelyn Wynford.” + +If Audrey was, according to Lady Frances’s ideas, slightly overdressed +for so small a party, she was quite outshone by Evelyn, whose dress was +altogether unsuitable for her age. She wore a very thick silk, bright +blue in color, with a quantity of colored embroidery thrown over it. Her +little fat neck was bare, and her sleeves were short. Her scanty fair +hair was arranged on the top of her head, two diamond pins supporting it +in position; a diamond necklace was clasped round her neck, and she had +bracelets on her arms. She was evidently intensely pleased with herself, +and looked with the utmost confidence from Lady Frances to her uncle. +With a couple of long strides the Squire advanced to meet her. He looked +into her queer little face and all his indifference vanished. She was +his only brother’s only child. He had loved his brother better than any +one on earth, and, come what might, he would give that brother’s child a +welcome. So he took both of Evelyn’s tiny hands, and suddenly stooping, +he lifted her an inch or so from the ground and kissed her twice. +Something in his manner made the little girl give a sort of gasp. + +“Why, it is just as if you were father come to life,” she said. “I am +glad to see you, Uncle Ned.” + +Still holding her hand, the Squire walked up to the hearth and stood +there facing Audrey and his wife. + +“You have been introduced to Audrey, have you not, Evelyn?” he said. + +“I did not need to be introduced. I saw a girl in the hall, and I +guessed it must be Audrey. ’Cute of me, was it not? Do you know, Uncle +Ned, I don’t much like this place, but I like you. Yes, I am right-down +smitten with you, but I don’t think I like anything else. You don’t mind +if I am frank, Uncle Ned; it always was my way. We are brought up like +that in Tasmania—Audrey, don’t frown at me; you don’t look pretty when +you frown. But, oh! I say, the bell has gone, has it not?” + +“Yes, my dear,” said Lady Frances. + +“And it means dinner, does it not?” + +“Certainly, Evelyn,” said her uncle, bending towards her with the most +polished and stately grace. “Allow me, my niece, to conduct you to the +dining-room.” + +“How droll you are, uncle!” said Evelyn. “But I like you all the same. +You are a right-down good old sort. I am awfully peckish; I shall be +glad of a round meal.” + + + + +CHAPTER III.—THE CRADLE LIFE OF WILD EVE. + + +Eighteen years before the date of this story, two brothers had parted +with angry words. They were both in love with the same woman, and the +younger brother had won. The elder brother, only one year his senior, +could not stand defeat. + +“I cannot stay in the old place,” he said. “You can occupy the Castle +during my absence.” + +To this arrangement Edward Wynford agreed. + +“Where are you going?” he said to his brother Frank. + +“To the other side of the world—Australia probably. I don’t know when I +shall return. It does not much matter. I shall never marry. The estate +will be yours. If Lady Frances has a son, it will belong to him.” + +“You must not think of that,” said Edward. “I will live at the Castle +for a few years in order to keep it warm for you, but you will come +back; you will get over this. If she had loved you, old man, do you +think I would have taken her from you? But she chose me from the very +first.” + +“I don’t blame you, Ned,” said Frank. “You are as innocent of any +intention of harm to me as the unborn babe, but I love her too well to +stay in the old country. I am off. I don’t want her ever to know. You +will promise me, won’t you, that you will never tell her why I have +skulked off and dropped my responsibilities on to your shoulders? +Promise me that, at least, will you not?” + +Edward Wynford promised his brother, and the brother went away. + +In the former generation father and son had agreed to break off the +entail, and although there was no intention of carrying this action into +effect, and Frank, as eldest son, inherited the great estates of Wynford +Castle, yet at his father’s death he was in the position of one who +could leave the estates to any one he pleased. + +During his last interview with his brother he said to him distinctly: + +“Remember, if Lady Frances has a son I wish him to be, after yourself, +the next heir to the property.” + +“But if she has not a son?” said Edward. + +“In that case I have nothing to say. It is most unlikely that I shall +marry. The property will come to you in the ordinary way, and as the +entail is out off, you can leave it to whom you please.” + +“Do not forget that at present you can leave the estate and the Castle +to whomever you please, even to an utter stranger,” said Edward, with a +slight smile. + +To this remark Frank made no answer. The next day the brothers parted—as +it turned out, for life. Edward married Lady Frances, and they went to +live at Wynford Castle. Edward heard once from Frank during the voyage, +and then not at all, until he received a letter which must have been +written a couple of months before his brother’s death. It was forwarded +to him in a strange hand, and was full of extraordinary and painful +tidings. Frank Wynford had died suddenly of acute fever, but before his +death he had arranged all his affairs. His letter ran as follows: + + “My dear Edward,—If I live you will never get this letter; if I die + it reaches you all in good time. When last we parted I told you I + should never marry. So much for man’s proposals. When I got to + Tasmania I went on a ranch, and now I am the husband of the farmer’s + daughter. Her name is Isabel. She is a handsome woman, and the + mother of a daughter. Why I married her I can not tell you, except + that I can honestly say it was not with any sense of affection. But + she is my wife, and the mother of a little baby girl. Edward, when I + last heard from you, you told me that you also had a daughter. If a + son follows all in due course, what I have to say will not much + signify; but if you have no son I should wish the estates eventually + to come to my little girl. I do not believe in a woman’s + administration of large and important estates like mine, but what I + say to myself now is, as well my girl as your girl. Therefore, + Edward, my dear brother, I leave all my estates to you for your + lifetime, and at your death all the property which came to me by my + father’s will goes to my little girl, to be hers when you are no + longer there. I want you to receive my daughter, and to ask your + wife to bring her up. I want her to have all the advantages that a + home with Lady Frances must confer on her. I want my child and your + child to be friends. I do no injustice to your daughter, Edward, + when I make my will, for she inherits money on her mother’s side. I + will acquaint my wife with particulars of this letter, and in case I + catch the fever which is raging here now she will know how to act. + My lawyer in Hobart Town will forward this, and see that my will is + carried into effect. There is a provision in it for the maintenance + of my daughter until she joins you at Castle Wynford. Whenever that + event takes place she is your care. I have only one thing to add. + The child might go to you at once (I have a premonition that I am + about to die very soon), and thus never know that she had an + Australian mother, but the difficulty lies in the fact that the + mother loves the child and will scarcely be induced to part with + her. You must not receive my poor wife unless indeed a radical + change takes place in her; and although I have begged of her to give + up the child, I doubt if she will do it. I cannot add any more, for + time presses. My will is legal in every respect, and there will be + no difficulty in carrying it into effect.” + +This strange letter was discovered by Frank Wynford’s widow a month +after his death. It was sealed and directed to his brother in England. +She longed to read it, but restrained herself. She sent it on to her +husband’s lawyer in Hobart Town, and in due course it arrived at Castle +Wynford, causing a great deal of consternation and distress both in the +minds of the Squire and Lady Frances. + +Edward immediately went out to Tasmania. He saw the little baby who was +all that was left of his brother, and he also saw that brother’s wife. +The coarse, loud-voiced woman received him with almost abuse. What was +to be done? The mother refused to part with the child, and Edward +Wynford, for his own wife’s sake and his own baby daughter’s sake, could +not urge her to come to Castle Wynford. + +“I do not care twopence,” she remarked, “whether the child has grand +relations or not. I loved her father, and I love her. She is my child, +and so she has got to put up with me. As long as I live she stays with +me here. I am accustomed to ranch life, and she will get accustomed to +it too. I will not spare money on her, for there is plenty, and she will +be a very rich woman some day. But while I live she stays with me; the +only way out of it is, that you ask me to your fine place in England. +Even if you do, I don’t think I should be bothered to go to you, but you +might have the civility to ask me.” + +Squire Wynford went away, however, without giving this invitation. He +spoke to his wife on the subject. In that conversation he was careful to +adhere to his brother’s wish not to reveal to her that that brother’s +deep affection for herself had been the cause of his banishment. Lady +Frances was an intensely just and upright woman. She had gone through a +very bad quarter of an hour when she was told that her little girl was +to be supplanted by the strange child of an objectionable mother, but +she quickly recovered herself. + +“I will not allow jealousy to enter into my life,” she said; and she +even went the length of writing herself to Mrs. Wynford in Tasmania, and +invited her with the baby to come and stay at Wynford Castle. Mrs. +Wynford in Tasmania, however, much to the relief of the good folks at +home, declined the invitation. + +“I have no taste for English grandeur,” she said. “I was brought up in a +wild state, and I would rather stay as I was reared. The child is well; +you can have her when she is grown up or when I am dead.” + +Years passed after this letter and there was no communication between +little Evelyn Wynford, in the wilds of Tasmania, and her rich and +stately relatives at Castle Wynford. Lady Frances fervently hoped that +God would give her a son, but this hope was not to be realized. Audrey +was her only child, and soon it seemed almost like a dim, forgotten fact +that the real heiress was in Tasmania, and that Audrey had no more to do +in the future with the stately home of her ancestors than she would have +had had she possessed a brother. But when she was sixteen there suddenly +came a change. Mrs. Wynford died suddenly. There was now no reason why +Evelyn should not come home, and accordingly, untutored, uncared for, a +passionate child with a curious, wilful strain in her, she arrived on +New Year’s Day at Castle Wynford. + +Evelyn Wynford’s nature was very complex. She loved very few people, but +those she did love she loved forever. No change, no absence, no +circumstances could alter her regard. In her ranch life and during her +baby days she had clung to her mother. Mrs. Wynford was fierce and +passionate and wilful. Little Evelyn admired her, whatever she did. She +trotted round the farm after her; she learnt to ride almost as soon as +she could walk, and she followed her mother barebacked on the wildest +horses on the ranch. She was fearless and stubborn, and gave way to +terrible fits of passion, but with her mother she was gentle as a lamb. +Mrs. Wynford was fond of the child in the careless, selfish, and yet +fierce way which belonged to her nature. Mrs. Wynford’s sole idea of +affection was that her child should be with her morning, noon, and +night; that for no education, for no advantages, should she be parted +from her mother for a moment. Night after night the two slept in each +other’s arms; day after day they were together. The farmer’s daughter +was a very strong woman, and as her father died a year or two after her +husband, she managed the ranch herself, keeping everything in order, and +not allowing the slightest insubordination on the part of her servants. +Little Evelyn, too, learnt her mother’s masterful ways. She could +reprimand; she could insist upon obedience; she could shake her tiny +fists in the faces of those who dared to oppose her; and when she was +disporting herself so Mrs. Wynford stood by and laughed. + +“Hullo!” she used to cry. “See the spirit in the young un. She takes +after me. A nice time her English relatives will have with her! But she +will never go to them—never while I live.” + +Although Mrs. Wynford had long ago made up her mind that Evelyn was to +have none of the immediate advantages of her birth and future prospects, +she was fond of talking to the child about the grandeur which lay before +her. + +“If I die, Eve,” she said, “you will have to go across the sea in a big +ship to England. You would have a rough time of it, perhaps, on board, +but you won’t mind that, my beauty.” + +“I am not a beauty, mother,” answered Evelyn. “You know I am not. You +know I am a very plain girl.” + +“Hark to the child!” shrieked Mrs. Wynford. “It is as good as a play to +hear her. If you are not beautiful in body, my darling, you are +beautiful in your spirit. Yes, you have inherited from your proud +English father lots of gold and a lovely castle, and all your relations +will have to eat humble-pie to you; but you have got your spirit from +me, Eve—don’t forget that.” + +“Tell me about the Castle, mother, and about my father,” said Evelyn, +nestling up close to her parent, as they sat by the roaring fire in the +winter evenings. + +Mrs. Wynford knew very little, and what she did know she exaggerated. +She gave Evelyn vivid pictures, however, in each and all of which the +principal figure was Evelyn herself—Evelyn claiming her rights, +mastering her relations, letting her unknown cousin know that she, +Evelyn, was the heiress, and that the cousin was nobody. Only one person +in the group of Evelyn’s future relations did Mrs. Wynford counsel her +to be civil to. + +“The worst of it all is this, Eve,” she said—“while your uncle lives you +do not own a pennypiece of the estate; and he may hold out for many a +long day, so you had best be agreeable to him. Besides, he is like your +father. Your father was a very handsome man and a very fine man, and I +loved him, child. I took a fancy to him from the day he arrived at the +ranch, and when he asked me to marry him I thought myself in rare good +luck. But he died soon after you were born. Had he lived I’d have been +the lady of the Castle, but I’d not go there without him, and you shall +never go while I live.” + +“I don’t want to, mother. You are more to me than twenty castles,” said +the enthusiastic little girl. + +Mrs. Wynford had one friend whom Evelyn tolerated and presently loved. +That friend was a woman, partly of French extraction, who had come to +stay at the ranch once during a severe illness of its owner. Her name +was Jasper—Amelia Jasper; but she was known on the ranch by the title of +Jasper alone. She was not a lady in any sense of the word, and did not +pretend that she was one; but she was possessed of a certain strange +fascination which she could exercise at will over those with whom she +came in contact, and she made herself so useful to Mrs. Wynford and so +necessary to Evelyn that she was never allowed to leave the ranch again. +She soon obtained a great power over the curious, uneducated woman who +was Evelyn’s mother; and when at last Mrs. Wynford found that she was +smitten with an incurable disease, and that at any moment death would +come to fetch her, she asked her dear friend Jasper to take the child to +England. + +“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said Jasper. “I’ll take Evelyn to England, +and stay with her there.” + +Mrs. Wynford laughed. + +“You are clever enough, Jasper,” she said; “but what a figure of fun you +would look in the grand sort of imperial residence that my dear late +husband has described to me! You are not a lady, you know, although you +are smart and clever enough to beat half the ladies out of existence.” + +“I shall know how to manage,” said Jasper. “I, too, have heard of the +ways of English grandees. I’ll be Evelyn’s maid. She cannot do without a +maid, can she? I’ll take Evelyn back, and I will stay with her as her +maid.” + +Mrs. Wynford hailed this idea as a splendid one, and she even wrote a +very badly spelt letter to Lady Frances, which Jasper was to convey and +deliver herself, if possible, to her proud ladyship, as the widow called +her sister-in-law. In this letter Mrs. Wynford demanded that Jasper was +to stay with Evelyn as long as Evelyn wished for her, and she finally +added: + +“I dare you, Lady Frances, fine lady as you are, to part the child from +her maid.” + +When Mrs. Wynford died Evelyn gave way to the most terrible grief. She +refused to eat; she refused to leave her mother’s dead body. She +shrieked herself into hysterics on the day of the funeral, and then the +poor little girl was prostrated with nervous fever. Finally, she became +so unwell that it was impossible for her to travel to England for some +months. And so it happened that nearly a year elapsed between the death +of the mother and the arrival of the child at Castle Wynford. + + + + +CHAPTER IV.—“I DRAW THE LINE AT UNCLE NED.” + + +“Well, Jasper,” said Evelyn in a very eager voice to her maid that first +night, “and how do you like it all?” + +“How do you like it, Evelyn?” was the response. + +“That is so like you, Jasper!” replied the spoilt little girl. “When all +is said and done, you are not a scrap original. You make me like you—I +cannot help myself—but in some ways you are too cautious to please me. +You don’t want to say what you think of the place until you know my +opinion. Well, I don’t care; I’ll tell you out plump what I think of +everything. The place is horrid, and so are the people. I wish—oh! I +wish I was back again on the ranch with mother.” + +Jasper looked down rather scornfully at the small girl, who, in a rich +and elaborately embroidered dressing-gown, was kneeling by the fire. +Evelyn’s handsome eyes, the only really good feature she possessed, were +fixed full upon her maid’s face. + +“The Castle is too stiff for me,” she said, “and too—too airified and +high and mighty. Mother was quite right when she spoke of Castle +Wynford. I don’t care for anybody in the place except Uncle Ned. I don’t +know how I shall live here. Oh Jasper, don’t you remember the evenings +at home? Cannot you recall that night when Whitefoot was ill, and you +and mothery and I had to sit up all through the long hours nursing her, +and how we thought the dear old moo-cow would die! Don’t you remember +the mulled cider and the gingerbread and the doughnuts and the +apple-rings? How we toasted the apple-rings by the fire, and how they +spluttered, and how good the hot cider was? And don’t you remember how +mothery sang, and how you and I caught each other’s hands and danced, +and dear old Whitefoot looked up at us with her big, sorrowful eyes? It +is true that she died in the morning, but we had a jolly night. We’ll +never have such times any more. Oh, I do wish my own mothery had not +died and gone to heaven! Oh, I do wish it—I do!” + +Evelyn crossed her arms tightly on her breast and began to sway herself +backwards and forwards. Tears streamed from her eyes; she did not +attempt to wipe them away. + +“Now then, it is my turn to speak,” said Jasper. “I tell you what it is, +Eve; you are about the biggest goose that was ever born in this world. +Who would compare that stupid, rough old ranch with this lovely, +magnificent house? And it is your own, Eve—or rather it will be your +own. I took a good stare at the Squire, and I do not believe he will +live to be very old; and whenever he dies you are to take possession—you +and I together, Eve love—and out will go her ladyship, and out will go +proud Miss Audrey. That will be a fine day, darling—a day worth living +for.” + +“Yes,” said Evelyn slowly; “and then we’ll alter things. We’ll make the +Castle something like the ranch. We’ll get over some of our friends, and +they shall live in the house. Mr. and Mrs. Petrie, who keep the egg-farm +not a mile from the ranch, and Mr. Thomas Longchamp and Pete and Dick +and Tom and Michael. I told them all when I was going away that when I +was mistress of the Castle they should come, and we’ll go on much as we +went on at the ranch. If mothery up in heaven can see me she will be +glad. But, Jasper, why do you speak in that scornful way of my cousin +Audrey? I think she is very beautiful. I think she is quite the most +beautiful girl I have ever looked at. As to her being stately, she +cannot help being stately. I wish I could walk like her, and talk like +her, and speak like her; I do, Jasper—I do really.” + +“Let me see,” said Jasper in a contemplative tone. “You are learning to +love her, ain’t you?” + +“I don’t love easily. I love my own darling mothery, who is not dead at +all, for she is in heaven with father; and I love you, Jasper, and my +uncle Edward.” + +“My word! and why him?” + +“I cannot help it; I love him already, and I’ll love him more and more +the longer I see him and the more I know him. My father must have been +like that—a gentleman—a perfect gentleman. Oh! I was happy at the ranch, +and mothery was like no one else on the wide earth, but it gave me a +sort of quiver down my spine when Uncle Edward took my hand, and when he +kissed me. He is like what father was. Had father lived I’d have spent +all my days here, and I’d have been perhaps quite as graceful as Audrey, +and nearly as beautiful.” + +“You will never be like her, so you need not think it. You are squat +like your mother, and you ain’t got a decent feature in your face except +your eyes, and even they are only big, not dark; and your hair is skimpy +and your face white. You are a sort of mix’um-gather’um—a sort of +betwixt-and-between—neither very fair nor very dark, neither very short +nor very tall. You are thick-set, just the very image of your mother, +and you will always be thick-set and always mix’um-gather’um as long as +you live. There! I have spoken. I ain’t going to be afraid of you. You +had better get into bed now, for it is late. You want your beauty-sleep, +and you won’t get it unless you are quick. Now march! Put on your +night-dress and step into bed.” + +“I have got to say my prayers first,” said Evelyn, “and——” She paused +and looked full at her maid. “I have got to say something else. If you +talk like that I won’t love you any more. You are not to do it. I won’t +have it.” + +“Won’t she, then?” said Jasper. Her whole manner changed. “And have I +hurt her—have I—the little dear? Come to me, my darling. Why, you are +all trembling! Did you think I meant a word I said? Don’t you know that +you are the jewel of my eyes and the core of my heart and all the rest? +Did your mother leave you to me for nothing, and would I ever leave you, +sweetest and best? And if it is squat you are, there is no one like you +for determination and fire of spirit. Eh, now, come to my arms and I’ll +rock the bitterness out of you, for it is puzzled you are, and fretted +you are, and you shall not be—no, you shall not be either one or the +other ever again while old Jasper lives.” + +Evelyn’s eyes, which had flashed an almost ugly fire, now softened. She +looked at Jasper as if she meant to resist her. Then she wavered, and +came almost totteringly across the room, and the next moment the strange +woman had clasped the girl to her embrace and was rocking her backwards +and forwards, Evelyn’s head lying on her breast just as if she were a +baby. + +“Now then, that’s better,” said Jasper. “I’ll undress you as though we +were back again on the ranch, and when you are snug and safe in your +little white bed we’ll have a bit of fun.” + +“Fun!” said Evelyn. “What?” + +“Don’t you know how you like a stolen supper? I have got chocolate here, +and a little pot, and a jug of cream, and a saucepan, and I’ll make a +rich cup for you and another for myself; and here’s a box of cakes, all +sorts and very good. While you are sipping your chocolate I’ll take off +Miss Audrey and Lady Frances for you. The door is locked; no one can see +us. We’ll be as snug as snug can be, and we’ll have our fun just as if +we were back at the ranch.” + +Evelyn was now all laughter and high spirits. She had no idea of +restraining herself. She called Jasper her honey and her honey-pot, and +kissed the good woman several times. She superintended the making of the +chocolate with eager words and many directions. Finally, a cup of the +rich beverage was handed to her, and she sipped it, luxuriously curled +up against her snowy pillows, and ate the sweet cakes, and watched +Jasper with happy eyes. + +“So it is Miss Audrey you’d like to take after?” said Jasper. “You think +you are not a patch on her. To be sure not—wait and we’ll see.” + +In an instant Jasper had transformed her features to a comical +resemblance of Audrey’s. She spoke in mincing tones, with just +sufficient likeness to Audrey to cause Evelyn to scream with mirth. She +took light, quick steps across the room, and imitated Audrey’s very +words. All of a sudden she changed her manner. She now resembled Miss +Sinclair, putting on the slightly precise language of the governess, +adjusting her shoulders and arranging her hands as she had seen Miss +Sinclair do for a brief moment that evening. Her personation of Miss +Sinclair was as good as her personation of Audrey, and Evelyn became so +excited that she very nearly spilt her chocolate. But her crowning +delight came when all of a sudden, without the slightest warning, Jasper +became Lady Frances herself. She now sailed rather than walked across +the apartment; her tones were stately and slow; her manner was the sort +which might inspire awe; her very words were those of Lady Frances. But +the delighted maid believed that she had a further triumph in store, +for, with a quick change of mien, she now had the audacity to personate +the Squire himself; but in one instant, like a flash, Evelyn was out of +bed. She put down her chocolate-cup and rushed towards Jasper. + +“The others as much as you like,” she said, “but not Uncle Ned. You dare +not. You sha’n’t. I’ll turn you away if you do. I’ll hate you if you do. +The others over and over again—they are lovely, splendid, grand—it puts +heart in me to see you—but not Uncle Ned.” + +Jasper looked in astonishment at the little girl. + +“So you love him as much as that already?” she said. “Well, as you +please, of course.” + +“Don’t be cross, Jasper,” said Evelyn. “I can stand all the others; I +can even like them. I told Audrey to-night how splendidly you can mimic, +and you shall mimic her to her face when I know her better. Oh, it is +killing—it is killing! But I draw the line at Uncle Ned.” + + + + +CHAPTER V.—FRANK’S EYES. + + +Evelyn did not get up to breakfast the following morning. Breakfast at +the Castle was a rather stately affair. A loud, musical gong sounded to +assemble the family at a quarter to nine; then all those who were not +really ill were expected to appear in the small chapel, where the Squire +read prayers morning after morning before the assembled household. After +prayers, visitors and family alike trooped into the comfortable +breakfast-room, where a merry and hearty meal ensued. To be absent from +breakfast was to insure Lady Frances’s displeasure; she had no patience +with lazy people. And as to lazy girls, her horror of them was so great +that Audrey would rather bear the worst cold possible than announce to +her mother that she was too ill to appear. Evelyn’s absence, therefore, +was commented on with a very grave expression of face by both the Squire +and his wife. + +“I must speak to her,” said Lady Frances. “It is the first morning, and +she does not understand our ways, but it must not occur again.” + +“You will not be too hard on the child, dear,” said her husband. +“Remember she has never had the advantage of your training.” + +“Poor little creature!” said Lady Frances. “That, indeed, my dear +Edward, is plain to be seen.” + +She bridled very slightly. Lady Frances knew that there was not a more +correct trainer of youth in the length and breadth of the county than +herself. Audrey, who looked very bright and handsome that morning, +ventured to glance at her mother. + +“Perhaps Evelyn is dressed and does not know that we are at breakfast,” +she said. “May I go to her room and find out?” + +“No, Audrey, not this morning. I shall go to see Evelyn presently. By +the way, I hope you are ready for your visitors?” + +“I suppose so, mother. I don’t really quite know who are coming.” + +“The Jervices, of course—Henrietta, Juliet, and their brothers; there +are also the Claverings, Mary and Sophie. I think those are the only +young people, but with six in addition to you and Evelyn, you will have +your hands full, Audrey.” + +“Oh, I don’t mind,” replied Audrey. “It will be fun.—You will help me +all you can, won’t you, Jenny?” + +“Certainly, dear,” replied Miss Sinclair. + +“It is the greatest possible comfort to me to have you in the house, +Miss Sinclair,” said Lady Frances, now turning to the pretty young +governess. “You have not yet had an interview with Evelyn, have you?” + +“I talked to her a little last night,” replied Miss Sinclair. “She seems +to me to be a child with a good deal of character.” + +“She is like no child I ever met before,” said Lady Frances, with a +shudder. “I must frankly say I never looked forward with any pleasure to +her arrival, but my worst fears did not picture so thoroughly +objectionable a little girl.” + +“Oh, come, Frances—come!” said her husband. + +“My dear Edward, I do not give myself away as a rule; but it is just as +well that Miss Sinclair should see how much depends on her guidance of +the poor little girl, and that Audrey should know how objectionable she +is, and how necessary it is for us all to do what we can to alter her +ways. The first step, of course, is to get rid of that terrible woman +whom she calls Jasper.” + +“But, mother,” said Audrey, “that would hurt Evelyn’s feelings very +much—she is so devoted to Jasper.” + +“You must leave the matter to me, Audrey,” said Lady Frances, rising. +“You may be sure that I will do nothing really cruel or unkind. But, my +dear, it is as well that you should learn sooner or later that spoiling +a person is never true kindness.” + +Lady Frances left the room as she spoke; and Audrey, turning to her +governess, said a few words to her, and they also went slowly in the +direction of the conservatory. + +“What do you think of her, Jenny?” asked the girl. + +“Just what I said, dear. The child is full of originality and strong +feelings, but of course, brought up as she has been, she will be a trial +to your mother.” + +“That is just it. Mother has never seen any one in the least like +Evelyn. She won’t understand her; and if she does not there will be +mischief.” + +“Evelyn must learn to subdue her will to that of Lady Frances,” said +Miss Sinclair. “You and I, Audrey, will try to be very patient with her; +we will put up with her small impertinences, knowing that she scarcely +means them; and we will try to make things as happy for her as we can.” + +“I don’t know about that,” said Audrey. “I cannot see why she should be +rude and chuff and disagreeable. I don’t altogether dislike her. She +certainly amuses me. But she will not have a very happy time at the +Castle until she knows her place.” + +“That is it,” said Miss Sinclair. “She has evidently been spoken to most +injudiciously—told that she is practically mistress of the place, and +that she may do as she likes here. Hence the result. But at the worst, +Audrey, I am certain of one thing.” + +“What is that, Jenny? How wise you look, and how kind!” + +“I believe your father will be able to manage her, whoever else fails. +Did you not notice how her eyes followed him round the room last night, +and how, whenever he spoke to her, her voice softened and she always +replied in a gentle tone?” + +“No, I did not,” answered Audrey. “Oh dear! it is very puzzling, and I +feel rather cross myself. I cannot imagine why that horrid little girl +should ever own this lovely place. It is not that I am jealous of her—I +assure you I am anything but that—but it hurts me to think that one who +can appreciate things so little should come in for our lovely property.” + +“Well, darling, let us hope she will be quite a middle-aged woman before +she possesses Castle Wynford,” said the governess. “And now, what about +your young friends?” + +Audrey slipped her hand inside Miss Sinclair’s arm, and the two paced +the conservatory, talking long and earnestly. + +Meanwhile Evelyn, having partaken of a rich and unwholesome breakfast of +pastry, game-pie, and chocolate, condescended slowly to rise. Jasper +waited on her hand and foot. A large fire burned in the grate; no +servant had been allowed into the apartment since Evelyn had taken +possession of it the night before, and it already presented an untidy +and run-to-seed appearance. White ashes were piled high in the untidy +grate; dust had collected on the polished steel of the fire-irons; dust +had also mounted to the white marble mantelpiece covered with velvet of +turquoise-blue, but neither Evelyn nor Jasper minded these things in the +least. + +“And now, pet,” said the maid, “what dress will you wear?” + +“I had better assert myself as soon as possible,” said Evelyn. “Mothery +told me I must. So I had better put on something striking. I saw that +horrid Audrey walking past just now with her governess; she had on a +plain, dark-blue serge. Why, any dairymaid might dress like that. Don’t +you agree with me, Jasper?” + +“There is your crimson velvet,” said Jasper. “I bought it for you in +Paris. You look very handsome in it.” + +“Oh, come, Jasper,” said her little mistress, “you said I was squat last +night.” + +“The rich velvet shows up your complexion,” persisted Jasper. “Put it +on, dear; you must make a good impression.” + +Accordingly Evelyn allowed herself to be arrayed in a dress of a curious +shade between red and crimson. Jasper encircled her waist with a red +silk sash; and being further decked with numerous rows of colored beads, +varying in hue from the palest green to the deepest rose, the heiress +pronounced herself ready to descend. + +“And where will you go first, dear?” said Jasper. + +“I am going straight to find my Uncle Edward. I have a good deal to say +to him. And there is mother’s note; I think it is all about you. I will +give it to Uncle Edward to give to my Aunt Frances. I don’t like my Aunt +Frances at all, so I will see Uncle Edward first.” + +Accordingly Evelyn, in her heavy red dress, her feet encased in black +shoes and white stockings, ran down-stairs, and having inquired in very +haughty tones of a footman where the Squire was likely to be found, +presently opened the door of his private sanctum and peeped in. + +Even Lady Frances seldom cared to disturb the Squire when he was in his +den, as he called it. When he raised his eyes, therefore, and saw +Evelyn’s pale face, her light flaxen hair falling in thin strands about +her ears, her big, somewhat light-brown eyes staring at him, he could +not help giving a start of annoyance. + +“Oh, Uncle Ned, you are not going to be cross too?” said the little +girl. She skipped gaily into the room, ran up to him, put one arm round +his neck, and kissed him. + +The Squire looked in a puzzled way at the queer little figure. Like most +men, he knew little or nothing of the details of dress; he was only +aware that his own wife always looked perfect, that Audrey was the soul +of grace, and that Miss Sinclair presented a very pretty appearance. He +was now, therefore, only uncomfortable in Evelyn’s presence, not in the +least aware of what was wrong with her, but being quite certain that +Lady Frances would not approve of her at all. + +“I have come first to you, Uncle Edward,” said Evelyn, “because we must +transact some business together.” + +“Transact some business!” repeated her uncle. “What long words you use, +little girl!” + +“I have heard my dear mothery talk about transacting business, so I have +picked up the phrase,” replied Evelyn in thoughtful tones. “Well, Uncle +Edward, shall we transact? It is best to have things on a business +footing; don’t you think so—eh?” + +“I think that you are a very strange little person,” said her uncle. +“You are too young to know anything of business matters; you must leave +those things to your aunt and to me.” + +“But I am your heiress, don’t forget. This room will be mine, and all +that big estate outside, and the whole of this gloomy old house when you +die. Is not that so?” + +“It is so, my child.” The Squire could not help wincing when Evelyn +pronounced his house gloomy. “But at the same time, my dear Evelyn, +things of that sort are not spoken about—at least not in England.” + +“Mothery and I spoke a lot about it; we used to sit for whole evenings +by the fireside and discuss the time when I should come in for my +property. I mean to make changes when my time comes. You don’t mind my +saying so, do you?” + +“I object to the subject altogether, Evelyn.” The Squire rose and faced +his small heiress. “In England we don’t talk of these things, and now +that you have come to England you must do as an English girl and a lady +would. On your father’s side you are a lady, and you must allow your +aunt and me to train you in the observances which constitute true +ladyhood in England.” + +Evelyn’s brown eyes flashed a very angry fire. + +“I don’t wish to be different from my mother,” she said. “My mother was +one of the most splendid women on earth. I wish to be exactly like her. +I will not be a fine lady—not for anybody.” + +“Well, dear, I respect you for being fond of your mother.” + +“Fond of her!” said Evelyn; and a strange and intensely tragic look +crossed the queer little face. + +She was quite silent for nearly a minute, and Edward Wynford watched her +with curiosity and pain mingled in his face. Her eyes reminded him of +the brother whom he had so truly loved; in every other respect Evelyn +was her mother over again. + +“I suppose,” she said after a pause, “although I may not speak about +what lies before me in the future, and you must die some time, Uncle +Edward, that I may at least ask you to supply me with the needful?” + +“The what, dear?” + +“The needful. Chink, you know—chink.” + +Squire Wynford sank slowly back again into his chair. + +“You might ask me to sit down,” said Evelyn, “seeing that the room and +all it contains will be——” Here she broke off abruptly. “I beg your +pardon,” she continued. “I really and truly do not want you to die a +minute before your rightful hour. We all have our hour—at least mothery +said so—and then go we must, whether we like it or not; so, as you must +go some day, and I must——Oh dear! I am always being drawn up now by that +horrid wish of yours that I should try to be an English girl. I will try +to be when I am in your presence, for I happen to like you; but as for +the others, well, we shall see. But, Uncle Ned, what about the chink? +Perhaps you call it money; anyhow, it means money. How much may I have +out of what is to be all my own some day to spend now exactly as I +like?” + +“You can have a fair sum, Evelyn. But, first of all, tell me what you +want it for and how you mean to spend it.” + +“I have all kinds of wants,” began Evelyn. “Jasper had plenty of money +to spend on me until I came here. She manages very well indeed, does +Jasper. We bought lots of things in Paris—this dress, for instance. How +do you like my dress, Uncle Ned?” + +“I am not capable of giving an opinion.” + +“Aren’t you really? I expect you are about stunned. You never thought a +girl like me could dress with such taste. Do you mind my speaking to +Audrey, Uncle Ned, about her dress? It does not seem to me to be +correct.” + +“What is wrong with it?” asked the Squire. + +“It is so awfully dowdy; it is not what a lady ought to wear. Ladies +ought to dress in silks and satins and brocades and rich embroidered +robes. Mothery always said so, and mothery surely knew. But there, I am +idling you, and I suppose you are busy directing the management of your +estates, which are to be——Oh, there! I am pulled up again. I want my +money for Jasper, for one thing. Jasper has got some poor relations, and +she and I between us support them.” + +“She and you between you,” said the Squire, “support your maid’s +relations!” + +“Oh dear me, Uncle Ned, how stiffly you speak! But surely it does not +matter; I can do what I like with my own.” + +“Listen to me, Evelyn,” said her uncle. “You are only a very young girl; +your mind may in some ways be older than your body, but you are nothing +more than a child.” + +“I am not such a child as I look. I was sixteen a month ago. I am +sixteen, and that is not very young.” + +“We must agree to differ,” said her uncle. “You are young and you are +not wise; and although there is some money which is absolutely your own +coming from the ranch in Tasmania, yet I have the charge of it until you +come of age.” + +“When I come of age I suppose I shall be very, very rich?” + +“Not at all. You will be my care, and I will allow you what is proper, +but as long as I live you will only have the small sum which will come +to you yearly from the rent of the ranch. As the ranch may possibly be +sold some day, we may be able to realize a nice little capital for you; +but you are too young to know much of these things at present. The +matter in hand, therefore, is all-sufficient. I will allow you as +pocket-money five pounds a quarter. I give precisely the same sum to +Audrey. Your aunt will buy your clothes, and you will live here and be +treated in all respects as my daughter. Now, that is my side of the +bargain.” + +Evelyn’s face turned white. + +“Five pounds a quarter!” she said. “Why, that is downright penury!” + +“No, dear; for the use you require it for it is downright riches. But, +be it riches or be it penury, you get no more.” + +Evelyn looked full at her uncle; her uncle looked back at her. + +“Come here, little girl,” he said. + +Her heart was beating with furious anger, but there was something in his +tone which subdued her. She went slowly to him, and he put his arm round +her waist. + +“Your eyes are like—very like—one whom I loved best on earth.” + +“You mean my father,” said the girl. + +“Your father. He left you to me to care for, and to love and to train—to +train for a high position eventually.” + +“He left me to mothery; you are quite mistaken there. Mothery has +trained me; father left me to her. She often and often and often told me +so.” + +“That is true, dear. While your mother lived she had the prior claim +over you, but now you belong to me.” + +“Yes,” said Evelyn. She felt fascinated. She snuggled comfortably inside +her uncle’s arm; her strange brown eyes were fixed on his face. + +“I give you,” he continued, “the love and care of a father, but I expect +a return.” + +“What? I don’t mind. I have two diamonds—beauties. You shall have them +to make into studs; you shall, because I—yes, I love you.” + +“I don’t want your diamonds, my little girl, but I want other +things—your love and your obedience. I want you, if you like me, and if +you like your Aunt Frances, and if you like your cousin, to follow in +our steps, for we have been brought up to approve of courteous manners +and quiet dress and gentle speech; and I want that brain of yours, +Evelyn, to be educated to high and lofty thoughts. I want you to be a +grand woman, worthy of your father, and I expect this return from you +for all that I am going to do for you.” + +“Are you going to teach me your own self?” asked Evelyn. + +“You can come to me sometimes for a talk, but it is impossible for me to +be your instructor. You will have a suitable governess.” + +“Jasper knows a lot of things. Perhaps she could teach both Audrey and +me. She might if you paid her well. She has got some awfully poor +relations; she must have lots of money, poor Jasper must.” + +“Well, dear, leave me now. We will talk of your education and who is to +instruct you, and all about Jasper too, within a few days. You have got +to see the place and to make Audrey’s acquaintance; and there are some +young friends coming to the Castle for a week. Altogether, you have +arrived at a gay time. Now run away, find your cousin, and make yourself +happy.” + +Squire Wynford rose as he spoke, and taking Evelyn’s hand, he led her to +the door. He opened the door wide for her, and saw her go out, and then +he kissed his hand to her and closed the door again. + +“Poor little mite!” he said to himself. “As strange a child as I ever +saw, but with Frank’s eyes.” + + + + +CHAPTER VI.—THE HUNGRY GIRL. + + +Now, the Squire had produced a decidedly softening effect upon Evelyn, +and if she had not had the misfortune to meet Lady Frances just as she +left his room, much that followed need never taken place. But Lady +Frances, who had never in the very least returned poor Frank Wynford’s +affection for her, and who had no sentimental feelings with regard to +Evelyn—Lady Frances, who simply regarded the little girl as a +troublesome and very tiresome member of the family—was not disposed to +be too soothing in her manner. + +“Come here, my dear,” she said. “Come over here to the light. What have +you got on?” + +“My pretty red velvet dress,” replied Evelyn, tossing her head. “A +suitable dress for an heiress like myself.” + +“Come, this is quite beyond enduring. I want to speak to you, Evelyn. I +have several things to say. Come into my boudoir.” + +“But, if you please,” said Evelyn, “I have nothing to say to you, and I +have a great deal to do in other directions. I am going back to Jasper; +she wants me.” + +“Oh, that reminds me,” began Lady Frances. “Come in here this moment, my +dear.” + +She took Evelyn’s hand and dragged the unwilling child into her private +apartment. A bright fire burned in the grate. The room looked cozy, +cheerful, orderly. Lady Frances was a woman of method. She had piles of +papers lying neatly docketed on her writing-table; a sheaf of unanswered +letters lay on one side. A Remington typewriter stood on a table near, +and a slim-looking girl was standing by the typewriter. + +“You will leave me for the present, Miss Andrews,” she said, turning to +her amanuensis. “I shall require you here again in a quarter of an +hour.” + +Miss Andrews, with a low bow, instantly left the room. + +“You see, Evelyn,” said her aunt, “you are taking up the time of a very +busy woman. I manage the financial part of several charities—in short, +we are very busy people in this house—and in the morning I, as a rule, +allow no one to interrupt me. When the afternoon comes I am ready and +willing to be agreeable to my guests.” + +“But I am not your guest. The house belongs to me—or at least it will be +mine,” said Evelyn. + +“You are quite right in saying you are not my guest. You are my +husband’s niece, and in the future you will inherit his property; but if +I hear you speaking in that rude way again I shall be forced to punish +you. I can see for myself that you are an ill-bred girl and will require +a vast lot of breaking-in.” + +“And you think you can do it?” said Evelyn, her eyes flashing. + +“I intend to do it. I am going to talk to you for a few minutes this +morning, and after I have spoken I wish you to clearly understand that +you are to do as I tell you. You will not be unhappy here; on the +contrary, you will be happy. At first you may find the necessary rules +of a house like this somewhat irksome, but you will get into the way of +them before long. You need discipline, and you will have it here. I will +not say much more on that subject this morning. You can find Audrey, and +she and Miss Sinclair will take you round the grounds and amuse you, and +you must be very much obliged to them for their attentions. Audrey is my +daughter, and I think I may say without undue flattery that you will +find her a most estimable companion. She is well brought up, and is a +charming girl in every sense of the word. Miss Sinclair is her +governess; she will also instruct you, but time enough for that in the +future. Now, when you leave here go straight to your room and desire +your servant—Jasper, I think, you call her—to dress you in a plain and +suitable frock.” + +“A frock!” said Evelyn. “I wear dresses—long dresses. I am not a child; +mothery said I had the sense of several grown-up people.” + +“The garment you are now in you are not to wear again; it is unsuitable, +and I forbid you to be even seen in it. Do you understand?” + +“I hear you,” said Evelyn. + +“Go up-stairs and do what I tell you, and then you can go into the +grounds. Audrey is having holidays at present; you will find her with +her governess in the shrubbery. Now go; the time I can devote to you for +the present is up.” + +“I had better give you this first,” said Evelyn. + +She thrust her hand into her pocket and took out the ill-spelt and now +exceedingly dirty note which poor Mrs. Wynford in Tasmania had written +to Lady Frances before her death. + +“This is from mothery, who is dead,” continued the child. “It is for +you. She wrote it to you. I expect she is watching you now; she told me +that she would come back if she could and see how people treated me. I +am going. Don’t lose the note; it was written by mothery, and she is +dead.” + +Evelyn laid the dirty letter on the blotting-pad on Lady Frances’s +table. It looked strangely out of keeping with the rest of her +correspondence. The little girl left the room, banging the door behind +her. + +“A dreadful child!” thought Lady Frances. “How are we to endure her? My +poor, sweet Audrey! I must get Edward to allow me to send Evelyn to +school; she really is not a fit companion for my young daughter.” + +Miss Andrews came back. + +“Please direct these envelopes, and answer some of these letters +according to the notes which I have put down for you,” said Lady +Frances; and her secretary began to work. But Lady Frances did not ask +Miss Andrews to read or reply to the dirty little note. She took it up +very much as though she would like to drop it into the fire, but finally +she opened it and read the contents. The letter was rude and curt, and +Lady Frances’s fine black eyes flashed as she read the words. Finally, +she locked the letter up in a private bureau, and sitting down, calmly +proceeded with her morning’s work. + +Meanwhile Evelyn, choking with rage and utterly determined to disobey +Lady Frances, left the room. She stood still for a moment in the long +corridor and looked disconsolately to right and to left of her. + +“How ugly it all is!” she said to herself. “How I hate it! Mothery, why +did you die? Why did I ever leave my darling, darling ranch in +Tasmania?” + +She turned and very slowly walked up the white marble staircase. +Presently she reached her own luxurious room. It was in the hands of a +maid, however, who was removing the dust and putting the chamber in +order. + +“Where is Jasper?” asked the little girl. + +“Miss Jasper has gone out of doors, miss.” + +“Do you know how long she has been out?” asked Evelyn in a tone of keen +interest. + +“About half an hour, miss.” + +“Then I’ll follow her.” + +Evelyn went to her wardrobe. Jasper had already unpacked her young +lady’s things and laid them higgledy-piggledy in the spacious wardrobe. +It took the little girl a long time to find a tall velvet hat trimmed +with plumes of crimson feathers. This she put on before the glass, +arranging her hair to look as thick as possible, and smirking at her +face while she arrayed herself. + +“I would not wear this hat, for I got it quite for Sunday best, but I +want her to see that she cannot master me,” thought the child. She then +wrapped a crimson silk scarf round her neck and shoulders, and so +attired looked very much like a little lady of the time of Vandyck. Once +more she went down-stairs. + +Audrey she did not wish to meet; Miss Sinclair she intended to be +hideously rude to; but Jasper—where was Jasper? + +Evelyn looked all round. Suddenly she saw a figure on the other side of +a small lake which adorned part of the grounds. The figure was too far +off for her to see it distinctly. It must be Jasper, for it surely was +not in the least like the tall, fair, and stately Aubrey, not like Miss +Sinclair. + +Picking up her skirts, which were too long for her to run comfortably, +the small figure now skidded across the grass. She soon reached the side +of the lake, and shouted: + +“Jasper! Oh Jasper! Jasper, I have news for you! You never knew anything +like the——” + +The next instant she had rushed into the arms of Sylvia Leeson. Sylvia +cried out eagerly: + +“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” + +Evelyn stared for a moment at the strange girl, then burst into a hearty +laugh. + +“Do tell me—quick, quick!—are you one of the Wynfords?” she asked. + +“I a Wynford!” cried Sylvia. “I only wish I were. Are you a Wynford? Do +you live at the Castle?” + +“Do I live at the Castle!” cried Evelyn. “Why, the Castle is mine—I mean +it will be when Uncle Ned dies. I came here yesterday; and, oh! I am +miserable, and I want Jasper?” + +“Who is Jasper?” + +“My maid. Such a darling!—the only person here who cares in the least +for me. Oh, please, please tell me your name! If you do not live at the +Castle, and if you can assure me from the bottom of your heart that you +do not love any one—any one who lives in the Castle—why, I will love +you. You are sweetly pretty! What is your name?” + +“Sylvia Leeson. I live three miles from here, but I adore the Castle. I +should like to come here often.” + +“You adore it! Then that is because you know nothing about it. Do you +adore Audrey?” + +“Is Audrey the young lady of the Castle?” + +“She is not the young lady of the Castle. _I_ am the young lady of the +Castle. But have you ever seen her?” + +“Once; and then she was rude to me.” + +“Ah! I thought so. I don’t think she could be very polite to anybody. +Now, suppose you and I become friends? The Castle belongs to me—or will +when Uncle Ned dies. I can order people to come or people to go; and I +order you to come. You shall come up to the house with me. You shall +have lunch with me; you shall really. I have got a lovely suite of +rooms—a bedroom of blue-and-silver and a little sitting-room for my own +use; and you shall come there, and Jasper shall serve us both. Do you +know that you are sweetly pretty?—just like a gipsy. You are lovely! +Will you come with me now? Do! come at once.” + +Sylvia laughed. She looked full at Evelyn; then she said abruptly: + +“May I ask you a very straight question?” + +“I love straight questions,” replied Evelyn. + +“Can you give me a right, good, big lunch? Do you know that I am very +hungry? Were you ever very hungry?” + +“Oh, sometimes,” replied Evelyn, staring very hard at her. “I lived on a +ranch, you know—or perhaps you don’t know.” + +“I don’t know what a ranch is.” + +“How funny! I thought everybody knew. You see, I am not English; I am +Tasmanian. My father was an Englishman, but he died when I was a little +baby, and I lived with mothery—the sweetest, the dearest, the darlingest +woman on earth—on a ranch in Tasmania. Mothery is dead, and I have come +here, and all the place will belong to me—not to Audrey—some day. Yes, I +was hungry when we went on long expeditions, which we used to do in fine +weather, but there was always something handy to eat. I have heard of +people who are hungry and there is nothing handy to eat. Do you belong +to that sort?” + +“Yes, to that sort,” said Sylvia, nodding. “I will tell you about myself +presently. Yes, take me to the house, please. I know _he_ will be angry +when he knows it, but I am going all the same.” + +“Who is he?” + +“I will tell you about him when you know the rest. Take me to the house, +quick. I was there once before, on New Year’s Day, when every one—every +one has a right to come. I hope you will keep up that splendid custom +when you get the property. I ate a lot then. I longed to take some for +him, but it was the rule that I must not do that. I told him about it +afterwards: game-pie, two helpings; venison pasty, two ditto.” + +“Oh, that is dull!” interrupted Evelyn. “Have you not forgotten yet +about a lunch you had some days ago?” + +“You would not if you were in my shoes,” said Sylvia. “But come; if we +stay talking much longer some one will see us and prevent me from going +to the house with you.” + +“I should like to find the person who could prevent me from doing what I +like to do!” replied Evelyn. “Come, Sylvia, come.” + +Evelyn took the tall, dark girl’s hand, and they both set to running, +and entered the house by the side entrance. They had the coast clear, as +Evelyn expressed it, and ran up at once to her suite of rooms. Jasper +was not in; the rooms were empty. They ran through the bedroom and found +themselves in the beautifully furnished boudoir. A fire was blazing on +the hearth; the windows were slightly open; the air, quite mild and +fresh—for the day was like a spring one—came in at the open casement. +Evelyn ran and shut it, and then turned and faced her companion. + +“There!” she said. She came close up to Sylvia, and almost whispered, +“Suppose Jasper brings lunch for both of us up here? She will if I +command her. I will ring the bell and she’ll come. Would you not like +that?” + +“Yes, I’d like it much—much the best,” said Sylvia. “I am afraid of Lady +Frances. And Miss Audrey can be very rude. She was very chuff with me on +New Year’s Day.” + +“She won’t be chuff with you in my presence,” said Evelyn. “Ah! here +comes Jasper.” + +Jasper, looking slightly excited, now appeared on the scene. + +“Well, my darling!” she said. She rushed up to Evelyn and clasped her in +her arms. “Oh, my own sweet Eve, and how are you getting on?” she +exclaimed. “I am thinking this is not the place for you.” + +“We will talk of that another time, please, Jasper,” said Evelyn, with +unwonted dignity. “I have brought a friend to lunch with me. This young +lady is called Miss Sylvia Leeson, and she is awfully hungry, and we’d +both like a big lunch in this room. Can you smuggle things up, Jasper?” + +“Her ladyship will be mad,” exclaimed Jasper. “I was told in the +servants’ hall that she was downright annoyed at your not going to +breakfast; if you are not at lunch she will move heaven and earth.” + +“Let her; it will be fun,” said Evelyn. “I am going to lunch here with +my friend Sylvia Leeson. Bring a lot of things up, Jasper—good things, +rich things, tempting things; you know what sort I like.” + +“I’ll try if there is a bit of pork and some mincepies and plum-pudding +and cream and such-like down-stairs. And you’d fancy your chocolate, +would you not?” + +“Rather! Get all you can, and be as quick as ever you can.” + +Jasper accordingly withdrew, and in a short time appeared with a laden +tray in her hands. + +“I had to run the gauntlet of the footman and the butler too; and what +they will tell Lady Frances goodness knows, but I do not,” answered +Jasper. “But there, if things have to come to a crisis, why, they must. +You will not forget me when the storm breaks, will you, Evelyn?” + +“I’ll never forget you,” said Evelyn, with enthusiasm. “You are the +dearest and darlingest thing left now that mothery is in heaven; and +Sylvia will love you too. I have been telling her all about you.—Now, +Sylvia, you will not be hungry long.” + + + + +CHAPTER VII.—STAYING TO DINNER. + + +Again at luncheon that day Evelyn was missing. Lady Frances looked +round: Audrey was in her place; Miss Sinclair was seated not far away; +the Squire took the foot of the table; the servants handed round the +different dishes; but still no Evelyn had put in an appearance. + +“I wonder where she can be,” said the Squire. “She looked a little wild +and upset when she left me. Poor little girl! Do you know, Frances, I +feel very sorry for her.” + +“More than I do,” said Lady Frances, who at the same time had an +uncomfortable remembrance of the look Evelyn had given her when she had +left her presence. “Don’t let us talk any more about her now, Edward,” +she said to her husband. “There is only one thing to be done for the +child, and that I will tell you by and by.” + +The Squire was accustomed to attend to his wife’s wishes on all +occasions, and he said nothing further. Audrey felt constrained and +uncomfortable. After a slight hesitation she said: + +“Do let me find Evelyn, mother. I have been expecting her to join me the +whole morning. She does not, of course, know about our rules yet.” + +“No, Audrey,” said her mother; “I prefer that you should not leave the +table.—Miss Sinclair, perhaps you will oblige me. Will you go to +Evelyn’s room and tell her that we are at lunch?” + +Miss Sinclair rose at once. She was absent for about five minutes. When +she came back there was a distressed look on her face. + +“Well, Jenny, well?” said Audrey in a voice of suppressed excitement. +“Is she coming?” + +“I think not,” said Miss Sinclair.—“I will explain matters to you, Lady +Frances, afterwards.” + +“Dear, dear!” said the Squire. “What a lot of explanations seem to be +necessary with regard to the conduct of one small girl!” + +“But she is a very important small girl, is she not, father?” said +Audrey. + +“Well, yes, dear; and I should like to say now that I take an interest +in her—in fact,” he added, looking round him, for the servants had +withdrawn, “I am prepared to love little Eve very much indeed.” + +Lady Frances’s eyes flashed a somewhat indignant fire. Then she said +slowly: + +“As you speak so frankly, Edward, I must do likewise. I never saw a more +hopeless child. There seems to be nothing whatever for it but to send +her to school for a couple of years.” + +“No,” said the Squire, “I will not allow that. We never sent Audrey to +school, and I will have no difference made with regard to Evelyn’s +education. All that money can secure must be provided for her, but I do +not care for school-life for girls.” + +Lady Frances said nothing further. She was a woman with tact, and would +not on any consideration oppose her husband in public. All the same, she +secretly made up her mind that if Evelyn proved unmanageable she was not +to stay at Wynford Castle. + +“And there is another thing,” continued the Squire. “This is her first +day in her future home. I do not wish her to be punished whatever she +may have done. I should like her to have absolute freedom until +to-morrow morning.” + +“It shall be exactly as you wish, Edward,” said Lady Frances. “I did +intend to seek Evelyn out; I did intend further to question Miss +Sinclair as to the reason why Evelyn did not appear at lunch; but I will +defer these things. It happens to be somewhat convenient, as I want to +pay some calls this afternoon; and really, with that child on my brain, +I should not enjoy my visits. You, Audrey dear, will see to your +cousin’s comforts, and when she is inclined to give you her society you +will be ready to welcome her. Your young friends will not arrive until +just before dinner. Please, at least use your influence, Audrey, to +prevent Evelyn making a too extraordinary appearance to-night. Now I +think that is all, and I must run off if I am to be in time to receive +my guests.” + +Lady Frances left the room, and Audrey went to her governess’s side. + +“What is it?” she said. “You did look strange, Jenny, when you came into +the room just now. Where is Evelyn? Why did she not come to lunch?” + +“It is the greatest possible mercy,” said Miss Sinclair, “that Evelyn is +allowed to have one free day, for perhaps—although I feel by no means +sure—you and I may influence her for her own good to-night. But what do +you think has happened? I went to her room and knocked at the door of +the boudoir. I heard voices within. The door was immediately opened by +the maid Jasper, and I saw Evelyn seated at a table, eating a most +extraordinary kind of lunch, in the company of a girl whom I have never +seen before.” + +“Oh Jenny,” cried Audrey, “how frightfully exciting! A strange girl! +Surely Evelyn did not bring a stranger with her and hide her somewhere +last night?” + +“No, dear, no,” said Miss Sinclair, laughing; “she did nothing of that +sort. I fancy the girl must live in the neighborhood, although her face +is unfamiliar to me. She is rather a pretty girl, but by no means the +sort that your mother would approve of as a companion for your cousin.” + +“What is she like?” asked Audrey in a grave voice. + +Miss Sinclair proceeded to describe Sylvia’s appearance. She was +interrupted in the middle of her description by a cry from Audrey. + +“Oh dear!” she exclaimed, “you must have seen that curious girl, Sylvia +Leeson. Your description is exactly like her. Well, as this is a free +day, and we can do pretty much what we like, I will run straight up to +Evelyn’s room and look for myself.” + +“Do Audrey; I think on the whole it would be the best plan.” + +So Audrey ran up-stairs, and soon her tap was heard on Evelyn’s door; +the next moment she found herself in the presence of a very untidy, +disheveled-looking cousin, and also in that of handsome Sylvia Leeson. + +Sylvia dropped a sort of mock courtesy when she saw Audrey. + +“My Shakespearian contemporary!” was her remark. “Well, Audrey, and how +goes the Forest of Arden? And have you yet met Touchstone?” + +Audrey colored very high at what she considered a direct impertinence. + +“What are you doing here?” she said. “My mother does not know your +mother.” + +Sylvia gave a ringing laugh. + +“I met this lady,” she said—and she pointed in Evelyn’s direction—“and +she invited me here. I have had lunch with her, and I am no longer +hungry. This is her room, is it not?” + +“I should just think it is,” said Evelyn; “and I only invite those +people whom I care about to come into it.” She said the words in a very +pointed way, but Audrey had now recovered both her dignity and +good-nature. + +She laughed. + +“Really we three are too silly,” she said. “Evelyn, you cannot mean the +ridiculous words you say! As if any room in my father’s house is not +free to me when I choose to go there! Now, whether you like it or not, I +am determined to be friends with you. I do not want to scold you or +lecture you, for it is not my place, but I intend to sit down although +you have not the civility to offer me a chair; and I intend to ask again +why Miss Leeson is here.” + +“I came because Evelyn asked me,” said Sylvia; and then, all of a +sudden, an unexpected change came over her face. Her pretty, bright +eyes, with a sort of robin-redbreast look in them, softened and melted, +and then grew brighter than ever through tears. She went up to Audrey +and knelt at her feet. + +“Why should not I come? Why should not I be happy?” she said. “I am a +very lonely girl; why should you grudge me a little happiness?” + +Audrey looked at her in amazement; then a change came over her own face. +She allowed her hand just for an instant to touch the hand of Sylvia, +and her eyes looked into the wild eyes of the shabby girl who was +kneeling before her. + +“Get up,” she said. “You have no right to take that attitude to me. As +you are here, sit down. I do not want to be rude to you; far from that. +I should like to make you happy.” + +“Should you really?” answered Sylvia. “You can do it, you know.” + +“Sylvia,” interrupted Evelyn, “what does this mean? You and I have been +talking in a very frank way about Audrey. We have neither of us been +expressing any enthusiastic opinions with regard to her; and yet now—and +yet now——” + +“Oh, let me be, Eve,” replied Sylvia. “I like Audrey. I liked her the +other day. It is true I was afraid of her, and I was crushed by her, but +I liked her; and I like her better now, and if she will be my friend I +am quite determined to be hers.” + +“Then you do not care for me?” said Evelyn, getting up and strutting +across the room. + +Sylvia looked at Audrey, whose eyes, however, would not smile, and whose +face was once more cold and haughty. + +“Evelyn,” she said, “I must ask you to try and remember that you are a +lady, and not to talk in this way before anybody but me. I am your +cousin, and when you are alone with me I give you leave to talk as you +please. But now the question is this: I do not in the least care what +Sylvia said of me behind my back. I hope I know better than to wish to +find out what I was never meant to hear. This is a free country, and any +girl in England can talk of me as she pleases—I am not afraid—that is, +she can talk of me as she pleases when I am absent. But what I want to +do now is to answer Sylvia’s question. She is unhappy, and she has +thrown herself on me.—What can I do, Sylvia, to make you happy?” + +Sylvia was standing huddled up against the wall. Her pretty shoulders +were hitched to her ears; her hair was disheveled and fell partly over +her forehead; her eyes gleamed out under their thick thatch of black +hair like wild birds in a nest; her coral lips trembled, there was just +a gleam of snowy teeth, and then she said impulsively: + +“You are a darling, and you can do one thing. Let me for to-day forget +that I am poor and hungry and very lonely and very sad. Let me share +your love and Evelyn’s love for just one whole day.” + +“But there are people coming to-night, Sylvia,” said Evelyn. “I heard +Jasper speak of it. Lots of people—grandees, you know.” + +Sylvia shuddered slightly. + +“We never say that sort of word now in England,” she remarked; and she +added: “I am well-born too. There was a time when I should not have been +at all shy of Audrey Wynford.” + +“You are very queer,” said Evelyn. “I do not know that I particularly +want you for a friend.” + +“Well, never mind; I think I can get you to love me,” said Sylvia. “But +now the question is this: Will Audrey let me stay or will she not? Will +you, Audrey—will you—just because my name is Sylvia and we have met in +the Forest of Arden?” + +“Oh dear,” said Audrey, “what a difficult question you ask! And how can +I answer it? I dare not give you leave all by myself, but I will go and +inquire.” + +Audrey ran immediately out of the room. + +“What a wonderful change has come into my life!” she said to herself as +she flew down-stairs and looked into different rooms, but all in vain, +for Miss Sinclair. + +Her mother was out; it was hopeless to think of appealing to her. +Without the permission of some one older than herself she could not +possibly ask Sylvia to stay. Sylvia could be more or less lost in the +crowd of children who would be at the Castle that evening, but her +mother’s eyes would quickly seek out the unfamiliar face, inquiries +would be made, and—in short, Audrey did not dare to take this +responsibility on herself. She was rushing up-stairs again, prepared to +tell Sylvia that she could not grant her request, when she came plump up +against her father. + +“My dear girl, what a hurry you are in!” he exclaimed. + +“Oh yes, father,” replied Audrey. “I am excited. The house is full of +life and almost mystery.” + +“Then you like your cousin to be here?” said the Squire, and his face +brightened. + +“Yes and no,” answered Audrey truthfully. “But, father, I have a great +request to make. You know you said that Evelyn was to have a free day +to-day in which she could do as she pleased. She has a guest up-stairs +whom she would like to ask to stay. May she ask her, father? She is a +girl, and lonely and pretty, and, I think, on the whole, a lady. May we +both ask her to dinner and to spend the evening? And will you, father, +take the responsibility?” + +“Of course—of course,” said the Squire. + +“Will you explain to mother when she returns?” + +“Yes, my dear—certainly. Ask anybody you please; I never restrain you +with regard to your friends. Now do not keep me, my love; I am going out +immediately.” + + + + +CHAPTER VIII.—EVENING-DRESS. + + +When Audrey re-entered Evelyn’s pretty boudoir she found the two girls +standing close together and talking earnestly. Jasper also was joining +in the conversation. Audrey felt her heart sink. + +“How can Evelyn make free with Jasper as she does? And why does Sylvia +talk to Evelyn as though they were having secrets together? Why, they +only met to-day!” was the girl’s thought. Her tone, therefore, was cold. + +“I met father, and he says you may stay,” she remarked in a careless +voice. “And now, as doubtless you will be quite happy, I will run away +and leave you, for I have much to do.” + +“No, no; not until I have thanked you and kissed you first,” said +Sylvia. + +Audrey did not wish Sylvia to kiss her, but she could not make any open +objection. She scarcely returned the girl’s warm embrace, and the next +moment had left the room. + +“Is she not a horror?” said Evelyn. “I began by liking her—I mean I +rather liked her. She had a grand sort of manner, and her eyes are +handsome, but I hate her now. She is not half, nor quarter, as pretty as +you are, Sylvia. And, oh, Sylvia, you will be my friend—my true, true +friend—for I am so lonely now that mothery is dead!” + +Sylvia was standing by the fire. There was a bright color in both her +cheeks, and her eyes shone vividly. + +“My mother died too,” she said. “I was happy while she lived. Yes, Eve, +I will be your friend if you like.” + +“It will be all the better for you,” said Evelyn, who could never long +forget her own importance. “If I take to you there is no saying what may +happen, for, whatever lies before me in the future, I am my Uncle +Edward’s heiress; and Audrey, for all her pride, is nobody.” + +“Audrey looks much more suitable,” said Sylvia, and then she stopped, +partly amused and partly frightened by the look in Evelyn’s light-brown +eyes. + +“How dare you!” she cried. “How horrid—how horrid of you! After all, I +do not know that I want to see too much of you. You had better be +careful what sort of things you say to me. And first of all, if I am to +see any more of you, you must tell me why Audrey would make a better +heiress than I shall.” + +“Oh, never mind,” said Sylvia; but then she added: “Why should I not +tell you? She is tall and graceful and very, very lovely, and she has +the manners of a _grande dame_ although she is such a young girl. Any +one in all the world can see that Audrey is to the manner born, whereas +you——” + +Evelyn looked almost frightened while Sylvia was talking. + +“Is that really so?” she answered. “I ought to be just mad with you, but +I’m not. Before the year is out no one will compare Audrey and me. I +shall be much, much the finest lady—much, much the grandest. I vow it; I +declare it; I will do it; and you, Sylvia, shall help me.” + +“Oh, I have no objection,” said Sylvia. “I am very glad indeed that you +will want my help, and I am sure you are heartily welcome.” + +Evelyn looked full up at Sylvia. Jasper had left the two girls together. +The only light in the room now was the firelight, for the short winter +day was drawing to an end. + +“You, I suppose,” said Evelyn, “are a lady although you do wear such a +shabby dress and you suffer so terribly from hunger?” + +“How do you know?” asked Sylvia. + +“First, because you are not afraid of anything; and second, because you +are graceful and, although you are so very queer, your voice has a +gentle sound. You are a lady by birth, are you not?” + +“Yes,” said Sylvia simply. She neither added to the word not took from +it. She became very silent and thoughtful. + +“Why do you live in such a funny way? Why are you not educated like +other girls? And why will you tell me nothing about your home?” + +“I have nothing to tell. My father and I came to live at The Priory +three months ago. He does not care for society, and he does not wish me +to leave him.” + +“And you are poor?” + +“No,” said Sylvia. + +“Not poor! And yet, why are you almost in rags? And you did eat up your +lunch so greedily!” + +“I will answer nothing more, Evelyn. If you do not like me as I am, let +me go now, and I will try to forget the beautiful, comfortable Castle, +and the lovely meals, and you and your queer maid Jasper, and the +beautiful girl Audrey; for if you do not want me as I am, you can never +get me any other way. I am a lady, and we are not poor. Now are you +satisfied?” + +“I burn with curiosity,” said Evelyn; “and if mothery were alive, would +she not get it out of you! But if you wish it—and your eyes do look as +if they were daggers—I will change the subject. What shall we do for the +rest of the day? Shall we go out and take a walk in the dark?” + +“Yes; that would be lovely,” cried Sylvia. + +Evelyn shouted in an imperious way to Jasper. + +“Bring my fur cloak,” she said, “and my goloshes. I won’t wear anything +over my head. I am going out with Miss Sylvia Leeson.” + +Jasper brought Evelyn’s cloak, which was lined with the most lovely +squirrel inside and covered with bright crimson outside, and put it over +her shoulders. Sylvia in her very shabby black cloth jacket, much too +short in the waist and in the arms, accompanied her. They ran +down-stairs and went out into the grounds. + +Now, if there was one thing more than another which would hopelessly +displease Lady Frances, it was the idea of any of her relations +wandering about after dusk. But luckily for Evelyn, and luckily also for +poor Sylvia, Lady Frances was some miles from Wynford Castle at that +moment. The girls rushed about, and soon Evelyn forgot all her +restraints and shouted noisily. They played hide-and-seek amongst the +trees in the plantation. Sylvia echoed Evelyn’s shouts; and the Squire, +who was returning to the house in time to meet his guests, paused and +listened in much amazement to these unusual sounds of girlish laughter. +There came a shrill shriek, and then the cry, “Here I am—seek and find,” +and then another ringing peal of girlish merriment. + +“Surely that cannot be Audrey!” he said to himself. “What extraordinary +noises!” + +He went into the house. From his study window he saw the flash of a +lantern, which lit up a red cloak, and for an instant he observed the +very light hair and white face of his niece. But who was the girl with +her—a tall, shabby-looking girl—about the height of his Audrey, too? It +could not be Audrey! He sank down into a chair, and a look of perplexity +crossed his face. + +“What am I to do with that poor child?” he said to himself. “What +extraordinary, unpardonable conduct! Well, I will not tell Lady Frances. +I determined that the child should have one day of liberty, but I am +glad I did not make it more than one.” + +After Evelyn and Sylvia had quite exhausted themselves they returned to +the house. + +Jasper was ready for them. She had laid out several dresses for Evelyn +to select from. + +“I have just had a message from her ladyship,” she said when the girls +came in with their cheeks glowing and eyes full of laughter. “All the +young people are to dine with the family to-night. As a rule, when there +is company the younger members of the house dine in the schoolroom, but +to-night you are all to be together. I got the message from that +stuck-up footman Scott. I hate the fellow; he had the impudence to say +that he did not think I was suited to my post.” + +“He had better not say it again,” cried Evelyn, “or he will catch it +from me. I mean to have a talk with each of the servants in turn, and +tell them quite openly that at any moment I may be mistress, and that +they had better look sharp before they incur my displeasure.” + +“But, Eve, could you?” exclaimed Sylvia. “Why, that would mean——” + +“Uncle Ned’s death. I know that,” said Evelyn. “I love Uncle Ned. I +shall be awfully sorry when he does die. But however sorry I am, he will +die when his turn comes; and then I shall be mistress. I was frightfully +sorry when mothery died; but however broken-hearted I was, she did die +just the same. It is so with every one. It is the height of folly to +shirk subjects of that sort; one has to face them. I have no one now to +take my part except dear old Jasper, and so I shall have to take my own +part, and the servants had better know.—You can tell them too, Jasper; I +give you leave.” + +“Not I!” said Jasper. “I declare, Miss Evelyn, you are no end of a goose +for all that you are the darling of my heart. But now, miss, what dress +will you wear to-night? I should say the white satin embroidered with +the seed pearls. It has a long train, and you will look like a bride in +it, miss. It is cut low in the neck, and has those sleeves which open +above the elbow, and a watteau back. It is a very elegant robe indeed; +and I have a wreath of white stephanotis for your hair, miss. You will +look regal in this dress, and like an heiress, I do assure you, Miss +Eve.” + +“It is perfectly exquisite!” said Evelyn. “Come, Sylvia; come and look. +Oh, those dear little bunches of chiffon, and white stephanotis in the +middle of each bunch! And, oh, the lace! It is real lace, is it not, +Jasper?” + +“Brussels lace, and of the best quality; not too much, and yet enough. +It cost a small fortune.” + +“Oh, here are the dear little shoes to match, and this petticoat with +heaps of lace and embroidery! Well, when I wear this dress Audrey will +have to respect me.” + +“That is why I bought it, miss. I thought you should have the best.” + +“Oh, you are a darling! What would not mothery say if she could look at +me to-night!” + +“Well, Miss Evelyn, I hope I do my duty. But you and Miss Sylvia have +been very late out, so you must hurry, miss, if I am to do you justice.” + +“But, oh, I say!” cried Evelyn, looking for the first time at her +friend. “What is Sylvia to wear?” + +“I don’t know, miss. None of your dresses will fit her; she is so much +taller.” + +“I will not go down-stairs a fright,” said Sylvia. “Audrey asked me, and +she must lend me something. Please, Jasper, do go to Miss Wynford’s room +and ask her if she has a white dress she will lend me to wear to-night. +Even a washing muslin will do. Anything that is long enough in the skirt +and not too short in the waist. I will take it away and have it washed +fresh for her. Do, please, please, ask her, Jasper!” + +“I am very sorry, miss,” answered Jasper. “I would do anything in reason +to oblige, but to go to a young lady whom I don’t know and to make a +request of that sort is more than I can do, miss. Besides, she is +occupied now. A whole lot of visitors have just arrived—fine young +ladies and tall young gentlemen—and they are all chittering-chattering +as though their lungs would burst. They are all in the hall, miss, +chatting as hard as they can chat. No, I cannot ask her; I cannot +really.” + +“Then I must stop up-stairs and lose all, all the fun,” said Sylvia. + +The gaiety left her face. She sat down on a chair. + +“You will get me something to eat, at any rate, Jasper?” she said. + +“Yes, of course, miss; you and I can have a cozy meal together.” + +“No, thank you,” said Sylvia proudly. “I don’t eat with servants.” + +Jasper’s face turned an ugly green color. She looked at Evelyn, but +Evelyn only laughed. + +“You want to be put in your place, Jas,” was her remark. “You are a +little uppish, you know. I am quite pleased with Sylvia. I think she can +teach me one or two things.” + +“Well,” exclaimed Jasper, “if it is to be cruel and nasty to your own +old Jasper, I wish you joy of your future, Miss Evelyn; that I do.—And I +am sure, miss,” she added, flashing angry eyes at the unconscious +Sylvia, “I do not want to eat with you—not one bit. I am sure your dress +ain’t fit for any lady to wear.” + +Sylvia got up slowly. + +“I am going to look for Audrey,” she said; and before Evelyn could +prevent her, she left the room. + +“Ain’t she a spiteful, nasty thing!” said the maid the moment Sylvia’s +back was turned. “Ain’t she just the very sort that your mother would be +mad at your knowing! And I willing to be kind to her and all, and to +have a dull evening for her sake, and she ups and cries, ‘I don’t eat +with servants.’ Forsooth! I like her ways! I hope, Miss Evelyn, you +won’t have nothing more to do with her.” + +“Oh dear!” said Evelyn, lying back in her chair and going off into one +peal of laughter after another. “You really kill me, Jas, with your +silly ways. It was fun to see Sylvia when she spoke like that. And +didn’t she take a rise out of you! And was not your pecker up! Oh, it +was killing—killing!” + +“I am surprised to hear you talk, Miss Evelyn, as you do. You have +already forgotten your poor mother and what she said I was to be to +you.” + +“I have not forgotten her, Jas; but I mean to have great fun with +Sylvia, and whether you like it or not you will have to lump it. Oh, I +say, she has come back!—Well, Sylvia? Why, you have got a lovely dress +hanging over your arm!” + +“It is the best I could get,” said Sylvia. “I went to Audrey’s wardrobe +and took it out. I did not ask her leave; she was not in the room. There +were numbers of dresses, all hanging on pegs, and I took this one. See, +it is only India muslin, and it can be washed and done up beautifully. I +am determined to have my one happy evening without being docked of any +of it, and I could not come down in my own frock. See, Evelyn; do you +think it will do?” + +“It looks rather raggy,” said Evelyn, gazing at the white India muslin, +with its lovely lace and chiffon and numerous little tucks, with small +favor; “but I suppose it is better than nothing.” + +“I borrowed this white sash too,” said Sylvia, “and those shoes and +stockings. I am certain to be found out. I am certain never to be +allowed to come to the Castle again; but I mean to have one really great +evening of grand fun.” + +“And I won’t help you to dress,” said Jasper. + +“But you will, Jasper, because I order it,” cried the imperious little +Evelyn. “Only,” she added, “you must dress me first; and then, while you +are helping Sylvia to look as smart as she can in that old rag, I will +strut up and down before the glass and try to imagine myself a bride and +the owner of Wynford Castle.” + +Jasper was, after all, too much afraid of Evelyn not to yield to her +will, and the dressing of the extraordinary girl began. She was very +particular about the arranging of her hair, and insisted on having a +dash of powder on her face; finally, she found herself in the satin robe +with its magnificent adornings. Her hair was once again piled on the top +of her head, a wreath of stephanotis surrounding it, and she stood in +silent ecstasy gazing at her image in the glass. + +It was now Sylvia’s turn to be appareled for the festive occasion, and +Jasper at first felt cross and discontented as she took down the girl’s +masses of raven-black hair and began to brush them out; but soon the +magnificence of the locks, which were tawny in places, and brightened +here and there with threads of almost gold, interested her so completely +that she could not rest until she had made what she called the best of +Sylvia’s head. + +With all her faults, Jasper could on occasions have taste enough, and +she soon made Sylvia look as she had seldom looked before. Her thick +hair was piled high on her small and classical head; the white muslin +dress fitted close to her slim young figure; and when she stood close to +Evelyn, and they prepared to go down-stairs together, Sylvia, even in +her borrowed plumes, even in the dress which was practically a stolen +dress, looked fifty times more the heiress than the overdressed and +awkward little real heiress. + +When the girls reached the large central hall they both stopped. Audrey +was standing near the log fire, and a group of bright and beautifully +dressed children clustered round her. Two of the girls wore muslin +frocks; their hair, bright in color and very thick in quantity, hung +down below their waists. There were a couple of boys in the proverbial +Eton jackets; and another pair of girls of ordinary appearance, but with +intelligent faces and graceful figures. Audrey gave a perceptible start +when she saw her cousin and Sylvia coming to meet her. Just for an +instant Sylvia looked awkward. Audrey’s eyes slightly dilated; then she +came slowly forward. + +“Evelyn,” she said, “may I introduce my special friends? This is +Henrietta Jervice, and this is Juliet; and here is Arthur, and here +Robert. Can you remember so many names all at once? Oh, here are Mary +Clavering and Sophie.—Now, my dears,” she added, turning and laughing +back at the group, “you have all heard of Evelyn, have you not? This +young lady is Miss Sylvia——” + +“Sylvia Leeson,” said Sylvia. A vivid color came into her cheeks; she +drew herself up tall and erect; her black eyes flashed an angry fire. + +Audrey looked at her with a slow and puzzled expression. She certainly +was very handsome; but where had she got that dress? Sylvia seemed to +read the thoughts in Audrey’s heart. She bent towards her. + +“I will send it back next week. You were not in your room. It was time +to dress for dinner. I ran in and took it. If you cannot forgive me I +will make an excuse to go up-stairs, and I will take it off and put it +back again in your wardrobe, and I will slip home and no one will be the +wiser. I know you meant to lend me a dress, for I could not come down in +my old rags; but if I have offended you past forgiveness I will go +quietly away and no one will miss me.” + +“Stay,” said Audrey coldly. She turned round and began to talk to +Henrietta Jervice. + +Henrietta laughed and chatted incessantly. She was a merry girl, and +very good-looking; she was tall for her age, which was between sixteen +and seventeen. Both she and her sister were quite schoolgirls, however, +and had frank, fresh manners, which made Sylvia’s heart go out to them. + +“How nice people in my own class of life really are!” she thought. “How +dreadful—oh, how dreadful it is to have to live as I do! And I see by +Audrey’s face that she thinks that I have not the slightest idea how a +lady ought to act. Oh, it is terrible! But there, I will enjoy myself +for the nonce; I will—I vow it. Poor little Evelyn, however _gauche_ she +is, and however ridiculous, has small chance against Audrey. Even if she +is fifty times the heiress, Audrey has the manners of one born to rule. +Oh, how I could love her! How happy she could make me!” + +“Do you skate?” suddenly asked Arthur Jervice. + +“Yes,” replied Sylvia bluntly. She turned and looked at him. He looked +back at her, and his eyes laughed. + +“I wonder what you are thinking about?” he said. “You look as if——” + +“As if what?” said Sylvia. She drew back a little, and Arthur did the +same. + +“As if you meant to run swords into us all. But, all the same, I like +your look. Are you staying here?” + +“No,” said Sylvia. “I live not far away. I have come here just for the +day.” + +“Well, we shall see you to-morrow, of course. Mr. Wynford says we can +skate on the pond to-morrow, for the ice will be quite certain to bear. +I hope you will come. I love good skating.” + +“And so do I,” said Sylvia. + +“Then will you come?” + +“Probably not.” + +Arthur was silent for a moment. He was a tall boy for his age, and was a +good half-head above Sylvia, tall as she also was. + +“May I ask you about things?” he said. “Who is that very, very funny +little girl?” + +“Do you mean Eve Wynford?” + +“Perhaps that is her name. I mean the girl in white satin—the girl who +wears a grown-up dress.” + +“She is Audrey Wynford’s cousin.” + +“What! the Tasmanian? The one who is to——” + +“Yes. Hush! she will hear us,” said Sylvia. + +The rustle of silk was heard on the stairs. Sylvia turned her head, and +instinctively hid just behind Arthur; and Lady Frances, accompanied by +several other ladies, all looking very stately and beautiful, joined the +group of young people. A great deal of chattering and laughter followed. +Evelyn was in her element. She was not a scrap shy, and going up to her +aunt, said in a confident way: + +“I hope you like this dress, Aunt Frances. Jasper chose it for me in +Paris. It is quite Parisian, is it not? Don’t you think it stylish?” + +“Hush, Evelyn!” said Lady Frances in a peremptory whisper. “We do not +talk of dress except in our rooms.” + +Evelyn pouted and bit her lip. Then she saw Sylvia, whose eyes were +watching Lady Frances. Lady Frances also looked up and saw the tall and +beautiful girl at the same moment. + +“Who is that girl?” she said, turning to Evelyn. “I don’t know her +face.” + +“Her name is Sylvia Leeson.” + +“Sylvia Leeson! Still I don’t understand. Who is she?” + +“A friend of mine,” said Evelyn. + +“My dear, how can you possibly have any friends in this place?” + +“She is my friend, Aunt Frances. I found her wandering about out of +doors, and I brought her in; and Audrey asked her to stay for the rest +of the day, and she is happy. She is very nice, Aunt Frances,” said +Evelyn, looking up full in her aunt’s face. + +“That will do, dear.” + +Lady Frances went up to her daughter. + +“Audrey,” she said, “introduce me to Miss Leeson.” + +The introduction was made. Lady Frances held out her hand. + +“I am glad to see you, Miss Leeson,” she said. + +A few minutes later the whole party found themselves clustered round the +dinner-table. The children, by special request, sat all together. They +chattered and laughed heartily, and seemed to have a world of things to +say each to the other. Audrey, surrounded by her own special friends, +looked her very best; she had a great deal of tact, and had long ago +been trained in the observances of society. She managed now, helped by a +warning glance from her mother, to divide Sylvia and Evelyn. She put +Sylvia next to Arthur, who continued to chat to her, and to try to draw +information from her. Evelyn sat between Robert and Sophie Clavering. +Sophie was downright and blunt, and she made Evelyn laugh many times. +Sylvia, too, was now quite at her ease. She contrived to fascinate +Arthur, who thought her quite the most lovely girl he had ever met. + +“I wish you would come and skate to-morrow,” he said, as the dinner was +coming to an end and the signal for the ladies to withdraw might be +expected at any moment. “I wish you would, Sylvia. I cannot see why you +should refuse. One has so little chance of skating in England that no +one ought to be off the ice who knows how to skate when the weather is +suitable. Cannot you come? Shall I ask Lady Frances if you may?” + +“No, thank you,” said Sylvia; then she added: “I long to skate just as +much as you do, and I probably shall skate, although not on your pond; +but there is a long reach of water just where the pond narrows and +beyond where the stream rushes away towards the river. I may skate +there. The water is nearly a mile in extent.” + +“Then I will meet you,” said Arthur. “I will get Robert and Hennie to +come with me; Juliet will never stir from Audrey’s side when she comes +to Castle Wynford; but I’ll make up a party and we can meet at the +narrow stretch. What do you call it?” + +“The Yellow Danger,” said Sylvia promptly. + +“What a curious name! What does it mean?” + +“I don’t know; I have not been long enough in this neighborhood. Oh, +there is Lady Frances rising from the table; I must go. If you do happen +to come to the Yellow Danger to-morrow I shall probably be there.” + +She nodded to him, and followed the rest of the ladies and the girls to +one of the drawing-rooms. + +Soon afterwards games of all sorts were started, and the children, and +their elders as well, had a right merry time. There was no one smarter +at guessing conundrums and proposing vigorous games of chance than +Sylvia. The party was sufficiently large to divide itself into two +groups, and “clumps,” amongst other games, was played with much laughter +and vigor. Finally, the whole party wandered into the hall, where an +impromptu dance was struck up, and in this also Sylvia managed to excel +herself. + +“Who is that remarkably graceful and handsome girl?” said Mrs. Jervice +to Lady Frances. + +“My dear Agnes,” was the answer, “I have not the slightest idea. She is +a girl from the neighborhood; that terrible aborigine Evelyn picked her +up. She certainly is handsome, and clever too; and she is well dressed. +That dress she has on reminds me of one which I bought for Audrey in +Paris last year. I suppose the girl’s people are very well off, for that +special kind of muslin, with its quantities of real lace, would not be +in the possession of a poor girl. On the whole, I like the girl, but the +way in which Evelyn has brought her into the house is beyond enduring.” + +“My Arthur has quite lost his heart to her,” said Mrs. Jervice, with a +laugh. “He said something to me about asking her to join our skating +party to-morrow.” + +“Well, dear, I will make inquiries, and if she belongs to any nice +people I will call on her mother if she happens to have one; but I make +it a rule to be very particular what girls Audrey becomes acquainted +with.” + +“And you are quite right,” said Mrs. Jervice. “Any one can see how very +carefully your Audrey has been brought up.” + +“She is a sweet girl,” said the mother, “and repays me for all the +trouble I have taken with her; but what I shall do with Evelyn is a +problem, for her uncle has put down his foot and declares that go to +school she shall not.” + +The ladies moved away, chatting as they did so. The music kept up its +merry sounds; the young feet tripped happily over the polished floor; +all went on gaily, and Sylvia felt herself in paradise. Warmed and fed, +petted and surrounded by luxury, she looked a totally different creature +from the wild, defiant girl who had pushed past Audrey in order to have +a hearty meal on New Year’s Day. + +But by and by the happy evening came to an end, and Sylvia ran up to +Evelyn. + +“It is time for me to go,” she said. “I must say good night to Lady +Frances; and then will you take me to your room just to change my dress, +Evelyn?” + +“Oh, what a nuisance you are!” said Evelyn. “I am not thinking of going +to bed yet.” + +“Yes; but you are at home, remember. I have to go to my home.” + +“Well, I do not see why I should go to bed an hour before I wish to. Do +go if you wish, Sylvia; I will see you another time. You will find +Jasper up-stairs, and she will do anything for you you want.” + +Sylvia said nothing more. She stood silent for a minute; then noticing +Lady Frances in the distance, she ran up to her. + +“Good night, Lady Frances,” she said; “and thank you very much.” + +“I am glad you have enjoyed yourself, Miss Leeson,” said the lady. She +looked full into the sparkling eyes, and suddenly felt a curious drawing +towards the girl. “Tell me where you live,” she said, “and who your +mother is; I should like to have the pleasure of calling on her.” + +Sylvia’s face suddenly became white. Her eyes took on a wild and +startled glance. + +“I have no mother,” she said slowly; “and please do not call, Lady +Frances—please don’t.” + +“As you please, of course,” said Lady Frances in a very stiff tone. “I +only thought——” + +“I cannot explain. I cannot help what you think of me. I know I shall +not see you, perhaps, ever again—I mean, ever again like this,” said +Sylvia; “but thank you all the same.” + +She made a low courtesy, but did not even see the hand which Lady +Frances was prepared to hold out. The next instant she was skimming +lightly up-stairs. + +“Audrey,” said Lady Frances, turning to her daughter, “who is that +girl?” + +“I cannot tell you, mother. Her name is Sylvia Leeson. She lives +somewhere near, I suppose.” + +“She is fairly well-bred, and undoubtedly handsome,” said Lady Frances. +“I was attracted by her appearance, but when I asked her if I might call +on her mother she seemed distressed. She said her mother was dead, and +that I was not to call.” + +“Poor girl!” said Audrey. “You upset her by talking about her mother, +perhaps.” + +“I do not think that was it. Do you know anything at all about her, +Audrey?” + +“Nothing at all, mother, except that I suppose she lives in the +neighborhood, and I am sure she is desperately poor.” + +“Poor, with that dress!” said Lady Frances. “My dear, you talk rubbish.” + +Audrey opened her lips as if to speak; then she shut them again. + +“I think she is poor notwithstanding the dress,” she said in a low +voice. “But where is she? Has she gone?” + +“She bade me good-night a minute ago and ran up-stairs.” + +“But Evelyn has not gone up-stairs. Has she let her go alone?” + +“Just what I should expect of your cousin,” said Lady Frances. + +Audrey crossed the hall and went up to Evelyn’s side. + +“Do you notice that Sylvia has gone up-stairs?” she said. “Have you let +her go alone?” + +“Yes. Don’t bother,” said Evelyn.—“What are you saying, Bob?—that you +can cut the figure eight in——” + +Audrey turned away with an expression of disgust. A moment later she +said something to her friend Juliet and ran up-stairs herself. + +“What are we to do with Evelyn?” was her thought. + +The same thought was passing through the minds of almost all the matrons +present; but Evelyn herself imagined that she was most fascinating. + +Audrey went to Evelyn’s bedroom. There she saw Sylvia already arrayed in +her ugly, tattered, and untidy dress. She looked like a different girl. +She was pinning her battered sailor-hat on her head; the color had left +her cheeks, and her eyes were no longer bright. When she saw Audrey she +pointed to the muslin dress, which was lying neatly folded on a chair. + +“I am going to take it home; it shall be washed, and you shall have it +back again.” + +“Never mind about that,” answered Audrey; “I would rather you did not +trouble.” + +“Very well—as you like; and thank you, Miss Wynford, a hundred times. I +have had a heavenly evening—something to live for. I shall live on the +thoughts of it for many and many a day. Good night, Miss Wynford.” + +“But stay!” cried Audrey—“stay! It is nearly midnight. How are you going +to get home?” + +“I shall get home all right,” said Sylvia. + +“You cannot go alone.” + +“Nonsense! Don’t keep me, please.” + +Before Audrey had time to say a word Sylvia had rushed down-stairs. A +side-door was open, she ran out into the night. Audrey stood still for a +moment; then she saw Jasper, who had come silently into the room. + +“Follow that young lady immediately,” she said. “Or, stay! Send one of +the servants. The servant must find her and go home with her. I do not +know where she lives, but she cannot be allowed to go out by herself at +this hour of night.” + +Jasper ran down-stairs, and Audrey waited in Evelyn’s pretty bedroom. +Already there were symptoms all over the room of its new owner’s +presence; a marked disarrangement of the furniture had already taken +place. The room, from being the very soul of order, seemed now to +represent the very spirit of unrest. Jasper came back, panting slightly. + +“I sent a man after the young lady, miss, but she is nowhere to be seen. +I suppose she knows how to find her way home.” + +Audrey was silent for a minute or two; then taking up the dress which +Sylvia had worn, she hung it over her arm. + +“Shall I take that back to your room, miss?” + +“No, thank you; I will take it myself,” replied the girl. + +She walked slowly down the passage, descended some steps, and entered +her own pretty room in a distant wing. She opened her wardrobe and hung +up the dress. + +“I do hope one thing,” thought Audrey. “Yes, I earnestly hope that +mother will never, never discover that poor Sylvia wore my dress. Poor +Sylvia! Who is she? Where does she live? What is she?” + +Meanwhile Sylvia Leeson was walking fast through the dark and silent +night. She was not at all afraid; nor did she choose the frequented +paths. On the contrary, after plunging through the shrubbery, she +mounted a stile, got into a field, crossed it, squeezed through a hedge +at the farther end, and so, by devious paths and many unexpected +windings, found herself at the entrance of a curious, old-fashioned +house. The house was surrounded by thick yew-trees, which grew up almost +to the windows. There was a wall round it, and the enclosed space within +was evidently very confined. In the gleam of light which came now and +then through wintry, driving clouds, a stray flower-bed or a thick +holly-bush was visible, but the entire aspect of the place was gloomy, +neglected, and disagreeable in the extreme. Sylvia pushed a certain +spring in the gate; it immediately opened, and she let herself in. She +closed the gate softly and silently behind her, and then, looking +eagerly around, began to approach the house. The house stood not thirty +yards from the gate. Sylvia now for the first time showed symptoms of +fear. Suddenly a big dog in a kennel near uttered a bay. She called his +name. + +“Pilot, it is I,” she said. + +The dog ambled towards her; she put her hand on his neck, bent down, and +kissed him on the forehead. He wagged his tail, and thrust his cold nose +into her hand. She then stood in a listening attitude, her head thrown +back; presently, still holding the dog by the collar, she went +softly—very softly—round the house. She came to a low window, which was +protected by some iron bars. + +“Good night, Pilot,” she said then. “Good night, darling; go back and +guard the house.” + +The dog trotted swiftly and silently away. When he was quite out of +sight Sylvia put up her hand and removed one bar from the six which +stood in front of the window. A moment later the window had been opened +and the girl had crept within. When inside she pushed the bar which had +been previously loosened back into its place, shut the window softly, +and crossing the room into which she had entered, stole up-stairs, +trembling as she did so. Suddenly a door from above was opened, a light +streamed across the passage, and a man’s voice said: + +“Who goes there?” + +There was an instant’s silence on the part of Sylvia. The voice repeated +the question in a louder key. + +“It is I, father,” she answered. “I am going to bed. It is all right.” + +“You impertinent girl!” said the man. “Where have you been all this +time? I missed you at dinner; I missed you at supper. Where have you +been?” + +“Doing no harm, father. It is all right; it is really. Good night, +father.” + +The light, however, did not recede from the passage. A man stood in the +entrance to a room. Sylvia had to pass this man to get to her own +bedroom. She was thoroughly frightened now. She was shaking all over. As +she approached, the man took up the candle he held and let its light +fall full on her face. + +“Where have you been?” he said roughly. + +“Out, father—out; doing no harm.” + +“What, my daughter—at this time of night! You know I cannot afford a +servant; you know all about me, and yet you desert me for hours and +hours. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? You have been out of doors all +this long time and supper ready for you on the table! Oatmeal and +skimmed milk—an excellent meal; a princess could not desire better. I am +keeping it for your breakfast. You shall have no supper now; you deserve +to go to bed supper-less, and you shall. What a disgraceful mess your +dress is in!” + +“There has been snow, and it is wintry and cold outside,” replied +Sylvia; “and I am not hungry. Good night, father.” + +“You think to get over me like that! You have no pity for me; you are a +most heartless girl. You shall not stir from here until you tell me +where you have been.” + +“Then I will tell you, father. I know you’ll be angry, but I cannot help +it. There is such a thing as dying for want of—oh, not for want of food, +and not for want of clothes—for want of pleasure, fun, life, the joy of +being alive. I did go, and I am not ashamed.” + +“Where?” asked the man. + +“I went to Wynford Castle. I have spent the evening there. Now, you may +be as angry as you please, but you shall not scold me; no, not a word +until the morning.” + +With a sudden movement the girl flitted past the angry man. The next +instant she had reached her room. She opened the door, shut it behind +her, and locked herself in. When she was quite alone she pulled off her +hat, and got with frantic speed out of her wet jacket; then she clasped +her hands high above her head. + +“How am I to bear it! What have I done that I should be so miserable?” +she thought. + +She flung herself across the bare, uninviting bed, and lay there for +some time sobbing heavily. All the joy and animation had left her young +frame; all the gaiety had departed from her. But presently her +passionate sobs came to an end; she undressed and got into bed. + +She was bitterly—most bitterly—cold, and it was a long time before the +meager clothes which covered her brought any degree of warmth to her +frame. But by-and-by she did doze off into a troubled slumber. In her +sleep she dreamt of her mother—her mother who was dead. + +She awoke presently, and opening her eyes in the midst of the darkness, +the thought of her dream came back to her. She remembered a certain +night in her life when she had been awakened suddenly to say good-by to +her mother. The mother had asked the father to leave the child alone +with her. + +“You will be always good to him, Sylvia?” she said then. “You will humor +him and be patient. I hand my work on to you. It was too much for me, +and God is taking me away, but I pass it on to you. If you promise to +take the burden and carry it, and not to fail, I shall die happy. Will +you, Sylvia—will you?” + +“What am I to do, mother?” asked the child. She was a girl of fourteen +then. + +“This,” said the mother: “do not leave him whatever happens.” + +“Do you mean it, mother? He may go away from here; he may go into the +country; he may—do anything. He may become worse—not better. Am I never +to be educated? Am I never to be happy? Do you mean it?” + +The dying woman looked solemnly at the eager child. + +“I mean it,” she said; “and you must promise me that you will not leave +him whatever happens.” + +“Then I promise you, mother,” Sylvia had said. + + + + +CHAPTER IX.—BREAKFAST IN BED. + + +The day of Evelyn’s freedom came to an end. No remark had been made with +regard to her extraordinary dress; no comments when she declined to +accompany her own special guest to her bedroom. She was allowed to have +her own sweet will. She went up-stairs very late, and, on the whole, not +discontented. She had enjoyed her chat with some of the strange children +who had arrived that afternoon. Lady Frances had scarcely looked at her. +That fact did not worry her in the least. She had said good-night in +quite a patronizing tone to both her aunt and uncle, she did not trouble +even to seek for Audrey, and went up to her room singing gaily to +herself. She had a fine, strong contralto voice, and she had not the +slightest idea of keeping it in suppression. She sang the chorus of a +common-place song which had been popular on the ranch. Lady Frances +quite shuddered as she heard her. Presently Evelyn reached her own room, +where Jasper was awaiting her. Jasper knew her young mistress +thoroughly. She had not the slightest idea of putting herself out too +much with regard to Evelyn, but at the same time she knew that Evelyn +would be very cross and disagreeable if she had not her comforts; +accordingly, the fire burned clear and bright, and there were +preparations for the young girl’s favorite meal of chocolate and +biscuits already going on. + +“Oh dear!” said Evelyn, “I am tired; but we have had quite a good time. +Of course when the Castle belongs to me I shall always keep it packed +with company. There is no fun in a big place like this unless you have +heaps of guests. Aunt Frances was quite harmless to-night.” + +“Harmless!” cried Jasper. + +“Yes; that is the word. She took no notice of me at all. I do not mind +that. Of course she is jealous, poor thing! And perhaps I can scarcely +wonder. But if she leaves me alone I will leave her alone.” + +“You are conceited, Evelyn,” said Jasper. “How could that grand and +stately lady be jealous of a little girl like yourself?” + +“I think she is, all the same,” replied Evelyn. “And, by the way, +Jasper, I do not care for that tone of yours. Why do you call me a +little girl and speak as though you had no respect for me?” + +“I love you too well to respect you, darling,” replied Jasper. + +“Love me too well! But I thought people never loved others unless they +respected them.” + +“Yes, but they do,” answered Jasper, with a short laugh. “How should I +love you if that was not the case?” + +Evelyn grew red and a puzzled expression flitted across her face. + +“I should like my chocolate,” she said, sinking into a chair by the +fire. “Make it for me, please.” + +Jasper did so without any comment. It was long past midnight; the little +clock on the mantelpiece pointed with its jeweled hands to twenty +minutes to one. + +“I shall not get up early,” said Evelyn. “Aunt Frances was annoyed at my +not being down this morning, but she will have to bear it. You will get +me a very nice breakfast, won’t you, dear old Jasper? When I wake you +will have things very cozy, won’t you, Jas?” + +“Yes, darling; I’ll do what I can. By the way, Evelyn, you ought not to +have let that poor Miss Sylvia come up here and go off by herself.” + +Evelyn pouted. + +“I won’t be scolded,” she said. “You forget your place, Jasper. If you +go on like this it might really be best for you to go.” + +“Oh, I meant nothing,” said Jasper, in some alarm; “only it did seem—you +will forgive my saying it—not too kind.” + +“I like Sylvia,” said Evelyn; “she is handsome and she says funny +things. I mean to see a good deal more of her. Now I am sleepy, so you +may help me to get into bed.” + +The spoilt child slept in unconscious bliss, and the next morning, +awaking late, desired Jasper to fetch her breakfast. Jasper rang the +bell. After a time a servant appeared. + +“Will you send Miss Wynford’s breakfast up immediately?” said Jasper. + +The girl, a neat-looking housemaid, withdrew. She tapped at the door +again in a few minutes. + +“If you please, Miss Jasper,” she said, “Lady Frances’s orders are that +Miss Evelyn is to get up to breakfast.” + +Jasper, with a slight smirk on her face, went into Evelyn’s bedroom to +retail this message. Evelyn’s face turned the color of chalk with +intense anger. + +“Impertinent woman!” she murmured. “Go down immediately yourself, +Jasper, and bring me up some breakfast. Go—do you hear? I will not be +ruled by Lady Frances.” + +Jasper very unwillingly went down-stairs. She returned in about ten +minutes to inform Evelyn that it was quite useless, that Lady Frances +had given most positive orders, and that there was not a servant in the +house who would dare to disobey her. + +“But you would dare,” said the angry child. “Why did you not go into the +larder and fetch the things yourself?” + +“The cook took care of that, Miss Evelyn; the larder door was locked.” + +“Oh, dear me!” said Evelyn; “and I am so hungry.” She began to cry. + +“Had you not better get up, Evelyn?” said the maid. “The servants told +me down-stairs that breakfast would be served in the breakfast-room +to-day up to ten o’clock.” + +“Do you think I am going to let her have the victory over me?” said +Evelyn. “No; I shall not stir. I won’t go to meals at all if this sort +of thing goes on. Oh, I am cruelly treated! I am—I am! And I am so +desperately hungry! Is not there even any chocolate left, Jasper?” + +“I am sorry to say there is not, dear—you finished it all, to the last +drop, last night; and the tin with the biscuits is empty also. There is +nothing to eat in this room. I am afraid you will have to hurry and +dress yourself—that is, if you want breakfast.” + +“I won’t stir,” said Evelyn—“not if she comes to drag me out of bed with +cart-ropes.” + +Jasper stood and stared at her young charge. + +“You are very silly, Miss Evelyn,” she said. “You will have to submit to +her ladyship. You are only a very young girl, and you will find that you +cannot fight against her.” + +Evelyn now covered her face with her handkerchief, and her sobs became +distressful. + +“Come, dear, come!” said Jasper not unkindly; “let me help you to get +into your clothes.” + +But Evelyn pushed her devoted maid away with vigorous hands. + +“Don’t touch me. I hate you!” she said.—“Oh mothery, mothery, why did +you die and leave me? Oh, your own little Evelyn is so wretched!” + +“Now, really, Miss Evelyn, I am angry with you. You are a silly child! +You can dress and go down-stairs and have as nice a breakfast as you +please. I heard them talking in the breakfast-room as I went by. They +were such a merry party!” + +“Much they care for me!” said Evelyn. + +“Well, they don’t naturally unless you go and make yourself pleasant. +But there, Miss Evelyn! if you don’t get up, I cannot do without my +breakfast, so I am going down to the servants’ hall.” + +“Oh! could not you bring me up a little bit of something, Jasper—even +bread—even dry bread? I don’t mind how stale it is, for I am quite +desperately hungry.” + +“Well, I’ll try if I can smuggle something,” said Jasper; “but I do not +believe I can, all the same.” + +The woman departed, anxious for her meal. + +She came back in a little over half an hour, to find Evelyn sitting up +in bed, her eyes red from all the tears she had shed, and her face pale. + +“Well,” she said, “have you brought up anything?” + +“Only hot water for your bath, my dear. I was not allowed to go off even +with a biscuit.” + +“Oh dear! then I’ll die—I really shall. You don’t know how weak I am! +Aunt Frances will have killed me! Oh, this is too awful!” + +“You had better get up now, Miss Evelyn. You are very fat and stout, my +dear, and missing one meal will not kill you, so don’t think it.” + +“I know what I do think, Jasper, and that is that you are horrid!” said +Evelyn. + +But she had scarcely uttered the words before there came a low but very +distinct knock on the door. Jasper went to open it. Evelyn’s heart began +to beat with a mixture of alarm and triumph. Of course this was some one +coming with her breakfast. Or could it be, possibly—— But no; even Lady +Frances would not go so far as to come to gloat over her victim’s +miseries. + +Nevertheless, it was Lady Frances. She walked boldly into the room. + +“You can go, Jasper,” she said. “I have something I wish to say to Miss +Wynford.” + +Jasper, in considerable annoyance, withdrew, but returned after a minute +and placed her ear to the keyhole. Lady Frances did not greatly mind, +however, whether she was overheard or not. + +“Get up, Evelyn,” she said. “Get up at once and dress yourself.” + +“I—I don’t want to get up,” murmured Evelyn. + +“Come! I am waiting.” + +Lady Frances sat down on a chair. Her eyes traveled slowly round the +disorderly room; displeasure grew greater in her face. + +“Get up, my dear—get up,” she said. “I am waiting.” + +“But I don’t want to.” + +“I am afraid your wanting to or not wanting to makes little or no +difference, Evelyn. I stay here until you get up. You need not hurry +yourself; I will give you until lunch-time if necessary, but until you +get up I stay here.” + +“And if,” said Evelyn in a tremulous voice, “I don’t get up until after +lunch?” + +“Then you do without food; you have nothing to eat until you get up. +Now, do not let us discuss this point any longer; I want to be busy over +my accounts.” + +Lady Frances drew a small table towards her, took a note-book and a +Letts’s Diary from a bag at her side, and became absorbed in the +irritating task of counting up petty expenses. Lady Frances no more +looked at Evelyn than if she had not existed. The angry little girl in +the bed even ventured to make faces in the direction of the tyrannical +lady; but the tyrannical lady saw nothing. Jasper outside the door found +it no longer interesting to press her ear to the keyhole. She retired in +some trepidation, and presently made herself busy in Evelyn’s boudoir. +For half an hour the conflict went on; then, as might be expected, +Evelyn gingerly and with intense dislike put one foot out of bed. + +Lady Frances saw nothing. She was now murmuring softly to herself. She +had long—very long—accounts to add up. + +Evelyn drew the foot back again. + +“Nasty, horrid, horrid thing!” she said to herself. “She shall not have +the victory. But, oh, I am so hungry!” was her next thought; “and she +does mean to conquer me. Oh, if only mothery were alive!” + +At the thought of her mother Evelyn burst into loud sobs. Surely these +would draw pity from that heart of stone! Not at all. Lady Frances went +calmly on with her occupation. + +Finally, Evelyn did get up. She was not accustomed to dressing herself, +and she did so very badly. Lady Frances did not take the slightest +notice. In about half an hour the untidy toilet was complete. Evelyn had +once more donned her crimson velvet dress. + +“I am ready,” she said then, and she came up to Lady Frances’s side. + +Lady Frances dropped her pencil, raised her eyes, and fixed them on +Evelyn’s face. + +“Where do you keep your dresses?” she said. + +“I don’t know. Jasper knows.” + +“Is Jasper in the next room?” + +“Yes.” + +“Go and fetch her.” + +Evelyn obeyed. She imagined her head was giddy and that her legs were +too weak to enable her to walk steadily. + +“Jasper, come,” she said in a tremulous voice. + +“Poor darling! Poor pet!” muttered Jasper in an injudicious undertone to +her afflicted charge. + +Lady Frances was now standing up. + +“Come here, Jasper,” she said. “In which wardrobe do you keep Miss +Wynford’s dresses?” + +“In this one, madam.” + +“Open it and let me see.” + +The maid obeyed. Lady Frances went to the wardrobe and felt amongst +skirts of different colors, different materials, and different degrees +of respectability. Without exception they were all unsuitable; but +presently she chose the least objectionable, an ugly drab frieze, and +lifting it herself from its hook, laid it on the bed. + +“Is there a bodice for this dress?” she asked of the maid. + +“Yes, madam. Miss Evelyn used to wear that on the ranch. She has +outgrown it rather.” + +“Put it on your young mistress and let me see her.” + +“I won’t wear that horrid thing!” said Evelyn. + +“You will wear what I choose.” + +Again Evelyn submitted. The dress was put on. It was not becoming, but +was at least quiet in appearance. + +“You will wear that to-day,” said her aunt. “I will myself take you into +town this afternoon to get some suitable clothes.—Jasper, I wish Miss +Evelyn’s present wardrobe to be neatly packed in her trunks.” + +“Yes, madam.” + +“No, no, Aunt Frances; you cannot mean it,” said Evelyn. + +“My dear, I do.—Before you go, Jasper, I have one thing to say. I am +sorry, but I cannot help myself. Your late mistress wished you to remain +with Miss Wynford. I grieve to say that you are not the kind of person I +should wish to have the charge of her. I will myself get a suitable maid +to look after the young lady, and you can go this afternoon. I will pay +you well. I am sorry for this; it sounds cruel, but it is really cruel +to be kind.—Now, Evelyn, what is the matter?” + +“Only I hate you! Oh, how I hate you!” said Evelyn. “I wish mothery were +alive that she might fight you! Oh, you are a horrid woman! How I hate +you!” + +“When you come to yourself, Evelyn, and you are inclined to apologize +for your intemperate words, you can come down-stairs, where your belated +breakfast awaits you.” + + + + +CHAPTER X.—JASPER WAS TO GO. + + +What will not hunger—real, healthy hunger—effect? Lady Frances, after +her last words, swept out of the room; and Jasper, her bosom heaving, +her black eyes flashing angry fire, looked full at her little charge. +What would Evelyn do now? The spoilt child, who could scarcely brook the +smallest contradiction, who had declined to get up even to breakfast, to +do without Jasper! To allow her friend Jasper to be torn from her +arms—Jasper, who had been her mother’s dearest companion, who had sworn +to that mother that she would not leave Evelyn come what might, that she +would protect her against the tyrant aunt and the tyrant uncle, that if +necessary she would fight for her with the power which the law bestows! +Oh, what an awful moment had arrived! Jasper was to go. What would +Evelyn do now? + +Evelyn’s first impulse had been all that was satisfactory. Her fury had +burst forth in wild, indignant words. But now, when the child and the +maid found themselves alone, Jasper waited in expectancy which was +almost certainty. Evelyn would not submit to this? She and her charge +would leave Castle Wynford together that very day. If they were +eventually parted, the law should part them. + +Still Evelyn was silent. + +“Oh Eve—my dear Miss Evelyn—my treasure!” said the afflicted woman. + +“Yes, Jasper?” said Evelyn then. “It is an awful nuisance.” + +“A nuisance! Is that all you have got to say?” + +Evelyn rubbed her eyes. + +“I won’t submit, of course,” she said. “No, I won’t submit for a minute. +But, Jasper, I must have some breakfast; I am too hungry for anything. +Perhaps you had better take all my darling, lovely clothes; and if you +have to go, Jasper, I’ll—I’ll never forget you; but I’ll talk to you +more about it when I have had something to eat.” + +Evelyn turned and left the room. She was in an ugly dress, beyond doubt, +but in her neat black shoes and stockings, and with her fair hair tied +back according to Lady Frances’s directions, she looked rather more +presentable than she had done the previous day. She entered the +breakfast-room. The remains of a meal still lay upon the table. Evelyn +looked impatiently round. Surely some one ought to appear—a servant at +the very least! Hot tea she required, hot coffee, dishes nicely cooked +and tempting and fresh. The little girl went to the bell and rang it. A +footman appeared. + +“Get my breakfast immediately,” said Evelyn. + +The man withdrew, endeavoring to hide a smile. Evelyn’s conduct in +daring to defy Lady Frances had been the amusement of the servants’ hall +that morning. The man went to the kitchen premises now with the +announcement that “miss” had come to her senses. + +“She is as white as a sheet, and looks as mad as a hatter,” said the +man; “but her spirit ain’t broke. My word! she ’ave got a will of her +own. ‘My breakfast, immediate,’ says she, as though she were the lady of +the manor.” + +“Which she will be some day,” said cook; “and I ’ates to think of it. +Our beautiful Miss Audrey supplanted by the like of her. There, Johnson! +my missus said that Miss Wynford was to have quite a plain breakfast, so +take it up—do.” + +Toast, fresh tea, and one solitary new-laid egg were placed on a tray +and brought up to the breakfast-room. + +Evelyn sat down without a word, poured herself out some tea, ate every +crumb of toast, finished her egg, and felt refreshed. She had just +concluded her meal when Audrey, accompanied by Arthur Jervice, ran into +the room. + +“Oh, I say, Evelyn,” cried Audrey, “you are the very person that we +want. We are getting up charades for to-night; will you join us?” + +“Yes, do, please,” said Arthur. “And we are most anxious that Sylvia +should join too.” + +“I wish I knew her address,” said Audrey. “She is such a mystery! Mother +is rather disturbed about her. I am afraid, Arthur, we cannot have her +to-night; we must manage without.—But will you join us, Evelyn? Do you +know anything about acting?” + +“I have never acted, but I have seen plays,” said Evelyn. “I am sure I +can manage all right. I’ll do my best if you will give me a big part. I +won’t take a little part, for it would not be suitable.” + +Audrey colored and laughed. + +“Well, come, anyway, and we will do our best for you,” she said. “Have +you finished your breakfast? The rest of us are in my schoolroom. You +have not been introduced to it yet. Come if you are ready; we are all +waiting.” + +After her miserable morning, Evelyn considered this an agreeable change. +She had intended to go up-stairs to comfort Jasper, but really and truly +Jasper must wait. She accordingly went with her cousin, and was welcomed +by all the children, who pitied her and wanted to make her as much at +home as possible. A couple of charades were discussed, and Evelyn was +thoroughly satisfied with the _rôle_ assigned her. She was a clever +child enough, and had some powers of mimicry. As the different +arrangements were being made she suddenly remembered something, and +uttered a cry. + +“Oh dear!” she said—“oh dear! What a pity!” + +“What is it now, Evelyn?” asked her cousin. + +“Why, your mother is so—I suppose I ought not to say it—your +mother—I—— There! I must not say that either. Your mother——” + +“Oh, for goodness’ sake speak out!” said Audrey. “What has poor, dear +mother done?” + +“She is sending Jasper away; she is—she is. Oh, can I bear it? Don’t you +think it is awful of her?” + +“I am sorry for you,” said Audrey. + +“Jasper would be so useful,” continued Evelyn. “She is such a splendid +actress; she could help me tremendously. I do wish she could stay even +till to-morrow. Cannot you ask Aunt Frances—cannot you, Audrey? I wish +you would.” + +“I must not, Evelyn; mother cannot brook interference. She would not +dream of altering her plans just for a play.—Well,” she added, looking +round at the rest of her guests, “I think we have arranged everything +now; we must meet here not later than three o’clock for rehearsal. Who +would like to go out?” she added. “The morning is lovely.” + +The boys and girls picked up hats and cloaks and ran out immediately +into the grounds. Evelyn took the first covering she could find, and +joined the others. + +“They ought to consult me more,” she said to herself. “I see there is no +help for it; I must live here for a bit and put Audrey down—that at +least is due to me. But when next there are people here I shall be +arranging the charades, and I shall invite them to go out into the +grounds. It is a great bother about Jasper; but there! she must bear it, +poor dear. She will be all right when I tell her that I will get her +back when the Castle belongs to me.” + +Meanwhile Arthur, remembering his promise to Sylvia, ran away from where +the others were standing. The boy ran fast, hoping to see Sylvia. He had +taken a great fancy to her bright, dark eyes and her vivacious ways. + +“She promised to meet me,” he said to himself. “She is certain to keep +her word.” + +By and by he uttered a loud “Hullo!” and a slim young figure, in a +shabby crimson cloak, turned and came towards him. + +“Oh, it is you, Arthur!” said Sylvia. “Well, and how are they all?” + +“Quite well,” replied the boy. “We are going to have charades to-night, +and I am to be the doctor in one. It is rather a difficult part, and I +hope I shall do it right. I never played in a charade before. That +little monkey Evelyn is to be the patient. I do hope she will behave +properly and not spoil everything. She is such an extraordinary child! +And of course she ought to have had quite one of the most unimportant +parts, but she would not hear of it. I wish you were going to play in +the charade, Sylvia.” + +“I have often played in charades,” said Sylvia, with a quick sigh. + +“Have you? How strange! You seem to have done everything.” + +“I have done most things that girls of my age have done.” + +Arthur looked at her with curiosity. There was—he could not help +noticing it, and he blushed very vividly as he did see—a very roughly +executed patch on the side of her shoe. On the other shoe, too, the toes +were worn white. They were shabby shoes, although the little feet they +encased were neat enough, with high insteps and narrow, tapering toes. +Sylvia knew quite well what was passing in Arthur’s mind. After a moment +she spoke. + +“You wonder why I look poor,” she said. “Sometimes, Arthur, appearances +deceive. I am not poor. It is my pleasure to wear very simple clothes, +and to eat very plain food, and——” + +“Not pleasure!” said Arthur. “You don’t look as if it were your +pleasure. Why, Sylvia, I do believe you are hungry now!” + +Poor Sylvia was groaning inwardly, so keen was her hunger. + +“And I am as peckish as I can be,” said the boy, a rapid thought +flashing through his mind. “The village is only a quarter of a mile from +here, and I know there are tuck-shops. Why should we not go and have a +lark all by ourselves? Who’s to know, and who’s to care? Will you come, +Sylvia?” + +“No, I cannot,” replied Sylvia; “it is impossible. Thank you very much +indeed, Arthur. I am so glad to have seen you! I must go home, however, +in a minute or two. I was out all day yesterday, and there is a great +deal to be done.” + +“But may I not come with you? Cannot I help you?” + +“No, thank you; indeed I could not possibly have you. It is very good of +you to offer, but I cannot have you, and I must not tell you why.” + +“You do look so sad! Are you sure you cannot join the charades +to-night?” + +“Sure—certain,” said Sylvia, with a little gasp. “And I am not sad,” she +added; “there never was any one more merry. Listen to me now; I am going +to laugh the echoes up.” + +They were standing where a defile of rocks stretched away to their left. +The stream ran straight between the narrow opening. The girl slightly +changed her position, raised her hand, and called out a clear “Hullo!” +It was echoed back from many points, growing fainter and fainter as it +died away. + +“And now you say I am not merry!” she exclaimed. “Listen.” + +She laughed a ringing laugh. There never was anything more musical than +the way that laughter was taken up, as if there were a thousand sprites +laughing too. Sylvia turned her white face and looked full at Arthur. + +“Oh, I am such a merry girl!” she said, “and such a glad one! and such a +thankful one! And I am rich—not poor—but I like simple things. Good-by, +Arthur, for the present.” + +“I will come and see you again. You are quite wonderful!” he said. “I +wish mother knew you. And I wish my sister Moss were here; I wish she +knew you.” + +“Moss! What a curious name!” said Sylvia. + +“We have always called her that. She is just like moss, so soft and yet +so springy; so comfortable, and yet you dare not take too much liberty +with her. She is fragile, too, and mother had to take great care of her. +I should like you to see her; she would——” + +“What would she do?” asked Sylvia. + +“She would understand you; she would draw part at least of the trouble +away.” + +“Oh! don’t, Arthur—don’t, don’t read me like that,” said the girl. + +The tears just dimmed her eyes. She dashed them away, laughed again +merrily, and the next moment had turned the corner and was lost to view. + + + + +CHAPTER XI.—“I CANNOT ALTER MY PLANS.” + + +Immediately after lunch Lady Frances beckoned Evelyn to her side. + +“Go up-stairs and ask Jasper to dress you,” she said. “The carriage will +be round in a few minutes.” + +Evelyn wanted to expostulate. She looked full at Audrey. Surely Audrey +would protect her from the terrible infliction of a long drive alone +with Lady Frances! Audrey did catch Evelyn’s beseeching glance; she took +a step forward. + +“Do you particularly want Evelyn this afternoon, mother?” she asked. + +“Yes, dear; if I did not want her I should not ask her to come with me.” + +Lady Frances’s words were very impressive; Audrey stood silent. + +“Please tell her—please tell her!” interrupted Evelyn in a voice +tremulous with passion. + +“We are going to have charades to-night, mother, and Evelyn’s part is +somewhat important; we are all to rehearse in the schoolroom at three +o’clock.” + +“And my part is very important,” interrupted Evelyn again. + +“I am sorry,” said Lady Frances, “but Evelyn must come with me. Is there +no one else to take the part, Audrey?” + +“Yes, mother; Sophie could do it. She has a very small part, and she is +a good actress, and Evelyn could easily do Sophie’s part; but, all the +same, it will disappoint Eve.” + +“I am sorry for that,” said Lady Frances; “but I cannot alter my plans. +Give Sophie the part that Evelyn would have taken; Evelyn can take her +part.—You will have plenty of time, Evelyn, when you return to coach for +the small part.” + +“Yes, you will, Evelyn; but I am sorry, all the same,” said Audrey, and +she turned away. + +Evelyn’s lips trembled. She stood motionless; then she slowly revolved +round, intending to fire some very angry words into Lady Frances’s face; +but, lo and behold! there was no Lady Frances there. She had gone +up-stairs while Evelyn was lost in thought. + +Very quietly the little girl went up to her own room. Jasper, her eyes +almost swollen out of her head with crying, was there to wait on her. + +“I have been packing up, Miss Evelyn,” she said. “I am to go this +afternoon. Her ladyship has made all arrangements, and a cab is to come +from the ‘Green Man’ in the village to fetch me and my luggage at +half-past three. It is almost past belief, Miss Eve, that you and me +should be parted like this.” + +“You look horrid, Jasper, when you cry so hard!” said Evelyn. “Oh, of +course I am awfully sorry; I do not know how I shall live without you.” + +“You will miss me a good bit,” said the woman. “I am surprised, though, +that you should take it as you do. If you raised your voice and started +the whole place in an uproar you would be bound to have your own way. +But as it is, you are mum as you please; never a word out of you either +of sorrow or anything else, but off you go larking with those children +and forgetting the one who has made you, mended you, and done everything +on earth for you since long before your mother died.” + +“Don’t remind me of mothery now,” said the girl, and her lips trembled; +then she added in a changed voice: “I cannot help it, Jasper. I have +been fighting ever since I came here, and I want to fight—oh, most +badly, most desperately!—but somehow the courage has gone out of me. I +am ever so sorry for you, Jasper, but I cannot help myself; I really +cannot.” + +Jasper was silent. After a time she said slowly: + +“And your mother wrote a letter on her deathbed asking Lady Frances to +let me stay with you whatever happened.” + +“I know,” said Evelyn. “It is awful of her; it really is.” + +“And do you think,” continued the woman, “I am going to submit?” + +“Why, you must, Jasper. You cannot stay if they do not wish for you. And +you have got all your wages, have you not?” + +“I have, my dear; I have. Yes,” continued the woman; “she thinks, of +course, that I am satisfied, and that I am going as mum as a mouse and +as quiet as the grave, but she is fine and mistook; I ain’t doing +nothing of the sort. Go I must, but not far. I have a plan in my head. +It may come to nothing; but if it does come to something, as I hope to +goodness it will, then you will hear of me again, my pet, and I won’t be +far off to protect you if the time should come that you need me. And +now, what do you want of me, my little lamb, for your face is piteous to +see?” + +“I am a miserable girl,” said Evelyn. “I could cry for hours, but there +is no time. Dress me, then, for the last time, Jasper. Oh, Jasper +darling, I am fond of you!” + +Evelyn’s stoical, hard sort of nature seemed to give way at this +juncture; she flung her arms round her maid’s neck and kissed her many +times passionately. The woman kissed her, too, in a hungry sort of way. + +“You are really not going far away, Jasper?” said Evelyn when, dressed +in her coat and hat, she was ready to start. + +“My plans are laid but not made yet,” said the woman. “You will hear +from me likely to-morrow, my love. And now, good-by. I have packed all +your things in the trunks they came in, and the wardrobe is empty. Oh, +my pet, my pet, good-by! Who will look after you to-night, and who will +sleep in the little white bed alongside of you? Oh, my darling, the +spirit of your Jasper is broke, that it is!” + +“Evelyn!” called her aunt, who was passing her room at that moment, “the +carriage is at the door. Come at once.” + +Evelyn ran down-stairs. She wore a showy, unsuitable hat and a showy, +unsuitable jacket. She got quickly into the carriage, and flopped down +by the side of the stately Lady Frances. + +Lady Frances was a very judicious woman in her way. She reprimanded +whenever in her opinion it was necessary to reprimand, but she never +nagged. It needed but a glance to show her that Evelyn required to be +educated in every form of good-breeding, and that education the good +woman fully intended to take in hand without a moment’s delay, but she +did not intend to find fault moment by moment. She said nothing, +therefore, either in praise or blame to the small, awkward, conceited +little girl by her side; but she gave orders to stop at Simpson’s in the +High Street, and the carriage started briskly forward. Wynford Castle +was within half a mile of the village which was called after it, and +five miles away from a large and very important cathedral town—the +cathedral town of Easterly. During the drive Lady Frances chatted in the +sort of tone she would use to a small girl, and Evelyn gave short and +sulky replies. Finding that her conversation was not interesting to her +small guest, the good lady became silent and wrapped up in her own +thoughts. Presently they arrived at Simpson’s, and there the lady and +the child got out and entered the shop. Evelyn was absolutely bewildered +by the amount of things which her aunt ordered for her. It is true that +she had had, as Jasper expressed it, quite a small trousseau when in +Paris; but during her mother’s lifetime her dresses had come to her +slowly and with long intervals between. Mrs. Wynford had been a showy +but by no means a good dresser; she loved the gayest, most bizarre +colors, and she delighted in adorning her child with bits of feathers, +scraps of shabby lace, beads, and such-like decorations. After her +mother’s death, when Evelyn, considered herself rich, she and Jasper +purchased the same sort of things, only using better materials. Thus the +thin silk was exchanged for thick silk, cotton-back satin for the real +article, velveteen for velvet, cheap lace for real lace, and the gaily +colored beads for gold chains and strings of pearls. Nothing in Evelyn’s +opinion and nothing in Jasper’s opinion could be more exquisitely +beautiful than the toilet which Evelyn brought to Castle Wynford; but +Lady Frances evidently thought otherwise. She ordered a dark-blue serge, +with a jacket to match, to be put in hand immediately for the little +girl; she bought a dark-gray dress, ready made, which was to be sent +home that same evening. She got a neat black hat to wear with the dress, +and a thick black pilot-cloth jacket to cover the small person of the +heiress. As to her evening-dresses, she chose them of fine, soft white +silk and fine, soft muslin; and then, having added a large store of +underclothing, all of the best quality, and one or two pale-pink and +pale-blue evening-frocks, all severely plain, she got once more into her +carriage, and, accompanied by Evelyn, drove home. On the seat in front +of the pair reposed a box which contained a very simple white muslin +frock for Evelyn to wear that evening. + +“I suppose Jasper will have gone when I get back?” said the little girl +to Lady Frances. + +“Certainly,” said Lady Frances. “I ordered her to be out of the house by +half-past three; it is now past five o’clock.” + +“What am I to do for a maid?” + +“My servant Read shall wait on you to-night and every evening and +morning until our guests have gone; then Audrey’s maid Louisa will +attend on you.” + +“But I want a maid all to myself.” + +“You cannot have one. Louisa will give you what assistance is necessary. +I presume you do not want to be absolutely dependent; you would like to +be able to do things for yourself.” + +“In mother’s time I did everything for myself, but now it is different. +I am a very, very rich girl now.” + +Lady Frances was silent when Evelyn made this remark. + +“I am rich, am I not, Aunt Frances?” said the little heiress almost +timidly. + +“I cannot see where the riches come in, Evelyn. At the present moment +you depend on your uncle for every penny that is spent upon you.” + +“But I am the heiress!” + +“Let the future take care of itself. You are a little girl—small, +insignificant, and ignorant. You require to be trained and looked after, +and to have your character moulded, and for all these things you depend +on the kindness of your relations. The fact is this, Evelyn: at present +you have not the slightest idea of your true position. When you find +your level I shall have hopes of you—not before.” + +Evelyn leant back hopelessly in the carriage and began to sob. After a +time she said: + +“I wish you would let me keep Jasper.” + +Lady Frances was silent. + +“Why won’t you let me keep Jasper?” + +“I do not consider it good for you.” + +“But mothery asked you to.” + +“It gives me pain, Evelyn, under the circumstances to refuse your +mother’s request; but I have consulted your uncle, and we both feel that +the steps I have taken are the only ones to take.” + +“Who will sleep in my room to-night?” + +“Are you such a baby as to need anybody?” + +“I never slept alone in my life. I am quite terrified. I suppose your +big, ancient house is haunted?” + +“Oh, what a silly child you are! Very well, for a night or two I will +humor you, and Read shall sleep in the room; but now clearly understand +I allow no bedroom suppers and no gossip—but Read will see to that. Now, +make up your mind to be happy and contented—in short, to submit to the +life which Providence has ordered for you. Think first of others and +last of yourself and you may be happy. Consult Audrey and Miss Sinclair +and you will gain wisdom. Obey me whether you like it or not, or you +will certainly be a very wretched girl. Ah! and here we are. You would +like to go to the schoolroom; they are having tea there, I believe. Run +off, dear; that will do for the present.” + +When Evelyn reached the schoolroom she found a busy and animated group +all seated about in different parts of it. They were eagerly discussing +the charade, and when Evelyn arrived she was welcomed. + +“I am ever so sorry, Evelyn,” said Audrey, “that you cannot have the +part you wanted; but we mean to get up some other charades later on in +the week, and then you shall help us and have a very good part. You do +not mind our arrangement for to-night, do you?” + +Evelyn replied somewhat sulkily. Audrey determined to take no notice. +She sat down by her little cousin, told Sophie to fetch some hot tea, +and soon coaxed Evelyn into a fairly good-humor. The small part she was +to undertake was read over to her, and she was obliged to get certain +words by heart. She had little or no idea of acting, but there was a +certain calm assurance about her which would carry her through many +difficulties. The children, incited by Audrey’s example, were determined +to pet her and make the best of her; and when she did leave the +schoolroom she felt almost as happy and important as she thought she +ought to be. + +“What a horrid girl she is!” said Sophie as soon as the door had closed +behind Evelyn. + +“I wish you would not say that,” remarked Audrey; and a look of distress +visited her pretty face. + +“Oh, we do not mind for ourselves,” remarked Juliet; “it is on your +account, Audrey. You know what great friends we have always been, and +now to have you associated every day, and all day long with a girl of +that sort—it really seems almost past bearing.” + +“I shall get used to it,” said Audrey. “And remember that I pity her, +and am sorry—very sorry—for her. I dare say we shall win her over by +being kind.” + +“Well,” said Henrietta, rising as she spoke and slowly crossing the +room, “I have promised to be civil to her for your sake for a day or +two, but I vow it will not last long if she gives herself such +ridiculous airs. The idea of her ever having a place like this!” + +She said the last words below her breath, and Audrey did not hear them. +Presently her mother called her, and the young girl ran off. The others +looked at each other. + +“Well, Arthur, and what is filling your mind?” said his sister +Henrietta, looking into the face of the handsome boy. + +“I am thinking of Sylvia,” he answered. “I wish she were here instead of +Evelyn. Don’t you like her very much, Hennie? Don’t you think she is a +very handsome and very interesting girl?” + +“I hardly spoke to her,” replied Henrietta. “I saw you were taken with +her.” + +“She was mysterious; that is one reason why I like her,” he replied. +Then he added abruptly: “I wish you would make friends with her, +Henrietta. I wish you, and Juliet too, could be specially kind to her; +she looks so very sad.” + +“I never saw a merrier girl,” was Juliet’s reply. “But then, I don’t see +people with your eyes; you are always a good one at guessing people’s +secrets.” + +“I take after Moss in that,” he replied. + +“There never was any one like her,” said Juliet. “Well, I am going to +dress now. I hope the charade will go off well. What a blessing Lady +Frances came to the rescue and delivered us from Evelyn’s spoiling +everything by taking a good part!” + +Meanwhile Evelyn had gone up to her room. It was neat and in perfect +order once more. Jasper’s brief reign had passed and left no sign. The +fire burned brightly on the carefully swept-up hearth; the electric +light made the room bright as day. A neat, grave-looking woman was +standing by the fire, and when Evelyn appeared she came forward to meet +her. + +“My name is Mrs. Read,” she said. “I am my mistress’s own special maid, +but she has asked me to see to your toilet this evening, Miss Wynford; +and this, I understand, is the dress her ladyship wishes you to wear.” + +Evelyn pouted; then she tossed off her hat and looked full up at Read. +Her lips quivered, and a troubled, pathetic light for the first time +filled her brown eyes. + +“Where is Jasper?” she asked abruptly. + +“Miss Jasper has left, my dear young lady.” + +“Then I hate you, and I don’t want you to dress me. You can go away,” +said Evelyn. + +“I am sorry, Miss Wynford, but her ladyship’s orders are that I am to +attend to your wardrobe. Perhaps you will allow me to do your hair and +put on your dress at once, as her ladyship wants me to go to her a +little later.” + +“You will do nothing of the kind. I will dress myself now that Jasper +has gone.” + +“And a good thing too, miss. Young ladies ought always to make +themselves useful. The more you know, the better off you will be; that +is my opinion.” + +Evelyn looked full up at Read. Read had a kindly face, calm blue eyes, a +firm, imperturbable sort of mouth. She wore her hair very neatly banded +on each side of her head. Her dress was perfectly immaculate. There was +nothing out of place; she looked, in short, like the very soul of order. + +“Do you know who I am?” was Evelyn’s remark. + +“Certainly I do, Miss Wynford.” + +“Please tell me.” + +The glimmer of a smile flitted across Read’s calm mouth. + +“You are a young lady from Tasmania, niece to the Squire, and you have +come over here to be educated with Miss Audrey—bless her!” + +“Is that all you know!” said Evelyn. “Then I will tell you more. There +will come a day when your Miss Audrey will have nothing to do with the +Castle, and when I shall have everything to do with it. I am to be +mistress here any day, whenever my uncle dies.” + +“My dear Miss Wynford, don’t speak like that! The Squire is safe to +live, Providence permitting, for many a long year.” + +Evelyn sat down again. + +“I think my aunt, Lady Frances, one of the cruellest women in the +world,” she continued. “Now you know what I think, and you can tell her, +you nasty cross-patch. You can go away and tell her at once. I longed to +say so to her face when I was out driving to-day, but she has got the +upper hand of me, although she is not going to keep it. I don’t want you +to help me; I hate you nearly as much as I hate her!” + +Read looked as though she did not hear a single remark that Evelyn made. +She crossed the room, and presently returned with a can of hot water and +poured some into a basin. + +“Now, miss,” she said, “if you will wash your face and hands, I will +arrange your hair.” + +There was something in her tone which reduced Evelyn to silence. + +“Did you not hear what I said?” she remarked after a minute. + +“No, miss; it may be more truthful to say I did not. When young ladies +talk silly, naughty words I have a ’abit of shutting up my ears; so it +ain’t no manner of use to talk on to me, miss, for I don’t hear, and I +won’t hear, and that is flat. If you will come now, like a good little +lady, and allow yourself to be dressed, I have a bit of a surprise for +you; but you will not know about it before your toilet is complete.” + +“A bit of a surprise!” said Evelyn, who was intensely curious. “What in +the world can it be?” + +“I will tell you when you are dressed, miss; and I must ask you to +hurry, for my mistress is waiting for me.” + +If Evelyn had one overweening failing more than another, it was +inordinate curiosity. She rose, therefore, and submitted with a very bad +grace to Read’s manipulations. Her face and hands were washed, and Read +proceeded to brush out the scanty flaxen locks. + +“Are you not going to pile my hair on the top of my head?” asked the +little girl. + +“Oh dear, no, Miss Wynford; that ain’t at all the way little ladies of +your age wear their hair.” + +“I always wore it like that when I was in Tasmania with mothery!” + +“Tasmania is not England, miss. It would not suit her ladyship for you +to wear your hair so.” + +“Then I won’t wear it any other way.” + +“As you please, miss. I can put on your dress, and you can arrange your +hair yourself, but I won’t give you what will be a bit of a surprise to +you.” + +“Oh, do it as you please,” said Evelyn. + +Her hair, very pretty in itself, although far too thin to make much +show, was accordingly arranged in childish fashion; and when Evelyn +presently found herself arrayed in her high-bodied and long-sleeved +white muslin dress, with white silk stockings and little silk shoes to +match, and a white sash round her waist, she gazed at herself in the +glass in puzzled wonder. + +Read stood for a moment watching her face. + +“I am pretty, am I not?” said Evelyn, turning and looking full at her +maid. + +“It is best not to think of looks, and it is downright sinful to talk of +them,” was Read’s somewhat severe answer. + +Evelyn’s eyes twinkled. + +“I feel like a very good, pretty little girl,” she said. “Last night I +was a charming grown-up young lady. Very soon again I shall be a +charming grown-up young lady, and whether Aunt Frances likes it or not, +I shall be much, much better-looking than Audrey. Now, please, I have +been good, and I want what you said you had for me.” + +“It is a letter from Jasper,” replied Read. “She told me I was to give +it to you. Now, please, miss, don’t make yourself untidy. You look very +nice and suitable. When the gong rings you can go down-stairs, or sooner +if your fancy takes you. I am going off now to attend to my mistress.” + +When alone, Evelyn tore open the letter which Jasper had left for her. +It was short, and ran as follows: + + My darling, precious Lamb,—The best friends must part, but, oh, it + is a black, black heart that makes it necessary! My heart is + bleeding to think that you won’t have me to make your chocolate, and + to lie down in the little white bed by your side this evening. Yes, + it is bleeding, and bleeding badly, and there will be no blessing on + her who has tried to part us. But, Miss Evelyn, my dear, don’t you + fret, for though I am away I do not mean to be far away, and when + you want me I will still be there. I have a plan in my head, and I + will let you know about it when it is properly laid. No more at + present, but if you think of me every minute to-night, so will I + think of you, my dear little white Eve; and don’t forget, darling, + that whatever they may do to you, the time will come when they will + all, the Squire excepted, be under your thumb. + —Your loving + “Jasper.” + +The morsel of content and satisfaction which Evelyn had felt when she +saw herself looking like a nice, ordinary little girl, and when she had +sat in the schoolroom surrounded by all the gay young folks of her +cousin’s station in life, vanished completely as she read Jasper’s +injudicious words. Tears flowed from her eyes; she clenched her hands. +She danced passionately about the room. She longed to tear from her +locks the white ribbons which Read had arranged there; she longed to get +into the white satin dress which she had worn on the previous occasion; +she longed to do anything on earth to defy Lady Frances; but, alack and +alas! what good were longings when the means of yielding to them were +denied?—for all that precious and fascinating wardrobe had been put into +Evelyn’s traveling-trunks, and those trunks had been conveyed from the +blue-and-silver bedroom. The little girl found that she had to submit. + +“Well, I do—I do,” she thought—“but only outwardly. Oh, she will never +break me in! Mothery darling, she will never break me in. I am going to +be naughty always, always, because she is so cruel, and because I hate +her, and because she has parted me from Jasper—your friend, my darling +mothery, your friend!” + + + + +CHAPTER XII.—HUNGER. + + +When Jasper was conveyed from Wynford Castle she drove to the “Green +Man” in the village. There she asked the landlady if she could give her +a small bedroom for the night. The landlady, a certain Mrs. Simpson, was +quite willing to oblige Miss Jasper. She was accommodated with a +bedroom, and having seen her boxes deposited there, wandered about the +village. She took the bearings of the place, which was small and +unimportant, and altogether devoted to the interests of the great folks +at Castle Wynford. Wynford village lived, indeed, for the Castle; +without the big house, as they called it, the villagers would have +little or no existence. The village received its patronage from the +Squire and his family. Every house in the village belonged to Squire +Wynford. The inhabitants regarded him as if he were their feudal lord. +He was kindly to all, sympathetic in sorrow, ready to rejoice when +bright moments visited each or any of his tenants. Lady Frances was an +admirable almoner of the different charities which came from the great +house. There was not a poor woman in the length and breadth of Wynford +village who was not perfectly well aware that her ladyship knew all +about her, even to her little sins and her small transgressions; all +about her struggles as well as her falls, her temptations as well as her +moments of victory. Lady Frances was loved and feared; the Squire was +loved and respected; Audrey was loved in the sort of passionate way in +which people will regard the girl who always has been to them more or +less a little princess. Therefore now, as Jasper walked slowly through +the village with the fading light falling all over her, she knew she was +a person of interest. Beyond doubt that was the case; but although the +villagers were interested in her, and peeped outside their houses to +watch her (even the grocer, who did a roaring trade, and took the tenor +solo on Sunday in the church choir, peered round his doorstep with the +others), she knew that she was favored with no admiring looks, and that +the villagers one and all were prepared to fight her. That was indeed +the case, for secrets are no secrets where a great family are concerned, +and the villagers knew that Jasper had come over from the other side of +the world with the real heiress. + +“A dowdy, ill-favored girl,” they said one to the other; “but +nevertheless, when the Squire—bless him!—is gathered to his fathers, she +will reign in his stead, and sweet, darling, beautiful Miss Audrey will +be nowhere.” + +They said this, repeating the disagreeable news one to the other, and +vowing each and all that they would never care for the Australian girl, +and never give her a welcome. + +As Jasper slowly walked she was conscious of the feeling of hostility +which surrounded her. + +“It won’t do,” she said to herself. “I meant to take up my abode at the +‘Green Man,’ and I meant that no one in the place should turn me out, +but I do not believe I shall be able to continue there; and yet, to go +far away from my sweet little Eve is not to be thought of. I have money +of my own. Her mother was a wise woman when she said to me, ‘Jasper, the +time may come when you will need it; and although it belongs to Eve, you +must spend it as you think best in her service.’ + +“It ain’t much,” thought Jasper to herself, “but it is sixty pounds, and +I have it in gold sovereigns, scattered here and there in my big black +trunk, and I mean to spend it in watching over the dear angel lamb. Mrs. +Simpson of the ‘Green Man’ would be the better of it, but she sha’n’t +have much of it—of that I am resolved.” + +So Jasper presently left the village and began strolling in the +direction where the river Earn flows between dark rocks until it loses +itself in a narrow stream among the peaceful hills. In that direction +lay The Priory, with its thick yew hedge and its shut-in appearance. + +As Jasper continued her walk she knew nothing of the near neighborhood +of The Priory, and no one in all the world was farther from her thoughts +than the pretty, tall slip of a girl who lived there. + +Now, it so happened that Sylvia was taking her walks abroad also in the +hour of dusk. It was one of her peculiarities never to spend an hour +that she could help indoors. She had to sleep indoors, and she had to +take what food she could manage to secure also under the roof which she +so hated; but, come rain or shine, storm or calm, every scrap of the +rest of her time was spent wandering about. To the amount of fresh air +which she breathed she owed her health and a good deal of her beauty. +She was out now as usual, her big mastiff, Pilot, bearing her company. +She was never afraid where she wandered with this protection, for Pilot +was a dog of sagacity, and would soon make matters too hot for any one +who meant harm to his young mistress. + +Sylvia walked slowly. She was thinking hard. “What a delightful time she +was having twenty-four hours ago! What a good dinner she was about to +eat! How pleasant it was to wear Audrey’s pretty dress! How delightful +to dance in the hall and talk to Arthur Jervice! She wondered what his +sister with the curious name was like. How beautiful his face looked +when he spoke of her! + +“She must be lovely too,” thought Sylvia. “And so restful! There is +nothing so cool and comfortable and peaceful as a mossy bank. I suppose +she is called Moss because she comforts people.” + +Sylvia hurried a little. Presently she stood and looked around her to be +sure that no one was by. She then deliberately tightened her belt. + +“It makes me feel the pangs less,” she thought. “Oh dear, how +delightful, how happy those must be who are never, never hungry! +Sometimes I can scarcely bear it; I almost feel that I could steal +something to have a big, big meal. What a lot I ate last night, and how +I longed to pocket even that great hunch of bread which was placed near +my plate! But I did not dare. I thought my big meal would keep off my +hunger to-day, but I believe it has made it worse than ever. I must have +a straight talk with father to-night. I must tell him plainly that, +however coarse the food, I must at least have enough of it. Oh dear, I +ache—I _ache_ for a good meal!” + +The poor girl stood still. Footsteps were heard approaching. They were +now close by. Pilot pricked up his ears and listened. A moment later +Jasper appeared on the scene. + +When she saw Sylvia she stopped, dropped a little courtesy, and said in +a semi-familiar tone: + +“And how are you this evening, Miss Leeson?” + +Sylvia had not seen her as she approached. The girl started now and +turned quickly round. + +“You are Jasper?” she said. “What are you doing here?” + +“Taking the air, miss. Have you any objection?” + +“None, of course,” replied Sylvia. + +Had there been light enough to see, Jasper would have noticed that the +girl’s face took on a cheerful expression. She laid her hand on Pilot’s +forehead. Pilot growled. Sylvia said to him: + +“Be quiet; this is a friend.” + +Pilot evidently understood the words. He wagged his bushy tail and +looked in Jasper’s direction. Jasper came boldly up and laid her hand +beside Sylvia’s on the dog’s forehead. The tail wagged more +demonstratively. + +“You have won him,” said Sylvia in a tone of delight. “Do you know, I am +glad, although I cannot tell why I should be.” + +“He looks as if he could be very formidable,” said Jasper.—“Ah, good +dog—good dog! Noble creature! So I am your friend? Good dog!” + +“But it must be rather unpleasant for visitors to come to call on you, +Miss Sylvia, with such a dog as that loose about the place. Now, I, for +instance——” + +“If you had a message from Evelyn for me,” said Sylvia, “you could call +now with impunity. Strangers cannot; that is why father keeps Pilot. He +is trained never to touch any one, but he is also trained to keep every +one out. He does that in the best manner possible. He stands right in +the person’s path and shows his big fangs and growls. Nobody would dream +of going past him; but you would be safe.” + +Jasper stood silent. + +“It may be useful,” she repeated. + +“You have not come now with a message from Evelyn?” said Sylvia, a +pathetic tone in her voice. + +“No, miss, I have not; but do you know, miss—do you know what has +happened to me?” + +“How should I?” replied Sylvia. + +“I am turned out, miss—turned out by her ladyship—I who had a letter +from Mrs. Wynford in Tasmania asking her ladyship to keep me always as +my little Evelyn’s friend and nurse and guardian. Yes, Miss Sylvia, I am +turned away as though I were dirt. I am turned away, miss, although it +was only yesterday that her ladyship got the letter which the dying +mother wrote. It is hard, is it not, Miss Leeson? It is cruel, is it +not?” + +“Hard and cruel!” echoed Sylvia. “It is worse. It is a horrible sin. I +wonder you stand it!” + +“Now, miss, for such a pretty young lady I wonder you have not more +sense. Do you think I’d go if I could help it?” + +“What does Evelyn say?” asked Sylvia, intensely excited. + +“What does she say? Nothing. She is stunned, I take it; but she will +wake up and know what it means. No chocolate, and no one to sleep in the +little white bed by her side.” + +“Oh, how she must enjoy her chocolate!” said poor Sylvia, a sigh of +longing in her voice. + +“I am grand at making it,” said Jasper. “I have spent my life in many +out-of-the-way places. It was in Madrid I learnt to make chocolate; no +one can excel me with it. I’d like well to make a cup for you.” + +“And I’d like to drink it,” said Sylvia. + +“As well as I can see you in this light,” continued Jasper, “you look as +if a cup of my chocolate would do you good. Chocolate made all of milk, +with plenty of bread and butter, is a meal which no one need despise. I +say, miss, shall we go back to the “Green Man,” and shall you and me +have a bit of supper together? You would not be too proud to take it +with me although I am only my young lady’s maid?” + +“I wish I could,” said Sylvia. There was a wild desire in her heart, a +sort of passion of hunger. “But,” she continued, “I cannot; I must go +home now.” + +“Is your home near, miss?” + +“Oh yes; it is just at the other side of that wall. But please do not +talk of it—father hates people knowing. He likes us to live quite +solitary.” + +“And it is a big house. Yes, I can see that,” continued Jasper, peering +through the trees. + +Just then a young crescent moon showed its face, a bank of clouds swept +away to the left, and Jasper could distinctly see the square outline of +an ugly house. She saw something else also—the very white face of the +hungry Sylvia, the look which was almost starvation in her eyes. Jasper +was clever; she might not be highly educated in the ordinary sense, but +she had been taught to use her brains, and she had excellent brains to +use. Now, as she looked at the girl, an idea flashed through her mind. + +“For some extraordinary reason that child is downright hungry,” she said +to herself. “Now, nothing would suit my purpose better.” + +She came close to Sylvia and laid her hand on her arm. + +“I have taken a great fancy to you, miss,” she said. + +“Have you?” answered Sylvia. + +“Yes, miss; and I am very lonely, and I don’t mean to stay far away from +my dear young lady.” + +“Are you going to live in the village?” asked Sylvia. + +“I have a room now at the ‘Green Man,’ Miss Leeson, but I don’t mean to +stay there; I don’t care for the landlady. And I don’t want to be, so to +speak, under her ladyship’s nose. Her ladyship has took a mortal hatred +to me, and as the village, so to speak, belongs to the Castle, if the +Castle was to inform the ‘Green Man’ that my absence was more to be +desired than my company, why, out I’d have to go. You can understand +that, can you not, miss?” + +“Yes—of course.” + +“And it is the way with all the houses round here,” continued Jasper; +“they are all under the thumb of the Castle—under the thumb of her +ladyship—and I cannot possibly stay near my dear young lady unless——” + +“Unless?” questioned Sylvia. + +“You was to give me shelter, miss, in your house.” + +Sylvia backed away, absolute terror creeping over her face. + +“Oh! I could not,” she said. “You do not know what you are asking. We +never have any one at The Priory. I could not possibly do it.” + +“I’d pay you a pound a week,” said Jasper, throwing down her trump +card—“a pound a week,” she continued—“twenty whole shillings put in the +palm of that pretty little hand of yours, paid regularly in advance; and +you might have me in a big house like that without anybody knowing. I +heard you speak of the gentleman, your father; he need never know. Is +there not a room at The Priory which no one goes into, and could not I +sleep there? And you’d have money, miss—twenty shillings; and I’d feed +you up with chocolate, miss, and bread and butter, and—oh! lots of other +things. I have not been on a ranch in Tasmania for nothing. You could +hide me at The Priory, and you could keep me acquainted with all that +happened to my little Eve, and I’d pay for it, miss, and not a soul on +earth would be the wiser.” + +“Oh, don’t!” said Sylvia—“don’t!” She covered her face with her hands; +she shook all over. “Don’t tempt me!” she said. “Go away; do go away! Of +course I cannot have you. To deceive him—to shock him—why——Oh, I dare +not—I dare not! It would not be safe. There are times when he is +scarcely—yes, scarcely himself; and I must not try him too far. Oh, what +have I said?” + +“Nothing, my dear—nothing. You are a bit overcome. And now, shall I tell +you why?” + +“No, don’t tell me anything more. Go; do go—do go!” + +“I will go,” said Jasper, “after I have spoken. You are trembling, and +you are cold, and you are frightened—you who ought never to tremble; you +who under ordinary circumstances ought to know no fear; you who are +beautiful—yes, beautiful! But you tremble because that poor young body +of yours needs food and warmth—poor child!—I know.” + +“Go!” said Sylvia. They were her only words. + +“I will go,” answered Jasper after a pause; “but I will come again to +this same spot to-morrow night, and then you can answer me. Her ladyship +cannot turn me out between now and to-morrow night, and I will come then +for my answer.” + +She turned and left Sylvia and went straight back to the village. + +Sylvia stood still for a minute after she had gone. She then turned very +slowly and re-entered The Priory grounds. A moment later she was in the +ugly, ill-furnished house. The hall into which she had admitted herself +was perfectly dark. There were no carpets on the floor, and the wind +whistled through the ill-fitting casements. The young girl fumbled about +until she found a box of matches. She struck one and lit a candle which +stood in a brass candlestick on a shelf. She then drearily mounted the +uncarpeted stairs. She went to her own room, and opening a box, looked +quickly and furtively around her. The box contained some crusts of bread +and a few dried figs. Sylvia counted the crusts with fingers that shook. +There were five. The crusts were not large, and they were dry. + +“I will eat one to-night,” she said to herself, “and—yes, two of the +figs. I will not eat anything now. I wish Jasper had not tempted me. +Twenty shillings, and paid in advance; and father need never know! Lots +of room in the house! Yes; I know the one she could have, and I could +make it comfortable; and father never goes there—never. It is away +beyond the kitchen. I could make it very comfortable. She should have a +fire, and we could have our chocolate there. We must never, never have +any cooking that smells; we must never have anything fried; we must just +have plain things. Oh! I dare not think any more. Mother once said to +me, ‘If your father ever, ever finds out, Sylvia, that you have deceived +him, all, all will be up.’ I won’t yield to temptation; it would be an +awful act of deceit. I cannot—I will not do it! If he will only give me +enough I will resist Jasper; but it is hard on a girl to be so +frightfully hungry.” + +She sighed, pulled herself together, walked to the window, and looked up +at the watery moon. + +“My own mother,” she whispered, “can you see me, and are you sorry for +me, and are you helping me?” + +Then she washed her hands, combed out her pretty, curly black hair, and +ran down-stairs. When she got half-way down she burst into a cheerful +song, and as she bounded into a room where a man sat crouching over a +few embers on the hearth her voice rose to positive gaiety. + +“Where have you been all this time?” said the querulous tones. + +“Learning a new song for you, dad. Come now; supper is ready.” + +“Supper!” said the man. He rose, and turned and faced his daughter. + +He was a very thin man, with hair which must once have been as black as +Sylvia’s own; his eyes, dark as the young girl’s, were sunk so far back +in his head that they gleamed like half-burnt-out coals; his cheeks were +very hollow, and he gave a pathetic laugh as he turned and faced the +girl. + +“I have been making a calculation,” he said, “and it is my firm +impression that we are spending a great deal more than is necessary. +There are further reductions which it is quite possible to make. But +come, child—come. How fat and well and strong you look, and how hearty +your voice is! You are a merry creature, Sylvia, and the joy of my life. +Were it not for you I should never hold out. And you are so good at +pinching and contriving, dear! But there, I give you too many luxuries +don’t I, my little one? I spoil you, don’t I? What did you say was +ready?” + +“Supper, father—supper.” + +“Supper!” said Mr. Leeson. “Why, it seems only a moment ago that we +dined.” + +“It is six hours ago, father.” + +“Now, Sylvia, if there is one thing I dislike more than another, it is +that habit of yours of counting the hours between your meals. It is a +distinct trace of greediness and of the lower nature. Ah, my child, when +will you live high above your mere bodily desires? Supper, you say? I +shall not be able to eat a morsel, but I will go with you, dear, if you +like. Come, lead the way, my singing-bird; lead the way.” + +Sylvia took a candle and lighted it. She then went on in front of her +father. They traversed a long and dark passage, and presently she threw +open the door of as melancholy and desolate a room as could be found +anywhere in England. + +The paper on the wall was scarcely perceptible, so worn was it by the +long passage of time. The floor was bare of any carpet; there was a deal +table at one end of the room; on the table a small white cloth had been +placed. A piece of bread was on a wooden platter on this table. There +was also a jug of water and a couple of baked potatoes. Sylvia had put +these potatoes into the oven before she went out, otherwise there would +not have been anything hot at all for the meager repast. The grate was +destitute of any fire; and although there were blinds to the windows, +there were no curtains. The night was a bitterly cold one, and the girl, +insufficiently clothed as well as unfed, shivered as she went into the +room. + +“What a palatial room this is!” said Mr. Leeson. “I really often think I +did wrong to come to this house. I have not the slightest doubt that my +neighbors imagine that I am a man of means. It is extremely wrong to +encourage that impression, and I trust, Sylvia, that you never by word +or action do so. A lady you are, my dear, and a lady you will look +whatever you wear; but that beautiful simplicity which rises above mere +dress and mere food is what I should like to inculcate in your nature, +my sweet child. Ah! potatoes—and hot! My dear Sylvia, was this +necessary?” + +“There are only two, father—one for you and one for me.” + +“Well, well! I suppose the young must have their dainties as long as the +world lasts,” said Mr. Leeson. “Sit down, my dear, and eat. I will stand +and watch you.” + +“Won’t you eat anything, father?” said the girl. A curious expression +filled her dark eyes. She longed for him to eat, and yet she could not +help thinking how supporting and soothing and satisfying both those +potatoes would be, and all that hunch of dry bread. + +Mr. Leeson paused before replying: + +“It would be impossible for you to eat more than one potato, and it +would be a sin that the other should be wasted. I may as well have it.” +He dropped into a chair. “Not that I am the least hungry,” he added as +he took the largest potato and put it on his plate. “Still, anything is +preferable to waste. What a pity it is that no one has discovered a use +for the skins, for these as a rule have absolutely to be wasted! When I +have gone through some abstruse calculations over which I am at present +engaged, I shall turn my attention to the matter. Quantities of +nourishing food are doubtless wasted every year by the manner in which +potato-skins are thrown away. Ah! and this bread, Sylvia—how long has it +been in the house?” + +“I got it exactly a week ago,” said Sylvia. “It is quite the ordinary +kind.” + +“It is too fresh, my dear. In future we must not eat new bread.” + +“It is a week old, father.” + +“Don’t take me up in that captious way. I say we must not eat new bread. +It was only to-day I came across a book which said that bread when +turning slightly—very slightly—moldy satisfies the appetite far more +readily than new bread. Then you will see for yourself, Sylvia, that a +loaf of such bread may be made to go nearly as far as two loaves of the +ordinary kind. You follow me, do you not, singing-bird?” + +“Yes, father—yes. But may I eat my potato now while it is hot?” + +“How the young do crave for unnecessary indulgences!” said Mr. Leeson; +but he broke his own potato in half, and Sylvia seized the opportunity +to demolish hers. + +Alack and alas! when it was finished, every scrap of it, scarcely any +even of the skin being left, she felt almost more hungry than ever. She +stretched out her hand for the bread. Mr. Leeson raised his eyes as she +did so and gave her a reproachful glance. + +“You will be ill,” he said. “You will suffer from a bilious attack. Take +it—take it if you want it; I am the last to interfere with your natural +appetite.” + +Sylvia ate; she ate although her father’s displeased eyes were fixed on +her face. She helped herself twice to the stale and untempting loaf. +Delicious it tasted. She could even have demolished every scrap of it +and still have felt half-wild with hunger. But she was eating it now to +give herself courage, for she had made up her mind—speak she must. + +The meal came to an end. Mr. Leeson had finished his potato; Sylvia had +very nearly consumed the bread. + +“There will be a very small breakfast to-morrow,” he said in a mournful +tone; “but you, Sylvia, after your enormous supper, will scarcely +require a large one.” + +Sylvia made no answer. She took her father’s hand and walked back with +him through the passage. The fire was out now in the sitting-room; +Sylvia brought her father’s greatcoat. + +“Put it on,” she said. “I want to sit close to you, and I want to talk.” + +He smiled at her and wrapped himself obediently in his coat. It was +lined with fur, a relic of bygone and happier days. Sylvia turned the +big fur collar up round his ears; then she drew herself close to him. +She seated herself on his lap. + +“Put your arm round me; I am cold,” she said. + +“Cold, my dear little girl!” he said. “Why, so you are! How very +strange! It is doubtless from overeating.” + +“No, father.” + +“Why that ‘No, father’? What a curious expression is in your voice, +Sylvia, my dear! Since your mother’s death you have been my one comfort. +Heart and soul you have gone with me through the painful life which I am +obliged to lead. I know that I am doing the right thing. I am no longer +lavishly wasting that which has been entrusted to me, but am, on the +contrary, saving for the day of need. My dear girl, you and I have +planned our life of retrenchment. How much does our food cost us for a +week?” + +“Very, very little, father. Too little.” + +“What do you mean by that?” + +“Father, forgive me; I must speak.” + +“What is wrong?” + +Mr. Leeson pushed his daughter away. His eyes, which had been full of +kindness, grew sharp and became slightly narrowed; a watchful expression +came into his face. + +“Beware, Sylvia, how you agitate me; you know the consequences.” + +“Since mother died,” answered the girl, “I have never agitated you; I +have always tried to do exactly as you wished.” + +“On the whole you have been a good girl; your one and only fault has +been your greediness. Last night, it is true, you displeased me very +deeply, but on your promise never to transgress so again I have forgiven +you.” + +“Father,” said Sylvia in a tremulous tone, “I must speak, and now. You +must not be angry, father; but you say that we spend too much on +housekeeping. We do not; we spend too little.” + +“Sylvia!” + +“Yes; I am not going to be afraid,” continued the girl. “You were +displeased with me to-night—yes, I know you were—because I nearly +finished the bread. I finished it because—because I was hungry; yes, +hungry. And, father, I do not mind how stale the bread is, nor how poor +the food, but I must—I must have enough. You do not give me enough. No, +you do not. I cannot bear the pain. I cannot bear the neuralgia. I +cannot bear the cold of this house. I want warmth, and I want food, and +I want clothes that will keep the chill away. That is all—just physical +things. I do not ask for fun, nor for companions of my own age, nor for +anything of that sort, but I do ask you, father, not to oblige me to +lead this miserable, starved life in the future.” + +Sylvia paused; her courage, after all, was short-lived. The look on her +father’s face arrested her words. He wore a stony look. His face, which +had been fairly animated, had lost almost all expression. The pupils of +his eyes were narrowed to a pin’s point. Those eyes fixed themselves on +the girl’s face as though they were gimlets, as though they meant to +pierce right into her very soul. Alarm now took the place of beseeching. + +“Never mind,” she said—“never mind; it was just your wild little +rebellious Sylvia. Don’t look at me like that. Don’t—don’t! Oh, I will +bear it—I will bear it! Don’t look at me like that!” + +“Go to your room,” was his answer, “at once. Go to your room.” + +She was a spirited girl, but she crept out of the room as though some +one had beaten her. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII.—JASPER TO THE RESCUE. + + +The next evening, at the hour which she had named, Jasper walked down +the road which led to The Priory. She walked with a confident step; she +had very little doubt that Sylvia would be waiting for her. She was not +far wrong in her expectations. A girl, wrapped in a cloak, was standing +by a hedge. By the girl stood the mastiff Pilot. Pilot was not too well +fed, but he was better fed than Sylvia. It was necessary, according to +Mr. Leeson’s ideas, that Pilot should be strong enough to guard The +Priory against thieves, against unwelcome, prying visitors—against the +whole of the human race. But even Pilot could be caught by guile, and +Sylvia was determined that he should be friends with Jasper. As Jasper +came up the road Sylvia advanced a step or two to meet her. + +“Well, dear,” said Jasper in a cheerful tone, “am I to come in, and am I +to be welcome?” + +“You are to come in,” said Sylvia. “I have made up my mind. I have been +preparing your room all day. If he finds it out I dare not think what +will happen. But come—do come; I am ready and waiting for you.” + +“I thought you would be. I can fetch the rest of my things to-morrow. +Can we slip into my room now?” + +“We can. Come at once.—Pilot, remember that this lady is our friend.—One +moment, please, Jasper; I must be quite certain that Pilot does not do +you an injury.—Pilot, give your right paw to this lady.” + +Pilot looked anxiously from Jasper to Sylvia; then, with a deliberate +movement, and a great expression of condescension on his face, he did +extend his right paw. Jasper took it. + +“Kiss him now just between his eyes,” said Sylvia. + +“Good gracious, child! I never kissed a dog in my life.” + +“Kiss him as you value your future safety. You surely do not want to be +a prisoner at The Priory!” + +“Heaven forbid!” said Jasper. “What I want to do, and what I mean to do, +is to parade before her ladyship just where her ladyship cannot touch +me. She could turn me out of every house in the place, but not from +here. I do not want to keep it any secret from her ladyship that I am +staying with you, Miss Sylvia.” + +“We can talk of that afterwards,” said Sylvia. “Come into the house +now.” + +The two turned, the dog accompanying them. They passed through the heavy +iron gates and walked softly up the avenue. + +“What a close, dismal sort of place!” said Jasper. + +“Please—please do not speak so loud; father may overhear us.” + +“Then mum’s the word,” said the woman. + +“Step on the grass here, please.” + +Jasper did exactly as Sylvia directed her, and the result was that soon +the two found themselves in as empty a kitchen as Jasper had ever beheld +in the whole course of her life. + +“Sakes, child!” she cried, “is this where you cook your meals?” + +“The kitchen does quite well enough for our requirements,” said Sylvia +in a low tone. + +“And where are you going to put me?” + +“In this room. I think in the happy days when the house was full this +room must have been used as the servants’ hall. See, there is a nice +fireplace, with a good fire in it. I have drawn down the blinds, and I +have put thick curtains—the only thick curtains we possess—across the +windows. There are shutters too. If my father does walk abroad he cannot +see any light through this window. But I am sorry to say you can have a +fire only at night, for he would be very angry if he saw the smoke +ascending in the daytime.” + +“Hard lines! But I suppose, as I made the offer, I must abide by it,” +said Jasper. “The room looks bare but well enough. It is clean, I +suppose?” + +“It is about as clean as I can make it,” said Sylvia, with a dreary +sigh. + +“As clean as you can make it? Have you not a servant, my dear?” + +“Oh no; we do not keep a servant.” + +“Then I expect my work is cut out for me,” said Jasper, who was +thoroughly good-natured, and had taken an immense fancy to Sylvia. + +“Please,” said the girl earnestly, “you must not attempt to make the +place look the least bit better; if you do, father will find out, and +then——” + +“Find out!” said Jasper. “If I were you, you poor little thing, I would +let him. But there! I am in, and possession is everything. I have +brought my supper with me, and I thought maybe you would not mind +sharing it. I have it in this basket. This basket contains what I +require for the night and our supper as well. I pay you twenty shillings +a week, and buy my own coals, so I suppose at night at least I may have +a big fire.” + +Here Jasper went to a large, old-fashioned wooden hod, and taking big +lumps of coal, put them on the fire. It blazed right merrily, and the +heat filled the room. Sylvia stole close to it and stretched out her +thin, white hands for the warmth. + +“How delicious!” she said. + +“You poor girl! Can you spend the rest of the evening with me?” + +“I must go to father. But, do you know, he has prohibited anything but +bread for supper.” + +“What!” + +“He does not want it himself, and he says that I can do with bread. Oh, +I could if there were enough bread!” + +“You poor, poor child! Why, it was Providence which sent me all the way +from Tasmania to make you comfortable and to save the bit of life in +your body.” + +“Oh, I cannot—I cannot!” said Sylvia. Her composure gave way; she sank +into a chair and burst into tears. + +“You cannot what, you poor child?” + +“Take everything from you. I—I am a lady. In reality we are rich—yes, +quite rich—only father has a craze, and he won’t spend money. He hoards +instead of spending. It began in mother’s lifetime, and he has got worse +and worse and worse. They say it is in the family, and his father had +it, and his father before him. When father was young he was extravagant, +and people thought that he would never inherit the craze of a miser; but +it has grown with his middle life, and if mother were alive now she +would not know him.” + +“And you are the sufferer, you poor lamb!” + +“Yes; I get very hungry at times.” + +“But, my dear, with twenty shillings a week you need not be hungry.” + +“Oh no. I cannot realize it. But I have to be careful; father must not +see any difference.” + +“We will have our meals here,” said Jasper. + +“But we must not light a fire by day,” said the girl. + +“Never mind; I can manage. Are there not such things as spirit-lamps? Oh +yes, I am a born cook. Now then, go away, my dear; have your meal of +bread with your father, say good-night to him, and then slip back to +me.” + +Sylvia ran off almost joyfully. In about an hour she returned. During +that time Jasper had contrived to make a considerable change in the +room. The warmth of the fire filled every corner now the thick curtains +at the window looked almost cheerful; the heavy door tightly shut +allowed no cold air to penetrate. On the little table she had spread a +white cloth, and now that table was graced by a great jug of steaming +chocolate, a loaf of crisp white bread, and a little pat of butter; and +besides these things there were a small tongue and a tiny pot of jam. + +“Things look better, don’t they?” said Jasper. “And now, my dearie, you +shall not only eat in this room, but you shall sleep in that warm bed in +which I have just put my own favorite hot-water bag.” + +“But you—you?” said Sylvia. + +“I either lie down by your side or I stay in the chair by the fire. I am +going to warm you up and pet you, for you need it, you poor, brave +little girl!” + + + + +CHAPTER XIV.—CHANGE OF PLANS. + + +A whole month had gone by since Jasper had left Evelyn, and Evelyn after +a fashion had grown accustomed to her absence. Considerable changes had +taken place in the little girl during that time. She was no longer +dressed in an _outré_ style. She wore her hair as any other very young +girl of her age would. She had ceased to consider herself grown-up; and +although she knew deep down in her heart that she was the heiress—that +by and by all the fine property would belong to her—and although she +still gloried in the fact, either fear, or perhaps the dawnings of a +better nature prevented her talking so much about it as she had done +during the early days of her stay at Castle Wynford. The guests had all +departed, and schoolroom life held sway over both the girls. Miss +Sinclair was the very soul of order; she insisted on meals being served +in the schoolroom to the minute, and schoolroom work being pursued with +regularity and method. There were so many hours for work and so many +hours for amusement. There were times when the girls might be present +with the Squire and Lady Frances, and times when they only enjoyed the +society of Miss Sinclair. There were masters for several +accomplishments, and the girls had horses to ride, and a pony-carriage +was placed at their disposal, and the hours were so full of occupation +that they went by on wings. Evelyn looked fifty times better and happier +than she had done when she first arrived at Castle Wynford, and even +Lady Frances was forced to own that the child was turning out better +than she expected. How long this comparatively happy state of things +might have lasted it is hard to say, but it was brought to an abrupt +conclusion by an event which occurred just then. This was no less than +the departure of kind Miss Sinclair. Her mother had died quite suddenly; +her father needed her at home. She could not even stay for the customary +period after giving notice of her intention to leave. Lady Frances, +under the circumstances, did not press her; and now the subject of how +the two girls were best to be educated was ceaselessly discussed. Lady +Frances was a born educationist; she had the greatest love for subjects +dealing with the education of the young. She had her own theories with +regard to this important matter, and when Miss Sinclair went away she +was for a time puzzled how to act. To get another governess was, of +course, the only thing to be done; but for a time she wavered much as to +the advisability of sending Evelyn to school. + +“I really think she ought to go,” said Lady Frances to the Squire. “Even +now she does not half know her place. She has improved, I grant you, but +the thorough discipline of school would do her good.” + +“You have never sent Audrey to school,” was the Squire’s answer. + +“I have not, certainly; but Audrey is so different.” + +“I should not like anything to be done in Evelyn’s case which has not +been done in Audrey’s,” was the Squire’s reply. + +“But surely you cannot compare the girls!” + +“I do not intend to compare them. They are absolutely different. Audrey +is all that the heart of the proudest father could desire, and Evelyn is +still——” + +“A little savage at heart,” interrupted Lady Frances. + +“Yes; but she is taming, and I think she has some fine points in +her—indeed, I am sure of it. She is, for instance, very affectionate.” + +Lady Frances looked somewhat indignant. + +“I am tired of hearing of Evelyn’s good qualities. When I perceive them +for myself I shall be the first to acknowledge them. But now, my dear +Edward, the point to be considered is this: What are we to do at once? +It is nearly the middle of the term. To give those two girls holidays +would be ruinous. There is an excellent school of a very superior sort +kept by the Misses Henderson in that large house just outside the +village. What do you say to their both going there until we can look +round us and find a suitable governess to take Miss Sinclair’s place?” + +“If they both go it does not so much matter,” said the Squire. “You can +arrange it in that way if you like, my dear Frances.” + +Lady Frances gave a sigh of relief. She was much interested in the +Misses Henderson; she herself had helped them to start their school. +Accordingly, that very afternoon she ordered the carriage and drove to +Chepstow House. The Misses Henderson were expecting her, and received +her in state in their drawing-room. + +“You know what I have come about?” she said. “Now, the thing is this—can +you do it?” + +“I am quite certain of one thing,” said the elder Miss Henderson—“that +there will be no stone left unturned on our parts to make the experiment +satisfactory.” + +“Poor, dear Miss Sinclair—it is too terrible her having to leave!” said +Lady Frances. “We shall never get her like again. To find exactly the +governess for girls like my daughter and niece is no easy matter.” + +“As to your dear daughter, she certainly will not be hard to manage,” +said the younger Miss Henderson. + +“You are right, Miss Lucy,” said Lady Frances, turning to her and +speaking with decision. “I have always endeavored to train Audrey in +those nice observances, those moral principles, and that high tone which +befits a girl who is a lady and who in the future will occupy a high +position.” + +“But your niece—your niece; she is the real problem,” said the elder +Miss Henderson. + +“Yes,” answered Lady Frances, with a sigh. “When she came to me she was +little less than a savage. She has improved. I do not like her—I do not +pretend for a moment that I do—but I wish to give the poor child every +possible advantage, and I am anxious, if possible, that my prejudice +shall not weigh with me in any sense in my dealings with her; but she +requires very firm treatment.” + +“She shall have it,” said the elder Miss Henderson; and a look of +distinct pleasure crossed her face. “I have had refractory girls before +now,” she said, “and I may add with confidence, Lady Frances, that I +have always broken them in. I do not expect to fail in the case of Miss +Wynford.” + +“Firm discipline is essential,” replied Lady Frances. “I told Miss +Sinclair so, and she agreed with me. I do not exactly know what her +method was, nor how she managed, but the child seemed happy, she learnt +her lessons correctly, and, in short, she has improved. I trust the +improvement will continue under your management.” + +Here the good lady, after adding a few more words with regard to hours, +etc., took her leave. The girls were to go to Chepstow House as +day-pupils, and the work of their education at that distinguished school +was to begin on the following morning. + +Evelyn was rather pleased than otherwise when she heard that she was to +be sent to school. She had cried and flung her arms round Miss +Sinclair’s neck when that lady was taking leave of her. Audrey, on the +contrary, had scarcely spoken; her face looked a little whiter than +usual, and her eyes a little darker. She took the governess’s hand and +wrung it, and as she bent forward to kiss her again on the cheek, Miss +Sinclair kissed her and whispered something to her. But it was poor +Evelyn who cried. The carriage took the governess away, and the girls +looked at each other. + +“I did not know you could be so stony-hearted,” said Evelyn. She took +out her handkerchief as she spoke and mopped her eyes. “Oh dear!” she +added, “I am quite broken-hearted without her. I am _such_ an +affectionate girl.” + +“We had better prepare for school,” said Audrey. “We are to go there +to-morrow morning, remember.” + +“Yes,” answered Evelyn, her eyes brightening; “and do you know, although +I am terribly sorry to part with dear Miss Sinclair, I am glad about +school. Mothery always wished me to go; she said that talents like mine +could never find a proper vent except in school-life. I wonder what sort +of girls there are at Chepstow House?” + +“I don’t know anything about it,” said Audrey. + +“Are you sorry to go, Audrey?” + +“Yes—rather. I have never been to school.” + +“How funny it will be to see you looking shy and awkward! Will you be +shy and awkward?” + +“I don’t think so. I hope not.” + +“It would be fun to see it, all the same,” said Evelyn. “But there, I am +going for a race; my legs are quite stiff for want of running. I used to +run such a lot in Tasmania on the ranch! Often and often I ran a whole +mile without stopping. Good-by for the present. I suppose I may do what +I like to-day.” + +Evelyn rushed off into the grounds. She was running at full speed +through the shrubbery on her way to a big field, which was known as the +ten-acre field, on the other side of the turnstile, when she came full +tilt against her uncle. He stopped, took her hand, and looked kindly at +her. + +“Do you know, Uncle Edward,” she said, “that I am going to school +to-morrow?” + +“So I hear, my dear little girl; and I hope you will be happy there.” + +Evelyn made no reply. Her eyes sparkled. After a time she said slowly: + +“I am glad; mother wished me to go.” + +“You love your mother’s memory very much, do you not, Eve?” + +“Yes,” she said; and tears came into her big, strange-looking eyes. “I +love her just as much as if she were alive,” she continued—“better, I +think. Whenever I am sad she seems near to me.” + +“You would do anything to please her, would you not, Eve?” + +“Yes,” answered the child. + +“Well, I wish to say something to you. You had a great fight when you +came here, but I think to a certain extent you have conquered. Our ways +were not your ways—everything was strange—and at first, my dear little +girl, you rebelled, and were not very happy.” + +“I was miserable—miserable!” + +“But you have done, on the whole, well; and if your mother could come +back again she would be pleased. I thought I should like to tell you.” + +“But, please, Uncle Edward, why would mothery be pleased? She often told +me that I was not to submit; that I was to hold my own; that——” + +“My dear, she told you those things when she was on earth; but now, in +the presence of God, she has learnt many new lessons, and I am sure, +could she now speak to you, she would tell you that you did right to +submit, and were doing well when you tried to please me, for instance.” + +“Why you, Uncle Edward?” + +“Because I am your father’s brother, and because I loved your father +better than any one on earth.” + +“Better than Aunt Frances?” said Evelyn, with a sparkle of pleasure in +her eyes. + +“In a different, quite a different way. Ay, I loved him well, and I +would do my utmost to promote the happiness of his child.” + +“I love you,” said the little girl. “I am glad—I am _glad_ that you are +my uncle.” + +She raised his hand, pressed it to her lips, and the next moment was +lost to view. + +“Queer, erratic little soul!” thought Squire Wynford to himself. “If +only we can train her aright! I often feel that Frank is watching me, +and wondering how I am dealing with the child. It seems almost cruel +that Frances should dislike her, but I trust in the end all will be +well.” + +Meanwhile Evelyn, having tired herself racing round the ten-acre field, +suddenly conceived a daring idea. She had known long ere this that her +beloved Jasper was not in reality out of reach. More than once the maid +and the little girl had met. These meetings were by no means conducive +to Evelyn’s best interests, but they added a great spice of excitement +to her life; and the thought of seeing her now, and telling her of the +change which was about to take place with regard to her education, was +too great a temptation to be resisted. Evelyn accordingly, skirting the +high-roads and making many detours through fields and lanes, presently +arrived close to The Priory. She had never ventured yet into The Priory; +she had as a rule sent a message to Jasper, and Jasper had waited for +her outside. She knew now that she must be quick or she would be late +for lunch. She did not want on this day of all days to seriously +displease Lady Frances. She went, therefore, boldly up to the gate, +pushed it open, and entered. Here she was immediately confronted by +Pilot. Pilot walked down the path, uttered one or two deep bays, growled +audibly, and showed his strong white teeth. Whatever Evelyn’s faults +were, she was no coward. An angry dog standing in her path was not going +to deter her. But she was afraid of something else. Jasper had told her +how insecure her tenure at The Priory was—how it all absolutely depended +on Mr. Leeson never finding out that she was there. Evelyn therefore did +not want to bring Mr. Leeson to her rescue. Were there no means by which +she could induce Pilot to let her pass? She went boldly up to the dog. +The dog growled more fiercely, and put himself in an attitude which the +little girl knew well meant that he was going to spring. She did not +want him to bound upon her; she knew he was much stronger than herself. + +“Good, good dog—good, good,” she said. + +But Pilot, exasperated beyond measure, began to bark savagely. + +Who was this small girl who dared to defy him? His custom was to stand +as he stood to-day and terrify every one off the premises. But this +small person did not mean to go. He therefore really lost his temper, +and became decidedly dangerous. + +Mr. Leeson, in his study, was busily engaged over some of that abstruse +work which occupied all his time. He was annoyed at Pilot’s barking, and +went to the window to ascertain the cause. He saw a stumpy, +stout-looking little girl standing on the path, and Pilot barring her +way. He opened the window and called out: + +“Go away, child; go away. We don’t have visitors here. Go away +immediately, and shut the gate firmly after you.” + +“But, if you please,” said Evelyn, “I cannot go away. I want to see +Sylvia.” + +“You cannot see her. Go away.” + +“No, I won’t,” said Evelyn, her courage coming now boldly to her aid. “I +have come here on business, and I must see Sylvia. You dare not let your +horrid dog spring on me; and I am going to stand just where I am till +Sylvia comes.” + +These very independent words astonished Mr. Leeson so much that he +absolutely went out of the house and came down the avenue to meet +Evelyn. + +“Who are you, child?” he said, as the bold light eyes were fixed on his +face. + +“I am Evelyn Wynford, the heiress of Wynford Castle.” + +A twinkle of mirth came into Mr. Leeson’s eyes. + +“And so you want Sylvia, heiress of Wynford Castle?” + +“Yes; I want to speak to her.” + +“She is not in at present. She is never in at this hour. Sylvia likes an +open-air life, and I am glad to encourage her in her taste. May I show +you to the gate?” + +“Thank you,” replied Evelyn, who felt considerably crestfallen. + +Mr. Leeson, with his very best manners, accompanied the little girl to +the high iron gates. These he opened, bowed to her as she passed through +them, and then shut them in her face, drawing a big bar inside as he did +so. + +“Good Pilot—excellent, brave, admirable dog!” Evelyn heard him say; and +she ground her small white teeth in anger. + +A moment or two later, to her infinite delight, she saw Jasper coming up +the road to meet her. In an instant the child and maid were in each +other’s arms. Evelyn was petting Jasper, and kissing her over and over +again on her dark cheek. + +“Oh Jasper,” said the little girl, “I got such a fright! I came here to +see you, and I was met by that horrible dog; and then a dreadful-looking +old man came out and told me I was to go right away, and he petted the +dog for trying to attack me. I was not frightened, of course—it is not +likely that mothery’s little girl would be easily afraid—but, all the +same, it was not pleasant. Why do you live in such a horrid, horrid +place, Jasper darling?” + +“Why do I live there?” answered Jasper. “Now, look at me—look me full in +the face. I live in that house because Providence wills it, +because—because—— Oh, I need not waste time telling you the reason. I +live there because I am near to you, and for another reason; and I hope +to goodness that you have not gone and made mischief, for if that +dreadful old man, as you call him, finds out for a single moment that I +am there, good-by to poor Miss Sylvia’s chance of life.” + +“You are quite silly about Sylvia,” said Evelyn in a jealous tone. + +“She is a very fine, brave young lady,” was Jasper’s answer. + +“I wish you would not talk of her like that; you make me feel quite +cross.” + +“You always were a jealous little piece,” said Jasper, giving her former +charge a look of admiration; “but you need not be, Eve, for no one—no +one shall come inside my little white Eve. But there, now; do tell me. +You did not say anything about me to Mr. Leeson?” + +“No, I did not,” said Evelyn. “I only told him I had come to see Sylvia. +Was it not good of me, Jasper? Was it not clever and smart?” + +“It was like you, pet,” said Jasper. “You always were the canniest +little thing—always, always.” + +Evelyn was delighted at these words of praise. + +“But how did you get here, my pet? Does her ladyship know you are out?” + +“No, her ladyship does not,” replied Evelyn, with a laugh. “I should be +very sorry to let her know, either. I came here all by myself because I +wanted to see you, Jasper. I have got news for you.” + +“Indeed, pet; and what is that?” + +“Cannot you guess?” + +“Oh, how can I? Perhaps that you have got courage and are sleeping by +yourself. You cannot stand that horrid old Read; you would rather be +alone than have her near you.” + +“Read has not slept in my room for over three weeks,” said Evelyn +proudly. “I am not at all nervous now. It was Miss Sinclair who told me +how silly I was to want any one to sleep close to me.” + +“But you would like your old Jasper again?” + +“Yes—oh yes; you are different.” + +“Well, and what is the change, dear?” + +“It is this: poor Miss Sinclair—dear, nice Miss Sinclair—has been +obliged to leave.” + +“Oh, well, I am not sorry for that,” said Jasper. “I was getting a bit +jealous of her. You seemed to be getting on so well with her.” + +“So I was. I quite loved her; she made my lessons so interesting. But +what do you think, Jasper? Although I am very sorry she has gone, I am +glad about the other thing. Audrey and I are going to school, as daily +boarders, just outside the village; Chepstow House it is called. We are +going to-morrow morning. Mothery would like that; she always did want me +to go to school. I am glad. Are you not glad too, Jasper?” + +“That depends,” said Jasper in an oracular voice. + +“What does it all depend on? Why do you speak in that funny way?” + +“It depends on you, my dear. I have heard a great deal about schools. +Some are nice and some are not. In some they give you a lot of freedom, +and you are petted and fussed over; in others they discipline you. When +you are disciplined you don’t like it. If I were you——” + +“Yes—what?” + +“I would stay there if I liked it, and if I did not I would not stay. I +would not have my spirit broke. They often break your spirit at school. +I would not put up with that if I were you.” + +“I am sure they won’t break my spirit,” said Evelyn in a tone of alarm. +“Why do you speak so dismally, Jasper? Do you know, I am almost sorry I +told you. I was so happy at the thought of going, and now you have made +me miserable. No, there is not the slightest fear that they will break +my spirit.” + +“Then that is all right, dear. Don’t forget that you are the heiress.” + +“I could let them know at school, could I not?” + +“I would if I were you,” said the injudicious woman. “I would tell the +girls if I were you.” + +“Oh yes; so I can. I wonder if they will be nice girls at Chepstow +House?” + +“You let them feel your power, and don’t knock under to any of them,” +said Jasper. “And now, my dear, I must really send you home. There, I’ll +walk a bit of the way back with you. You are looking very bonny, my +little white Eve; you have got quite a nice color in your cheeks. I am +glad you are well; and I am glad, too, that the governess has gone, for +I don’t want her to get the better of me. Remember what I said about +school.” + +“That I will, Jasper; I’ll be sure to remember.” + +“It would please her ladyship if you got on well there,” continued +Jasper. + +“I don’t want to please Aunt Frances.” + +“Of course you don’t. Nasty, horrid thing! I shall never forgive her for +turning me off. Now then, dear, you had best run home. I don’t want her +to see us talking together. Good-by, pet; good-by.” + + + + +CHAPTER XV.—SCHOOL. + + +The girls at Chepstow House were quite excited at the advent of Audrey +and Evelyn. They were nice girls, nearly all of them; they were ladies, +too, of a good class; but they had not been at Chepstow House long +without coming under the influence of what dominated the entire +place—that big house on the hill, with its castellated roof and its +tower, its moat too, and its big, big gardens, its spacious park, and +all its surroundings. It was a place to talk to their friends at home +about, and to think of and wonder over when at school. The girls at +Chepstow House had often looked with envy at Audrey as she rode by on +her pretty Arab pony. They talked of her to each other; they criticised +her appearance; they praised her actions. She was a sort of princess to +them. Then there appeared on the scene another little princess—a strange +child, without style, without manners, without any personal attractions; +and this child, it was whispered, was the real heiress. By and by pretty +Audrey would cease to live at Castle Wynford, and the little girl with +the extraordinary face would be monarch of all she surveyed. The girls +commented over this story amongst each other, as girls will; and when +the younger Miss Henderson—Miss Lucy, as they called her—told them that +Audrey Wynford and her cousin Evelyn were coming as schoolgirls to +Chepstow House their excitement knew no bounds. + +“They are coming here,” said Miss Lucy, “and I trust that all you girls +who belong to the house will treat them as they ought to be treated.” + +“And how is that, Miss Lucy?” said Brenda Fox, the tallest and most +important girl in the school. + +“You must treat them as ladies, but at the same time as absolutely your +equals in every respect,” said Miss Lucy. “They are coming to school +partly to find their level; we must be kind to them, but there is to be +no difference made between them and the rest of you. Now, Brenda, go +with the other girls into the Blue Parlor and attend to your preparation +for Signor Forre.” + +Brenda and her companions went away, and during the rest of the day, +whenever they had a spare moment, the girls talked over Audrey and +Evelyn. + +The next morning the cousins arrived. They came in Audrey’s pretty +governess-cart, and Audrey drove the fat pony herself. A groom took it +back to the Castle, with orders to come for his young ladies at six in +the evening, for Lady Frances had arranged that the girls were to have +both early dinner and tea at school. + +They both entered the house, and even Audrey just for a moment felt +slightly nervous. The elder Miss Henderson took them into her private +sitting-room, asked them a few questions, and then, desiring them to +follow her, went down a long passage which led into the large +schoolroom. Here the girls, about forty in number, were all assembled. +Miss Henderson introduced the new pupils with a few brief words. She +then went up to Miss Lucy and asked her, as soon as prayers were over, +to question both Audrey and Evelyn with regard to their attainments, and +to put them into suitable classes. + +The Misses Wynford sat side by side during prayers, and immediately +afterwards were taken into Miss Lucy’s private sitting-room. Here a very +vigorous examination ensued, with the result that Audrey was promoted to +take her place with the head girls, and Evelyn was conducted to the +Fourth Form. Her companions received her with smiling eyes and beaming +looks. She felt rather cross, however; and was even more so when the +English teacher, Miss Thompson, set her some work to do. Evelyn was +extremely backward with regard to her general education. But Miss +Sinclair had such marvelous tact, that, while she instructed the little +girl and gave her lessons which were calculated to bring out her best +abilities, she never let her feel her real ignorance. At school, +however, all this state of things was reversed. Audrey, calm and +dignified, took a high position in the school; and Evelyn was simply, in +her own opinion, nowhere. A sulky expression clouded her face. She +thought of Jasper’s words, and determined that no one should break her +spirit. + +“You will read over the reign of Edward I., and I will question you +about it when morning school is over,” said Miss Thompson in a pleasant +tone. “After recreation I will give you your lessons to prepare for +to-morrow. Now, please attend to your book. You will be able to take +your proper place in class to-morrow.” + +Miss Thompson as she spoke handed a History of England to the little +girl. The History was dry, and the reign, in Evelyn’s opinion, not worth +reading. She glanced at it, then turned the book, open as it was, upside +down on her desk, rested her elbows on it, and looked calmly around her. + +“Take up your book, Miss Wynford, and read it,” said Miss Thompson. + +Evelyn smiled quietly. + +“I know all about the reign,” she said. “I need not read the history any +more.” + +The other girls smiled. Miss Thompson thought it best to take no notice. +The work of the school proceeded; and at last, when recess came, the +English teacher called the little girl to her. + +“Now I must question you,” she said. “You say you know the reign of +Edward I. Let me hear what you do know. Stand in front of me, please; +put your hands behind your back. So.” + +“I prefer to keep my hands where they are,” said Evelyn. + +“Do what I say. Stand upright. Now then!” + +Miss Thompson began catechizing. Evelyn’s crass ignorance instantly +appeared. She knew nothing whatever of that special period of English +history; indeed, at that time her knowledge of any history was +practically _nil_. + +“I am sorry you told me what was not true with regard to the reign of +Edward I.,” said the governess. “In this school we are very strict and +particular. I will say nothing further on the matter to-day; but you +will stay here and read over the history during recess.” + +“What!” cried Evelyn, her face turning white. “Am I not to have my +recreation?” + +“Recess only lasts for twenty minutes; you will have to do without your +amusement in the playground this morning. To-morrow I hope you will have +got through your lessons well and be privileged to enjoy your pastime +with the other pupils.” + +“Do you know who I am?” began Evelyn. + +“Yes—perfectly. You are little Evelyn Wynford. Now be a good girl, +Evelyn, and attend to your work.” + +Miss Thompson left the room. Evelyn found herself alone. A wild fury +consumed her. She jumped up. + +“Does she think for a single moment that I am going to obey her?” +thought the naughty child. “Oh, if only Jasper were here! Oh Jasper! you +were right; they are trying to break me in, but they won’t succeed.” + +A book which the governess had laid upon a table near attracted the +little girl’s attention. It was not an ordinary lesson-book, but a very +beautiful copy of Ruskin’s _Sesame and Lilies_. Evelyn took up the book, +opened it, and read the following words on the title-page: + +“To dear Agnes, from her affectionate brother Walter. Christmas Day, +1896.” + +Quick as thought the angry child tore out the title-page and two or +three other pages at the beginning, scattered them into little bits, and +then, going up to the fire which burned at one end of the long room, +flung the scattered fragments into the blaze. She had no sooner done so +than a curious sense of dismay stole over her. She shut up the book +hastily, and being really alarmed, began to look over her English +history. Miss Thompson came back just before recess was over, picked up +Evelyn’s book, asked her one or two questions, and gave her an approving +nod. + +“That is better,” she said. “You have done as much as I could expect in +the time. Now then, come here, please. These are your English lessons +for to-morrow.” + +Evelyn walked quite meekly across the room. Miss Thompson set her +several lessons in the ordinary English subjects. + +“And now,” she said, “you are to go to mademoiselle. She is waiting to +find out what French you know, and to give you your lesson for +to-morrow.” + +The rest of the school hours passed quickly. Evelyn was given what she +considered a disgraceful amount of work to do; but a dull fear sat at +her heart, and she felt a sense of regret at having torn the pages out +of the volume of Ruskin. Immediately after morning school the girls went +for a short walk, then dinner was announced, and after dinner there was +a brief period of freedom. Evelyn, Audrey, and the rest all found +themselves walking in the grounds. Brenda Fox immediately went up to +Audrey, and introduced her to a few of the nicest girls in the head +form, and they all began to pace slowly up and down. Evelyn stood just +for an instant forlorn; then she dashed into the midst of a circle of +little girls who were playing noisily together. + +“Stop!” she said. “Look at me, all of you.” + +The children stopped playing, and looked in wonder at Evelyn. + +“I am Evelyn Wynford. Who is going to be my friend? I shall only take up +with the one I really like. I am not afraid of any of you. I have come +to school to find out if I like it; if I don’t like it I shall not stay. +You had best, all of you, know what sort I am. It was very mean and +horrid to put me into the Fourth Form with a number of ignorant little +babies; but as I am there, I suppose I shall have to stay for a week or +so.” + +“You were put into the Fourth Form,” said little Sophie Jenner, +“because, I suppose, you did not know enough to be put into the Fifth +Form.” + +“You are a cheeky little thing,” said Evelyn, “and I am not going to +trouble myself to reply to you.—Well, now, who is going to be my friend? +I can tell you all numbers of stories; I have heaps of pocket-money, and +I can bring chocolate-creams and ginger-pop and all sorts of good things +to the school.” + +These last remarks were decidedly calculated to ensure Evelyn’s +popularity. Two or three of the girls ran up to her, and she was soon +marching up and down the playground relating some of her grievances, and +informing them, one and all, of the high position which lay before her. + +“You are all very much impressed with Audrey, I can see, but she is +really nobody,” cried Eve. “By and by Wynford Castle will be mine, and +won’t you like to say you knew me when I am mistress of the Castle—won’t +you just! I do not at all know that I shall stay long at school, but you +had better make it pleasant for me.” + +Some of the girls were much impressed, and a few of them swore eternal +fealty to Evelyn. One or two began to flatter her, and on the whole the +little girl considered that she had a fairly good time during play-hour. +When she got back to her work she was relieved to see that Ruskin’s +_Sesame and Lilies_ no longer lay in its place on the small table where +Miss Thompson had left it. + +“She will not open it, perhaps, for years,” thought Evelyn. “I need not +worry any more about that. And if she did like the book I am glad I tore +it. Horrid, horrid thing!” + +Lessons went on, and by and by Audrey and Evelyn’s first day at school +came to an end. The governess-cart came to fetch them, and they drove +off under the admiring gaze of several of their fellow-pupils. + +“Well, Evelyn, and how did you like school?” said Audrey when the two +were alone together. + +“You could not expect me to like it very much,” replied Evelyn. “I was +put into such a horrid low class. I am angry with Miss Thompson.” + +“Miss Thompson! That nice, intelligent girl?” + +“Not much of a girl about her!” said Evelyn. “Why, she is quite old.” + +“Do you think so? She struck me as young, pretty, and very nice.” + +“It is all very well for you, Audrey; you are so tame. I really believe +you never think a bad thought of anybody.” + +“I try not to, of course,” replied Audrey. “Do you imagine it is a fine +trait in one’s character to think bad thoughts of people?” + +“Mothery always said that if you did not dislike people, you were made +of cotton-wool,” replied Evelyn. + +“Then you really do dislike people?” + +“Oh! some I dislike awfully. Now, there is one at the Castle—but there! +I won’t say any more about _her_; and there is one at school whom I +hate. It is that horrid Thompson woman. And she had the cheek to call me +Evelyn.” + +“Of course she calls you Evelyn; you are her pupil.” + +“Well, I think it is awful cheek, all the same. I hate her, and—oh, +Audrey, such fun—such fun! I have revenged myself on her; I really +have.” + +“Oh Evelyn! don’t get into mischief, I beseech of you.” + +“I sha’n’t say any more, but I do believe that I have revenged myself. +Oh, such fun—such fun!” + +Evelyn laughed several times during the rest of her drive home, and +arrived at the Castle in high spirits. The girls were to dine with Lady +Frances and the Squire that evening, as they happened to be alone; and +the Squire was quite interested in the account which Evelyn gave him of +her class. + +“The only reason why I could read the dull, dull life of Edward I.,” she +said, “is because Edward is your name, Uncle Ned, and because I love you +so much.” + +“On the whole, my dear,” said the Squire later on to his wife, “the +school experiment seems to work well. Little Evelyn was in high spirits +to-night.” + +“You think of no one but Evelyn!” said Lady Frances. “What about +Audrey?” + +“I am not afraid about Audrey; you have trained her, and she is by +nature most amiable,” said the Squire. + +“I am glad you paid me a compliment, my dear,” answered his wife. +“Audrey certainly does credit to my training. But I trust Miss Henderson +will break that naughty girl in; she certainly needs it.” + +The next morning the girls went back to school; and Evelyn, who had +quite forgotten what she had done to the book, and who had provided +herself secretly with a great packet of delicious sweetmeats which she +intended to distribute amongst her favorites, was still in high spirits. + +School began, the girls went to their different classes, Evelyn stumbled +badly through her lessons, and at last the hour of recess came. The +girls were all preparing to leave the schoolroom when Miss Thompson +asked them to wait a moment. + +“Something most painful has occurred,” she said, “and I trust whichever +girl has done the mischief will at once confess it.” + +Evelyn’s face did not change color. A curious, numb feeling got round +her heart; then an obstinate spirit took possession of her. + +“Not for worlds will I tell,” she thought. “Of course Miss Thompson is +alluding to the book.” + +Yes, Miss Thompson was. She held the beautifully bound copy of Ruskin in +her hand, opened it where the title-page used to be, and with tears in +her eyes looked at the girls. + +“Some one has torn four pages out of the beginning of this book,” she +said. “I left it here by mistake yesterday. I took it up this morning to +continue a lecture which I was preparing for the afternoon, and found +what terrible mischief had been done. I trust whoever has done this will +at least have the honor to confess her wrong-doing.” + +Silence and expressions of intense dismay were seen on all the young +faces. + +“If it were my own book I should not mind so much,” said the governess; +“but it happens to belong to Miss Henderson, and was given to her by her +favorite brother, who died two months afterwards. I had some difficulty +in getting her to allow me to use it for this lecture. Nothing can +replace to her the loss of the inscription written in her brother’s own +hand. The only possible chance for the guilty person is to tell all at +once. But, oh! who could have been so cruel?” + +Still the girls were silent, although tears had risen to many of their +eyes. Miss Thompson could hear the words “Oh, what a shame!” coming from +more than one pair of lips. + +She waited for an instant, and then said: + +“I must put a question to each and all of you. I had hoped the guilty +person would confess; but as it is, I am obliged to ask who has done +this mischief.” + +She then began to question one girl after another in the class. There +were twelve in all in this special class, and each as her turn came +replied in the negative. Certainly she had not done the mischief; +certainly she had not torn the book. Evelyn’s turn came last. She +replied quietly: + +“I have not done it. I have not seen the book, and I have not torn out +the inscription.” + +No one had any reason to doubt her words; and Miss Thompson, looking +very sorrowful, paused for a minute and then said: + +“I have asked each of you, and you have all denied it. I must now +question every one else in the school. When I have done all that I can I +shall have to submit the matter to Miss Henderson, but I did not want to +grieve her with the news of this terrible loss until I could at least +assure her that the girl who had done the mischief had repented.” + +Still there was silence, and Miss Thompson left the schoolroom. The +moment she did so the buzz of eager voices began, and during the recess +that followed nothing was talked of in the Fourth Form but the loss +which poor Miss Henderson had sustained. + +“Poor dear!” said Sophie Jenner; “and she did love her brother so much! +His name was Walter; he was very handsome. He came once to the school +when first it was started. My sister Rose was here then, and she said +how kind he was, and how he asked for a holiday for the girls; and Miss +Henderson and Miss Lucy were quite wrapped up in him. Oh, who could have +been so cruel?” + +“I never heard of such a fuss about a trifle before,” here came from +Evelyn’s lips. “Why, it is only a book when all is said and done.” + +“Don’t you understand?” said Sophie, looking at her in some +astonishment. “It is not a common book; it is one given to Miss +Henderson by the brother she loved. He is dead now; he can never give +her any other book. That was the very last present he ever made her.” + +“Have some lollipops, and try to think of cheerful things,” said Evelyn; +but Sophie turned almost petulantly away. + +“Do you know,” Sophie said to her special friend, Cherry Wynne, “I don’t +think I like Evelyn. How funnily she spoke! I wonder, Cherry, if she had +anything to do with the book?” + +“Of course not,” answered Cherry. “She would not have dared to utter +such a lie. Poor Miss Henderson! How sorry I am for her!” + + + + +CHAPTER XVI.—SYLVIA’S DRIVE. + + +“I have something very delightful to tell you, Sylvia,” said her father. + +He was standing in his cold and desolate sitting-room. The fire was +burning low in the grate. Sylvia shivered slightly, and bending down, +took up a pair of tongs to put some more coals on the expiring fire. + +“No, no, my dear—don’t,” said her father. “There is nothing more +disagreeable than a person who always needs coddling. The night is quite +hot for the time of year. Do you know, Sylvia, that I made during the +last week a distinct saving. I allowed you, as I always do, ten +shillings for the household expenses. You managed capitally on eight +shillings. We really lived like fighting-cocks; and what is nicest of +all, my dear daughter, you look the better in consequence.” + +Sylvia did not speak. + +“I notice, too,” continued Mr. Leeson, a still more satisfied smile +playing round his lips, “that you eat less than you did before. Last +night I was pleased to observe how truly abstemious you were at supper.” + +“Father,” said Sylvia suddenly, “you eat less and less; how can you keep +up your strength at this rate? Cannot you see, clever man that you are, +that you need food and warmth to keep you alive?” + +“It depends absolutely,” replied Mr. Leeson, “on how we accustom +ourselves to certain habits. Habits, my dear daughter, are the chains +which link us to life, and we forge them ourselves. With good habits we +lead good lives. With pernicious habits we sink: the chains of those +habits are too thick, too rusty, too heavy; we cannot soar. I am glad to +see that you, my dear little girl, are no longer the victim of habits of +greediness and desire for unnecessary luxuries.” + +“Well, father, dinner is ready now. Won’t you come and eat it?” + +“Always harping on food,” said Mr. Leeson. “It is really sad.” + +“You must come and eat while the things are hot,” answered Sylvia. + +Mr. Leeson followed his daughter. He was, notwithstanding all his words +to the contrary, slightly hungry that morning; the intense cold—although +he spoke of the heat—made him so. He sat down, therefore, and removed +the cover from a dish on which reposed a tiny chop. + +“Ah,” he said, “how tempting it looks! We will divide it, dear. I will +take the bone; far be it from me to wish to starve you, my sweet child.” + +He took up his knife to cut the chop. As he did so Sylvia’s face turned +white. + +“No, thank you,” she said. “It really so happens that I don’t want it. +Please eat it all. And see,” she continued, with a little pride, lifting +the cover of a dish which stood in front of her own plate; “I have been +teaching myself to cook; you cannot blame me for making the best of my +materials. How nice these fried potatoes look! Have some, won’t you, +father?” + +“You must have used something to fry them in,” said Mr. Leeson, an angry +frown on his face. “Well, well,” he added, mollified by the delicious +smell, which could not but gratify his hungry feelings—“all right; I +will take a few.” + +Sylvia piled his plate. She played with a few potatoes herself, and Mr. +Leeson ate in satisfied silence. + +“Really they are nice,” he said. “I have enjoyed my dinner. I do not +know when I made such a luxurious meal. I shall not need any supper +to-night.” + +“But I shall,” said Sylvia stoutly. “There will be supper at nine +o’clock as usual, and I hope you will be present, father.” + +“Well, my dear, have something very plain. I am absolutely satisfied for +twenty-four hours. And you, darling—did you make a good meal?” + +“Yes, thank you, father.” + +“There were a great many potatoes cooked. I see they are all finished.” + +“Yes, father.” + +“I am now going back to my sitting-room. I shall be engaged for some +hours. What are you going to do, Sylvia?” + +“I shall go out presently for a walk.” + +“Is it not rather dangerous for you to wander about in such deep snow?” + +“Oh, I like it, father; I enjoy it. I could not possibly stay at home.” + +“Very well, my dear child. You are a good girl. But, Sylvia dear, it +strikes me that we had better not have any more frying done; it must +consume a great quantity of fuel. Now, that chop might have been boiled +in a small saucepan, and it really would have been quite as nutritious. +And, my dear, there would have been the broth—the liquor, I mean—that it +had been boiled in; it would have made an excellent soup with rice in +it. I have been lately compiling some recipes for living what is called +the unluxurious life. When I have completed my little recipes I will +hand them down to posterity. I shall publish them. I quite imagine that +they will have a large sale, and may bring me in some trifling +returns—eh, Sylvia?” + +Sylvia made no answer. + +“My dear,” said her father suddenly, “I have noticed of late that you +are a little extravagant in the amount of coals you use. It is your only +extravagance, my dear child, so I will not say much about it.” + +“But, father, I don’t understand. What do you mean?” + +“There is smoke—_smoke_ issuing from the kitchen chimney at times when +there ought to be none,” said Mr. Leeson in a severe voice. “But there, +dear, I won’t keep you now. I expect to have a busy afternoon. I am +feeling so nicely after our simple little lunch, my dear daughter.” + +Mr. Leeson touched Sylvia’s smooth cheek with his lips, went into the +sitting-room, and shut the door. + +“The fire must be quite out by now,” she said to herself. “Poor, poor +father! Oh dear! oh dear! if he discovers that Jasper is here I shall be +done for. Now that I know the difference which Jasper’s presence makes, +I really could not live without her.” + +She listened for a moment, noticed that all was still in the big +sitting-room (as likely as not her father had dropped asleep), and then, +turning to her left, went quickly away in the direction of the kitchen. +When she entered the kitchen she locked the door. There was a clear and +almost smokeless fire in the range, and drawn up close to it was a table +covered with a white cloth; on the table were preparations for a meal. + +“Well, Sylvia,” said Jasper, “and how did he enjoy his chop? How much of +it did he give to you, my dear?” + +“Oh, none at all, Jasper. I pretended I was not hungry. It was such a +pleasure to see him eat it!” + +“And what about the fried potatoes, love?” + +“He ate them too with such an appetite—I just took a few to satisfy him. +Do you know, Jasper, he says that he thinks an abstemious life agrees +with me. He says that I am looking very well, and that he is quite sure +no one needs big fires and plenty of food in cold weather—it is simply +and entirely a matter of habit.” + +“Oh! don’t talk to me of him any more,” said Jasper. “He is the sort of +man to give me the dismals. I cannot tell you how often I dream of him +at night. You are a great deal too good to him, Sylvia, and that is the +truth. But here—here is our dinner, you poor frozen lamb. Eat now and +satisfy yourself.” + +Sylvia sat down and ate with considerable appetite the good and +nourishing food which Jasper had provided. As she did so her bright, +clear, dark eyes grew brighter than ever, and her young cheeks became +full of the lovely color of the damask rose. She pushed her hair from +her forehead, and looked thoughtfully into the fire. + +“You feel better, dear, don’t you?” asked Jasper. + +“Better!” said the young girl. “I feel alive. I wonder, Jasper, how long +it will last.” + +“Why should it not go on for some time, dear? I have money—enough, that +is, for the present.” + +“But you are spending your money on me.” + +“Not at all. You are keeping me and feeding me. I give you twenty +shillings a week, and out of that you feed me as well as yourself.” + +“Oh, that twenty shillings!” cried Sylvia. “What riches it seems! The +first week I got it I really felt that I should never, never be able to +come to the end of it. I quite trembled when I was in father’s presence. +I dreaded that he might see the money lying in my pocket. It seemed +impossible that he, who loves money so much, would not notice it; but he +did not, and now I am almost accustomed to it. Oh Jasper, you have saved +my life!” + +“It is well to have lived for some good purpose,” said Jasper in a +guarded tone. She looked at the young girl, and a quick sigh came to her +lips. + +“Do you know,” she said abruptly, “that I mean to do more than feed you +and warm you?” + +“But what more could you do?” + +“Why, clothe you, love—clothe you.” + +“No, Jasper; you must not.” + +“But I must and will,” said Jasper. “I have smuggled in all my +belongings, and the dear old gentleman does not know a single bit about +it. Bless you! notwithstanding that Pilot of his, and the way he himself +sneaks about and watches—notwithstanding all these things, I, Amelia +Jasper, am a match for him. Yes, my dear, my belongings are in this +house, and one of the trunks contains little Evelyn’s clothes—the +clothes she is not allowed to wear. I mean to alter them, and add to +them, and rearrange them, and make them fit for you, my bonny girl.” + +“It is a temptation,” said Sylvia; “but, Jasper dear, I dare not allow +you to do it. If I were to appear in anything but the very plainest +clothes father would discover there was something up; he would get into +a state of terror, and my life would not be worth living. When mother +was alive she sometimes tried to dress me as I ought to be dressed, and +I remember now a terrible scene and mother’s tears. There was an +occasion when mother gave me a little crimson velvet frock, and I ran +into the dining-room to father. I was quite small then, and the frock +suited me, and mother was, oh, so proud! But half an hour later I was in +my room, drowned in tears, and ordered to bed immediately, and the frock +had been torn off my back by father himself.” + +“The man is a maniac,” said Jasper. “Don’t let us talk of him. You can +dress fine when you are with me. I mean to have a gay time; I don’t mean +to let the grass grow under my feet. What do you say to my smuggling in +little Eve some day and letting her have a right jolly time with us two +in this old kitchen?” + +“But father will certainly, certainly discover it.” + +“No; I can manage that. The kitchen is far away from the rest of the +house, and with this new sort of coal there is scarcely any smoke. At +night—at any rate on dark nights—he cannot see even if there is smoke; +and in the daytime I burn this special coal. Oh, we are safe enough, my +dear; you need have no fear.” + +Sylvia talked a little longer with Jasper, and then she ran to her own +room to put on her very threadbare garments preparatory to going out. +Yes, she certainly felt much, much better. The air was keen and crisp; +she was no longer hungry—that gnawing pain in her side had absolutely +ceased; she was warm, too, and she longed for exercise. A moment or two +later, accompanied by Pilot, she was racing along the snow-covered +roads. The splendid color in her cheeks could not but draw the attention +of any chance passer-by. + +“What a handsome—what a very handsome girl!” more than one person said; +and it so happened that as Sylvia was flying round a corner, her great +mastiff gamboling in front of her, she came face to face with Lady +Frances, who was driving to make some calls in the neighborhood. + +Lady Frances Wynford was never proof against a pretty face, and she had +seldom seen a more lovely vision than those dark eyes and glowing cheeks +presented at that moment. She desired her coachman to stop, and bending +forward, greeted Sylvia in quite an affectionate way. + +“How do you do, Miss Leeson?” she said. “You never came to see me after +I invited you to do so. I meant to call on your mother, but you did not +greet my proposal with enthusiasm. How is she, by the way?” + +“Mother is dead,” replied Sylvia in a low tone. The rich color faded +slowly from her cheeks, but she would not cry. She looked full up at +Lady Frances. + +“Poor child!” said that lady kindly; “you must miss her. How old are +you, Miss Leeson?” + +“I am just sixteen,” was the reply. + +“Would you like to come for a drive with me?” + +“May I?” said the girl in an almost incredulous voice. + +“You certainly may; I should like to have you.—Johnson, get down and +open the carriage door for Miss Leeson.—But, oh, my dear, what is to be +done with the dog?” + +“Pilot will go home if I speak to him,” said Sylvia.—“Come here, Pilot.” + +The mastiff strode slowly up. + +“Go home, dear,” said Sylvia. “Go, and knock as you know how at the +gates, and father will let you in. Be quick, dear dog; go at once.” + +Pilot put on a shrewd and wonderfully knowing expression, cocked one ear +a little, wagged his tail a trifle, glanced at Lady Frances, seemed on +the whole to approve of her, and then turning on his heel, trotted off +in the direction of The Priory. + +“What a wonderfully intelligent dog, and how you have trained him!” said +Lady Frances. + +“Yes; he is almost human,” replied Sylvia. “How nice this is!” she +continued as the carriage began to roll smoothly away. She leant back +against her comfortable cushions. + +“But you will soon be cold, my dear, in that very thin jacket,” said +Lady Frances. “Let me wrap this warm fur cloak round you. Oh, yes, I +insist; it would never do for you to catch cold while driving with me.” + +Sylvia submitted to the warm and comforting touch of the fur, and the +smile on her young face grew brighter than ever. + +“And now you must tell me all about yourself,” said Lady Frances. “Do +you know, I am quite curious about you—a girl like you living such a +strange and lonely life!” + +“Lady Frances,” said Sylvia. + +“Yes my dear; what?” + +“I am going to say something which may not be quite polite, but I am +obliged to say it. I cannot answer any of your questions; I cannot tell +you anything about myself.” + +“Really?” + +“Not because I mean to be rude, for in many ways I should like to +confide in you; but it would not be honorable. Do you understand?” + +“I certainly understand what honor means,” said Lady Frances; “but +whether a child like you is acting wisely in keeping up an unnecessary +mystery is more than I can tell.” + +“I would much rather tell you everything about myself than keep silence, +but I cannot speak,” said Sylvia simply. + +Lady Frances looked at her in some wonder. + +“She is a lady when all is said and done,” she said to herself. “As to +poverty, I do not know that I ever saw any one so badly dressed; the +child has not sufficient clothing to keep her warm. When last I saw her +she was painfully thin, too; she has more color in her cheeks now, and +more flesh on her poor young bones, so perhaps whoever she lives with is +taking better care of her. I am curious, and I will not pretend to deny +it, but of course I can question the child no further.” + +No one could make herself more agreeable than Lady Frances Wynford when +she chose. She chatted now on many matters, and Sylvia soon felt +perfectly at home. + +“Why, the child, young as she is, knows some of the ways of society,” +thought the great lady. “I only wish that that miserable little Evelyn +was half as refined and nice as this poor, neglected girl.” + +Presently the drive came to an end. Sylvia had not enjoyed herself so +much for many a day. + +“Now, listen, Sylvia,” said Lady Frances: “I am a very plain-spoken +woman; when I say a thing I mean it, and when I think a thing, as a +rule, I say it. I like you. That I am curious about you, and very much +inclined to wonder who you are and what you are doing in this place, +goes without saying; but of course I do not want to pry into what you do +not wish to tell me. Your secret is your own, my dear, and not my +affair; but, at the same time, I should like to befriend you. Can you +come to the Castle sometimes? When you do come it will be as a welcome +guest.” + +“I do not know how I can come,” replied Sylvia. She colored, looked +down, and her face turned rather white. “I have not a proper dress,” she +added. “Oh, not that I am poor, but——” + +Lady Frances looked puzzled. She longed to say, “I will give you the +dress you need,” but there was something about Sylvia’s face which +forbade her. + +“Well,” she said, “if you can manage the dress will you come? This, let +me see, is Thursday. The girls are to have a whole holiday on Saturday. +Will you spend Saturday with us? Now you must say yes; I will take no +refusal.” + +Sylvia’s heart gave a bound of pleasure. + +“Is it right; is it wrong?” she said to herself. “But I cannot help it,” +was her next thought; “I must have my fun—I must. I do like Audrey so +much! And I like Evelyn too—not, of course, like Audrey; but I like them +both.” + +“You will come, dear?” said Lady Frances. “We shall be very pleased to +see you. By the way, your address is——” + +“The Priory,” said Sylvia hastily. “Oh, please, Lady Frances, don’t send +any message there! If you do I shall not be allowed to come to you. Yes, +I will come—perhaps never again, but I will come on Saturday. It is a +great pleasure; I do not feel able to refuse.” + +“That is right. Then I shall expect you.” + +Lady Frances nodded to the young girl, told the coachman to drive home, +and the next moment had turned the corner and was lost to view. + +“What fun this is!” said Sylvia to herself. “I wish Pilot were here. I +should like to have a race with him over the snow. Oh, how beautiful is +the world when all is said and done! Now, if only I had a proper dress +to go to the Castle in!” + +She ran home. Her father was standing on the steps of the house. His +face looked pinched, blue, and cold; the nourishment of the chop and the +fried potatoes had evidently passed away. + +“Why, father, you want your tea!” said the girl. “How sorry I am I was +not in sooner to get it for you!” + +“Tea, tea!” he said irritably. “Always the same cry—food, nothing but +food; the world is becoming impossible. My dear Sylvia, I told you that +I should not want to eat again to-day. The fact is, you overfed me at +lunch, and I am suffering from a sort of indigestion—I am really. There +is nothing better for indigestion than hot water; I have been drinking +it sparingly during the afternoon. But where have you been, dear, and +why did you send Pilot home? The dog made such a noise at the gate that +I went myself to find out what was the matter.” + +“I did not want Pilot, so I sent him home,” was Sylvia’s low reply. + +“But why so?” + +She was silent for a moment; then she looked up into her father’s face. + +“We agreed, did we not,” she said, “that we both were to go our own way. +You must not question me too closely. I have done nothing wrong—nothing; +I am always faithful to you and to my mother’s memory. You must not +expect me to tell you everything, father, for you know you do not tell +me everything.” + +“Silly child!” he answered. “But there, Sylvia, I do trust you. And, my +dear little girl, know this, that you are the great—the very +greatest—comfort of my life. I will come in; it is somewhat chilly this +evening.” + +Sylvia rushed before her father into his sitting-room, dashed up to the +fire, flung on some bits of wood and what scraps of coal were left in +the coal-hod, thrust in a torn newspaper, set a match to the fire she +had hastily laid, and before Mr. Leeson strolled languidly into the +room, a cheerful fire was crackling and blazing up the chimney. + +“How extravagant——” he began, but when he saw Sylvia’s pretty face as +she knelt on the hearth the words were arrested on his lips. + +“The child is very like her mother, and her mother was the most +beautiful woman on earth when I married her,” he thought. “Poor little +Sylvia! I wonder will she have a happier fate!” + +He sat down by the fire. The girl knelt by him, took his cold hands, and +rubbed them softly. Her heart was full; there were tears in her eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII.—THE FALL IN THE SNOW. + + +The next morning, when the meager breakfast which Mr. Leeson and his +daughter enjoyed together had come to an end, Sylvia ran off to find +Jasper. She had stayed with her father during most of the preceding +evening, and although she had gone as usual to drink her chocolate and +eat her bread before going to bed, she had said very little to Jasper. +But she wanted to speak to her this morning, for she had thoughts in the +night, and those thoughts were driving her to decisive action. Jasper +was standing in the kitchen. She had made up the fire with the smokeless +coal, and it was burning slowly but steadily. A little, plump chicken +lay on the table; a small piece of bacon was close at hand. There was +also a pile of large and mealy-looking potatoes and some green +vegetables. + +“Our dinner for to-day,” said Jasper briefly. + +“Oh Jasper!” answered the girl—“oh, if only father could have some of +that chicken! Do you know, I do not think he is at all well; he looked +so cold and feeble last night. He really is starving himself—very much +as I starved myself before you came; but he is old and cannot bear it +quite so well. What am I to do to keep him alive?” + +Jasper looked full at Sylvia. + +“Do!” she said. “How can a fool be cured of his folly? That is the +question I ask myself. If he denies himself the necessaries of life, how +are you to give them to him?” + +“Well,” said Sylvia, “I manage as best I can by hardly ever eating in +his presence; he does not notice, particularly at breakfast. He enjoyed +his egg and toast this morning, and really said nothing about my +unwonted extravagance.” + +“I have a plan in my head,” said Jasper, “which may or may not come to +anything. You know those few miserable barn-door fowls which your father +keeps just by the shrubbery in that old hen-house?” + +“Yes,” replied Sylvia. + +“Do they ever lay any eggs?” + +“No.” + +“I thought not. I wonder a prudent, careful man like Mr. Leeson should +keep them eating their heads off, so to speak.” + +“Oh, they don’t eat much,” replied Sylvia. “I got them when father spoke +so much about the wasted potato-skins. I bought them from a gipsy. I did +not know they were so old.” + +“We must get rid of those fowls,” said Jasper. “You must tell your +father that it is a great waste of money to keep them; and, my dear, we +will give him fowl to eat for his dinner as long as the old fowls in the +shrubbery last. There are ten of them. I shall sell them—very little +indeed we shall get for them—and he will imagine he is eating them when +he really is consuming a delicate little bird like the one you and I are +going to enjoy for our dinner to-day.” + +“What fun!” said Sylvia, the color coming into her cheeks and her eyes +sparkling. “You do not think it is wrong to deceive him, do you?” + +“Wrong! Bless you! no,” replied Jasper. “And now, my dear, what is the +matter with you? You look——” + +“How?” replied Sylvia. + +“Just as if you were bursting to tell me something.” + +“I am—I am,” answered Sylvia. “Oh Jasper, you must help me!” + +“Of course I will, dear.” + +“I have resolved to accept your most kind offer. I will pay you somehow, +in some fashion, but if you could make just one of Evelyn’s frocks fit +for me to wear!” + +“Ah!” replied Jasper. “Now, I am as pleased about this as I could be +about anything. We will have more than one, my pretty young miss. But +what do you want it for?” + +“I am going to do a great, big, dangerous thing,” replied Sylvia. “If +father discovers, things will be very bad, I am sure; but perhaps he +will not discover. Anyhow, I am not proof against temptation. I met Lady +Frances Wynford.” + +“And how does her ladyship look?” asked Jasper—“as proud as ever?” + +“She was not proud to me, Jasper; she was quite nice. She asked me to +take a drive with her.” + +“You took a drive with her ladyship!” + +“I did indeed; you must treat me with great respect after this.” + +Jasper put her arms akimbo and burst into a loud laugh. + +“I guess,” she said after a pause, “you looked just as fine and +aristocratic as her ladyship’s own self.” + +“I drove in a luxurious carriage, and had a lovely fur cloak wrapped +round me,” replied the girl; “and Lady Frances was very, very kind, and +she has asked me to spend Saturday at the Castle.” + +“Saturday! Why, that is to-morrow.” + +“Yes, I know it is.” + +“You are going?” + +“Yes, I am going.” + +“You will see my little Eve to-morrow?” + +“Yes, Jasper.” + +Jasper’s black eyes grew suspiciously bright; she raised her hand to +dash away something which seemed to dim them for a second, then she said +in a brisk tone: + +“We have our work cut out for us, for you shall not go shabby, my +pretty, pretty maid. I will soon have the dinner in order, and——” + +“But what have you got for father’s dinner?” + +“A little soup. You can tell him that you boiled his chop in it. It is +really good, and I am putting in lots of pearl barley and rice and +potatoes. He will be ever so pleased, for he will think it cost next to +nothing; but there is a good piece of solid meat boiled down in that +soup, nevertheless.” + +“Oh, thank you, Jasper; you are a comfort to me.” + +“Well,” replied Jasper, “I always like to do my best for those who are +brave and young and put upon. You are a very silly girl in some ways, +Miss Sylvia; but you have been good to me, and I mean to be good to you. +Now then, dinner is well forward, and we will go and search out the +dress.” + +The rest of the day passed quickly, and with intense enjoyment as far as +Sylvia was concerned. She had sufficiently good taste to choose the +least remarkable of Evelyn’s many costumes. There was a rich dark-brown +costume, trimmed with velvet of the same shade, which could be +lengthened in the skirt and let out in the bodice, and which the young +girl would look very nice in. A brown velvet hat accompanied the +costume, with a little tuft of ostrich feathers placed on one side, and +a pearl buckle to keep all in place. There were muffs and furs in +quantities to choose from. Sylvia would for once in her life be richly +appareled. Jasper exerted herself to the utmost, and the pretty dress +was all in order by the time night came. + +It was quite late evening when Sylvia sought the room where her father +lived. A very plain but at the same time nourishing supper had been +provided for Mr. Leeson. Sylvia’s own supper she would take as usual +with Jasper. Sylvia dashed into her father’s room, her eyes bright and +her cheeks glowing. She was surprised and distressed to see the room +empty. She wondered if her father had gone to his bedroom. Quickly she +rushed up-stairs and knocked at the door; there was no response. She +opened the door softly and went in. All was cold and icy desolation +within the large, badly furnished room. Sylvia shivered slightly, and +rushed down-stairs again. She peeped out of the window. The snow was +falling heavily in great big flakes. + +“Oh, I hope it will not snow too much to-night!” thought the young girl. +“But no matter; however deep it is, I shall find my way to Castle +Wynford to-morrow.” + +She wondered if her father would miss her, if he would grow restless and +anxious; but nevertheless she was determined to enjoy her pleasure. +Still, where was he now? She glanced at the fire in the big grate; she +ventured to put on some more coals and to tidy up the hearth; then she +drew down the blinds of the windows, pulled her father’s armchair in +front of the fire, sat down herself by the hearth, and waited. She +waited for over half an hour. During that time the warmth of the fire +made her drowsy. She found herself nodding. Suddenly she sat up wide +awake. A queer sense of uneasiness stole over her; she must go and seek +her father. Where could he be? How she longed to call Jasper to her aid! +But that, she knew, would be impossible. She wrapped a threadbare cloak, +which hung on a peg in the hall, round her shoulders, slipped her feet +into goloshes, and set out into the wintry night. She had not gone a +dozen yards before she saw the object of her search. Mr. Leeson was +lying full length on the snow; he was not moving. Sylvia had a wild +horror that he was dead; she bent over him. + +“Father! father!” she cried. + +There was no answer. She touched his face with her lips; it was icy +cold. Oh, was he dead? Oh, terror! oh, horror! All her accustomed +prudence flew to the winds. Get succor for him at once she must. She +dashed into the kitchen. Jasper was standing by the fire. + +“Come at once, Jasper!” she said. “Bring brandy, and come at once.” + +“What has happened, my darling?” + +“Come at once and you will see. Bring brandy—brandy.” + +Jasper in an emergency was all that was admirable. She followed Sylvia +out into the snow, and between them they dragged Mr. Leeson back to the +house. + +“Now, dear,” said Jasper, “I will give him the brandy, and I’ll stand +behind him. When he comes to I will slip out of the room. Oh, the poor +gentleman! He is as cold as ice. Hold that blanket and warm it, will +you, Sylvia? We must put it round him. Oh, bless you, child! heap some +coals on the fire. What matter the expense? There! you cannot lift that +great hod; I’ll do it.” + +Jasper piled coals on the grate; the fire crackled and blazed merrily. +Mr. Leeson lay like one dead. + +“He is dead—he is dead!” gasped Sylvia. + +“No, love, not a bit of it; but he slipped in the cold and the fall +stunned him a bit, and the cold is so strong he could not come to +himself again. He will soon be all right; we must get this brandy +between his lips.” + +That they managed to do, and a minute or two later the poor man opened +his eyes. Just for a second it seemed to him that he saw a strange +woman, stout and large and determined-looking, bending over him; but the +next instant, his consciousness more wholly returning, he saw Sylvia. +Sylvia’s little face, white with fear, her eyes, large with love and +anxiety, were close to his. He smiled into the sweet little face, and +holding out his thin hand, allowed her to clasp it. There was a rustle +as though somebody was going away, and Sylvia and her father were alone. +A moment later the young girl raised her eyes and saw Jasper in the +background making mysterious signs to her. She got up. Jasper was +holding a cup of very strong soup in her hand. Sylvia took it with +thankfulness, and brought it to her father. + +“Do you know,” she said, trying to speak as cheerfully as she could, +“that you have behaved very badly? You went out into the snow when you +should have been in your warm room, and you fell down and you fainted or +something. Anyhow, I found you in time; and now you are to drink this.” + +“I won’t; hot water will do—not that expensive stuff,” said Mr. Leeson, +true to the tragedy of his life even at this crucial moment. + +“Drink this and nothing else,” said Sylvia, speaking as hardly and +firmly as she dared. + +Mr. Leeson was too weak to withstand her. She fed him by spoonfuls, and +presently he was well enough to sit up again. + +“Child, what a fire!” he said. + +“Yes, father; and if it means our very last sixpence, or our very last +penny even, it is going to be a big fire to-night: and you are going to +be nursed and petted and comforted. Oh, father, father, you gave me such +a fright!” + +As Sylvia spoke her composure gave way; her tense feelings were relieved +by a flood of tears. She pressed her face against her father’s hand and +sobbed unrestrainedly. + +“You do not mean to say you are really fond of me?” he said; and a queer +moisture came into his own eyes. He said nothing more about the coals, +and Sylvia insisted on his having more food, and, in short, having a +really good time. + +“Dare I leave him to-morrow?” she said to herself. “He may be very weak +after this; and yet—and yet I cannot give up my great, great fun. My +lovely dress, too, ready and all! Oh! I must go. I am sure he will be +all right in the morning.” + +Presently, much to Sylvia’s relief, Mr. Leeson suggested that he should +sleep on the sofa, in the neighborhood of the big fire. + +“For you have been so reckless, my dear little girl,” he said, “that +really you have provided a fire to last for hours and hours. It would be +a sad pity to waste it; I think, therefore, that I shall spend the night +on this sofa, well wrapped up, enjoying the heat.” + +“Nothing could be better, father,” said Sylvia, “except a big, very big, +fire in your own room, and you in your own bed well warmed with hot +bottles.” + +“We should soon be in the workhouse,” was Mr. Leeson’s rejoinder. “No, +no; I will enjoy the fire here now that you have been so extravagant; +and you had better go to bed if you have had your supper.” + +Sylvia had had no supper, but Mr. Leeson was far too self-absorbed to +notice that fact. Presently she left him, and he lay on the sofa, +blinking into the fire, and occasionally half-dozing. After a time he +dropped off to sleep, and the young girl, who stole in to look at him, +went out with a satisfied expression on her face. + +“He is quite well again,” she said to Jasper, “and he is sleeping +sweetly. + +“Now, look here,” said Jasper. “What is fretting you?” + +“I don’t think I ought to leave him to-morrow.” + +“But I shall be here. I will manage to let him have his meals +comfortable without his knowing it. Do you suppose I have not done more +difficult things than that in my day? Now, my love, you go to bed and +sleep sound, and I will have a plan all mature to give you your happy +day with an undisturbed conscience in the morning.” + +Sylvia was really very tired—dead tired. She went up-stairs, and as soon +as she laid her head on her pillow was sound asleep. + +Meanwhile Mr. Leeson slept on for two or three hours; it was past the +middle of the night when he awoke. He woke wide awake, as elderly people +will, and looked round him. The fire had burnt itself down to a great +red mass; the room looked cheery and comfortable in the warm rays. Mr. +Leeson stirred himself luxuriously and wrapped the blanket, which Jasper +had brought from her own stores, tightly round his person. After a time, +however, its very softness and fluffiness and warmth attracted his +attention. He began to feel it between his fingers and thumb; then he +roused himself, sat up, and looked at it. A suspicious look came into +his eyes. + +“What is the matter?” he said to himself. “Is Sylvia spending money that +I know nothing about? Why, this is a new blanket! I have an inventory of +every single thing that this house possesses. Surely new blankets are +not included in that inventory! I can soon see.” + +He rose, lit a pair of candles, went to a secretary which stood against +the wall, opened it, and took out a book marked “Exact Inventory of all +the Furniture at The Priory.” He turned up the portion devoted to house +linen, and read the description of the different blankets which the +meager establishment contained. There was certainly a lack of these +valuable necessaries; the blankets at The Priory had seen much service, +and were worn thin with use and washing. But this blanket was new—oh, +delicious, of course—but what was the man worth who needed such +luxuries! Mr. Leeson pushed it aside with a disturbed look on his face. + +“Sylvia must be spending money,” he said to himself. “I have observed it +of late. She looks better, and she decidedly gives me extravagant meals. +The bread is not as stale as it might be, and there is too much meat +used. This soup——” + +He took up the empty cup from which he had drained the soup a few hours +back, and looked at a drop or two which still remained at the bottom. + +“Positively it jellies,” he said to himself—“jellies! Then, too, in my +rambles round this evening I noticed that smoke again—that smoke coming +from the kitchen. There is too much fuel used here, and these blankets +are disgraceful, and the food is reckless—there is no other word for +it.” + +He sank back on his sofa and gazed at the fire. + +“Ah!” he said as he looked full at the flames, “out you go presently; +and for some time the warmth will remain in the room, and I shall not +dream of lighting any other fire here until that warmth is gone. Sylvia +takes after her mother. There was never a better woman than my dear +wife, but she was madly, disgracefully extravagant. What shall I do if +this goes on?—and pretty girls like Sylvia are apt to be so thoughtless. +I wish I could send her away for a bit; it will be quite terrible if she +develops her mother’s tastes. I could not be cruel to my pretty little +girl, but she certainly will be a fearful thorn in my side if she buys +blankets of this sort, and feeds me with soup that jellies, forsooth! +What am I to do? I have not saved quite so much as I ought during the +last week. Ah! the house is silent as the grave. I shall just count out +the money I have put into that last canvas bag.” + +A stealthy, queer light came into Mr. Leeson’s eyes. He crossed the room +on tiptoe and turned the key in the lock. As he did so he seemed to be +assailed by a memory. + +“Was I alone with Sylvia when I awoke out of unconsciousness,” he said +to himself, “or was there some one else by? I cannot quite make out. Was +it a dream that I saw an ugly, large woman bending over me? People do +dream things of that sort when they sink from exhaustion. I have read of +it in stories of misers. Misers! I am nothing of that kind; I am just a +prudent man who will not spend too much—a prudent man who tries to save. +It must have been a dream that a stranger was in the house; my little +girl might take after her mother, but she is not so bad as that. Yes, I +will take the opportunity; I will count what is in the canvas bag. I was +too weak to-night to attempt the work of burying my treasure, but +to-morrow night I must be stronger. I believe I ate too much, and that +is what ails me—in fact, I am certain of it. The cold took me and +brought on an acute attack of indigestion, and I stumbled and fell. Poor +dear little Sylvia! But I won’t leave her penniless; that is one +comfort.” + +Putting out one candle carefully, Mr. Leeson now laid the other on a +table. He then went to his secretary and opened it. He pushed in his +hand far, and brought out from its innermost depths a small bag made of +rough canvas. The bag was tied with coarse string. He glanced round him, +a strange expression on his face, and loosening the string of the bag, +poured its contents upon the table. He poured them out slowly, and as he +did so a look of distinct delight visited his face. There lay on the +table in front of him a pile of money—gold, silver, copper. He spent +some time dividing the three species of coin into different heaps. The +gold coins were put in piles one on top of the other at his right hand, +the silver lying in still larger heaps in the middle; the coppers, up to +farthings, lay on his left hand. He bent his head and touched the gold +with his lips. + +“Beautiful! blessed! lovely!” he muttered. “I have saved all this out of +the money which my dear wife would have spent on food and dress and +luxuries. The solid, tangible, precious thing is here, and there is more +like it—much more like it—many bags larger than these, full, full to the +brim, all buried down deep in the fowl-house. No one would guess where I +bank my spoils. They are as safe as can be. I dare not keep much +treasure in the house, but no one will know where it really lies.” + +He counted his gold carefully; he also counted his silver; finally he +counted his copper. He wrote down the different sums on a piece of +paper, which he slipped into the canvas bag; he put back the coins, tied +the bag with the string, and returned it to its hiding-place. + +“To-morrow night I must bury it,” he said to himself. “I had hoped that +I would have saved a little more, but by dint of great additional +economy I may succeed next month. Well, I must begin to be very careful, +and I must speak plainly on the subject to Sylvia.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII.—A RED GIPSY CLOAK. + + +Mr. Leeson looked quite well the next morning, and Sylvia ate her scanty +breakfast with a happy heart; she no longer felt any qualms at leaving +her father for the day. Jasper assured Sylvia over and over again that +all would be well; that without in the least betraying the secret of her +residence in the house, she would see to Mr. Leeson’s comforts. The +difficulty now was for Sylvia to dress in her smart clothes and slip +away without her father seeing her. She did not want to get to Castle +Wynford much before one o’clock, but she would leave The Priory long +before that hour and wander about in her usual fashion. No outdoor +exercise tired this energetic girl. She looked forward to a whole long +day of unalloyed bliss, to the society of other girls, to congenial +warmth and comfort and luxury. She even looked forward with a pleasure, +that her father would put down to distinct greediness, to nice, +temptingly served meals. Oh yes, she meant to enjoy everything. She +meant to drink this cup of bliss to the bottom, not to leave one drop +untasted. Jasper seemed to share her pleasure. Jasper burdened her with +many messages to Evelyn; she got Sylvia to promise that she would +contrive a meeting between Evelyn and her old maid on the following day. +Jasper selected the rendezvous, and told Sylvia exactly what she was to +say to Evelyn. + +“Whatever happens, I must see her,” said the woman. “Tell her there are +many reasons; and tell her too that I am hungry for a sight of +her—hungry, hungry.” + +“Because you love her so much,” said Sylvia, a soft light in her eyes. + +“Yes, my darling, that is it—I love her.” + +“And she must love you very much,” said Sylvia. + +Jasper uttered a quick sigh. + +“It is not Evelyn’s way to love to extremities,” she said slowly. “You +must not blame her, my dear; we are all made according to the will of +the Almighty; and Evelyn—oh yes, she is as the apple of the eye to me, +but I am nothing of that sort to her. You see, dear, her head is a bit +turned with the lofty future that lies before her. In some ways it does +not suit her; it would suit you, Miss Sylvia, or it would suit Miss +Audrey, but it does not suit little Eve. It is too much for my little +Eve; she would do better in a less exalted sphere.” + +“Well, I do hope and trust she will be glad to see you and glad to hear +about you,” said Sylvia. “I will be sure to tell her what a dear old +thing you are. But, oh, Jasper, do you think she will notice the smart +dress made out of her dress?” + +“You can give her this note, dear; I am sending her a word of warning +not to draw attention to your dress. And now, don’t you think you had +better get into it, and let me see you out by the back premises?” + +“I must go and see father just for a minute first,” said Sylvia. + +She ran off, saw her father, as usual busily writing letters, and bent +down to kiss him. + +“Don’t disturb me,” he said in a querulous tone. “I am particularly +busy. The post this morning has brought me some gratifying news. A +little investment I made a short time ago in great fear and trembling +has turned up trumps. I mean to put a trifle more money—oh, my dear! I +only possess a trifle—into the same admirable undertaking (gold-mines, +my dear), and if all that the prospectus says is true I shall be in very +truth a rich man. Not yet, Sylvia—don’t you think it—but some day.” + +“Oh father! and if you are——” + +“Why, you may spend a little more then, dear—a little more; but it is +wrong to squander gold. Gold is a beautiful and precious thing, my dear; +very beautiful, very precious, very hard to get.” + +“Yes, father; and I hope you will have a great deal of it, and I hope +you will put plenty—plenty of money into the—into the——” + +“Investment,” said Mr. Leeson. “The investment that sounds so promising. +Don’t keep me now, love.” + +“I am going out for a long walk, father; it is such a bright, sunshiny +day. Good-by for the present.” + +Mr. Leeson did not hear; he again bent over the letter which he was +writing. Sylvia ran back to Jasper. + +“He seems quite well,” she said, “and very much interested in what the +post brought him this morning. I think I can leave him quite safely. You +will be sure to see that he has his food.” + +“Bless you, child!—yes.” + +“And you will on no account betray that you live here?” + +“Bless you, child! again—not I.” + +“Well then, I will get into my finery. How grand and important I shall +feel!” + +So Sylvia was dressed in the brown costume and the pretty brown velvet +hat, and she wore a little sable collar and a sable muff; and then she +kissed Jasper, and telling her she would remember all the messages, +started on her day of pleasure. Jasper saw her out by the back entrance. +This entrance had been securely closed before Jasper’s advent, but +between them the woman and the girl had managed to open the rusty gate, +although Mr. Leeson was unaware that it had moved on its hinges for many +a long day. It opened now to admit of Sylvia’s exit, and Jasper went +slowly back to the house, meditating as she did so. Whatever her +meditations were, they roused her to action. She engaged herself busily +in her bedroom and kitchen. She opened her trunk and took out a small +bag which contained her money. She had plenty of money, still, but it +would not last always. Without Sylvia’s knowing it, she had often spent +more than a pound a week on this establishment. It had been absolutely +necessary for her to provide herself with warm bedclothes, and to add to +the store of coals by purchasing anthracite coal, which is almost +smokeless. In one way or another her hoard was diminished by twenty +pounds; she had therefore only forty more. When this sum was spent she +would be penniless. + +“Not that I am afraid,” thought Jasper, “for Evelyn will have to give me +more money—she must. I could not leave my dear little Sylvia now that I +find the dreadful plight she is in; and I cannot stay far from my dear +Evelyn, for although she does not love me as I love her, still, I should +suffer great pain if I could not be, so to speak, within call. I wonder +if my plan will succeed. I must have a try.” + +Jasper, having fulfilled her small duties, sat for a time gazing +straight before her. The hours went on. The little carriage clock which +she kept in her bedroom struck eleven, then twelve. + +“Time for him to have something,” thought Jasper. “Now, can I possibly +manage? Yes, I think so.” + +She took a saucepan, which held something mysterious, out into the open +air. It was an old, shabby saucepan. She hid it in the shrubbery. She +then went back to her room and changed her dress. She was some little +time over her toilet, and when she once more emerged into view, the old +Jasper, to all appearance, had vanished. + +A dark, somewhat handsome woman, in a faded red gipsy cloak, now stood +before the looking-glass. Jasper slipped out the back way, pushed aside +the rusty gate, said a friendly word to Pilot, who wagged his tail with +approbation, and carrying a basket on her arm, walked slowly down the +road. She met one or two people, and accosted them in the true Romany +style. + +“May I tell your fortune, my pretty miss? May I cross your hand with +silver and tell you of the fine gentleman who is going to ride by +presently? Let me, my dear—let me.” + +And when the young girl she addressed ran away giggling, little +suspecting that Jasper was not a real gipsy, Jasper knew that her scheme +had succeeded. She even induced a village boy to submit to her +fortune-telling, and half-turned his head by telling him of a treasure +to be found, and a wife in an upper class who would raise him once for +all to a position of luxury. She presently pounded loudly on The Priory +gates. Mr. Leeson had an acute ear; he always sat within view of these +gates. His one desire was to keep all strangers from the premises; he +had trained Pilot for the purpose. Accordingly Jasper’s knocks were not +heeded. Sylvia was always desired to go to the village to get the +necessary food; trades-people were not allowed on the premises. His +letter occupied him intently; he was busy, too, looking over files of +accounts and different prospectuses; he was engaged over that most +fascinating pastime, counting up his riches. But, ah! ah! how poor he +was! Oh, what a poverty-stricken man! He sighed and grumbled as he +thought over these things. Jasper gave another furious knock, and +finding that no attention was paid to her imperious summons, she pushed +open the gate. Pilot immediately, as his custom was, appeared on guard. +He stood in front of Jasper and just for a moment barked at her, but she +gave him a mysterious sign, and he wagged his tail gently, went up to +her, and let her pat him on the head. The next instant, to Mr. Leeson’s +disgust, the gipsy and the dog were walking side by side up to the door. +He sprang to his feet, and in a moment was standing on the steps. + +“Go away, my good woman; go away at once. I cannot have you on the +premises. I will set the dog on you if you don’t go away.” + +“One minute, kind sir,” whined Jasper. “I have come to know if you have +any fowls to sell. I want some fowls; old hens and cocks—not young +pullets or anything of that sort. I want to buy them, sir, and I am +prepared to give a good price.” + +These extraordinary remarks aroused Mr. Leeson’s thoughtful attention. +He had long been annoyed by the barn-door fowls, and they were decidedly +old. He had often wished to dispose of them; they were too tough to eat, +and they no longer laid eggs. + +“If you will promise to take the fowls right away with you now, I do not +mind selling them for a good price,” he said. “Are you prepared to give +a good price? I wonder where my daughter is; she would know better than +I what they are worth. Stand where you are, my good woman; do not +attempt to move or the dog Pilot will fly at your throat. I will call my +daughter.” + +Mr. Leeson went into the house and shouted for Sylvia. Of course there +was no answer. + +“I forgot,” muttered Mr. Leeson. “Sylvia is out. Really that child +over-exercises; such devotion to the open air must provoke unnecessary +appetite. I wish that horrid gipsy would go away! How extraordinary that +Pilot did not fly at her! But they say gipsies have great power over men +and animals. Well, if she does give a fair price for the birds I may as +well be quit of them; they annoy me a good deal, and some time, in +consequence of them, some one may discover my treasure. Good heavens, +how awful! The thought almost unmans me.” + +Mr. Leeson therefore came out and spoke in quite a civil tone for him. + +“If you will accompany me to the fowl-house I will show you the birds, +but I may as well say at once that I won’t give them for a mere nothing, +old as they are—and I should be the last to deceive you as to their age. +They are of a rare kind, and interesting from a scientific point of +view.” + +“I do not know about scientific fowls,” replied the gipsy, “but I want +to buy a few old hens to put into my pot.” + +“Eh?” cried Mr. Leeson in a tone of interrogation. “Have you a recipe +for boiling down old fowls?” + +“Have not I, your honor! And soon they are done, too—in a jiffy, so to +speak. But let me look at them, your honor, and I will pay you far more +than any one else would give for them.” + +“You won’t get them unless you give a very good sum. You gipsies, if the +truth were known, are all enormously rich.” + +He walked round to the hen-house, accompanied by the supposed gipsy and +Pilot. The fowls, about a dozen in number, were strutting up and down +their run. They were hungry, poor creatures, for they had had but a +slight meal that morning. The gipsy pretended to bargain for them, +keeping a sharp eye all the time on Mr. Leeson. + +“This one,” she said, catching the most disreputable-looking of the +birds, “is the one I want for the gipsies’ stew. There, I will give you +ninepence for this bird.” + +“Ninepence!” cried Mr. Leeson, almost shrieking out the word. “Do you +think I would sell a valuable hen like that for ninepence? And you say +it can be boiled down to eat tender!” + +“Boiled down to eat tender!” said the supposed gipsy. “Why, it can be +made delicious. There is broth in it, soup in it, and meat in it. There +is dinner for four, and supper for four, and soup for four in this old +hen!” + +“And you offer me ninepence for such a valuable bird! I tell you what: I +wish you would show me that recipe. I will give you sixpence for it. I +do not know how to make an old hen tender.” + +“Give me a quarter of an hour, your honor, and you will not know that +you are not eating the youngest chicken in the land.” + +“But how are you to cook it?” + +“I will make a bit of fire in the shrubbery, and do it by a recipe of my +own.” + +“You are sure you will not go near the house?” + +“No, your honor.” + +“But how can a fowl that is now alive be fit to eat in a quarter of an +hour?” + +“It is a recipe of my grandmother’s, your honor, and I am not going to +give it until you taste what the bird is like. Now, if you will go away +I will get it ready for you.” + +Mr. Leeson really felt interested. + +“What a sensible woman!” he said to himself. “I shall try and get that +recipe out of her for threepence; it will be valuable for my little book +of cheap recipes; it would probably sell the book. How to make four +dinners, four lunches, and four plates of soup out of an old hen. A most +taking recipe—most taking!” + +He walked up and down while the pretended gipsy heated up the stew she +had already made out of a really tender chicken. The poor old hen was +tied up so that she could not cackle or make any sound, and put into the +bottom of the supposed gipsy’s basket; and presently Jasper appeared +carrying the stew in a cracked basin. + +“Here, your honor, eat it up before me, and tell me afterwards if a +better or a more tender fowl ever existed.” + +It was in this way that Mr. Leeson made an excellent repast. He was +highly pleased, for decidedly the boniest and most scraggy of the fowls +had been selected, and nothing could be more delicious than this stew. +He fetched a plate and knife and fork from his sitting-room, where he +always kept a certain amount of useful kitchen utensils, ate his dinner, +pronounced it to be the best of the best, and desired the gipsy to leave +the balance in the porch. + +“Thank you,” he said; “it is admirable. And so you really made that out +of my old hen in a few minutes? I will give you threepence if you will +give me the recipe.” + +“I could not sell it for threepence, sir—no, not for sixpence; no, not +for a shilling. But I should like to make a bargain for the rest of the +fowls.” + +“How much will you give for each?” + +“Taking them all in a heap, I will give sixpence apiece,” replied the +gipsy. + +Mr. Leeson uttered a scream. + +“You have outdone yourself, my good woman,” he said. “Do you think I am +going to give fowls that will make such delicious and nourishing food +away for that trivial sum? My little daughter is a very clever cook, and +I shall instruct her with regard to the serving up of the remainder of +my poultry. If you will not give me the recipe I must ask you to go.” + +The gipsy pretended to be extremely angry. + +“I won’t go,” she said, “unless you allow me to tell you your fortune; I +won’t stir, and that’s flat.” + +“I do not believe in gipsy fortune-tellers. I shall have to call the +police if you do not leave my establishment immediately.” + +“And how will you manage when you don’t ever leave your own grounds? I +am thinking it may be you are a bit afraid. People who stick so close to +home often have a reason.” + +This remark frightened Mr. Leeson very much. He was always in terror +lest some one would guess that he kept his treasure on the premises. + +“Look here,” he said, raising his voice. “You see before you the poorest +man for my position in the whole of England; it is with the utmost +difficulty that I can keep soul and body together. Observe the place; +observe the house. Do you think I should care for a recipe to make old +fowls tender if I were not in very truth a most poverty-stricken +person?” + +“I will tell you if you show me your palm,” said the gipsy. + +Now, Mr. Leeson was superstitious. It was the last thing he credited +himself with, but nevertheless he was. The gipsy, with her dancing black +eyes, looked full at him. He had a shadowy, almost a fearful idea that +he had seen that face before—he could not make out when. Then it +occurred to him that this was the very face that had bent over him for +an instant the night before when he was coming back from his fit of +unconsciousness. Oh, it was impossible that the gipsy could have been +here then! Had he seen her in a sort of vision? He felt startled and +alarmed. The gipsy kept watching him; she seemed to be reading him +through and through. + +“I saw you in a dream,” she said. “And I know you will show your hand; +and I know I have things to tell you, both good and bad.” + +“Well, well!” said Mr. Leeson, “here is sixpence. Tell me your +gibberish, and then go.” + +The gipsy looked twice at the coin. + +“It is a poor one,” she said. “But them who is rich always give the +smallest.” + +“I am not rich, I tell you.” + +“They who are rich find it hardest to part with their pelf. But I will +take it.” + +“I will give you a shilling if you’ll go. But it is hard for a very poor +man to part with it.” + +“Sixpence will do,” said the gipsy, with a laugh. “Give it me. Now show +me your palm.” + +She pretended to look steadily into the wrinkled palm of the miser’s +hand, and then spoke. + +“I see here,” she said, “much wealth. Yes, just where this cross lies is +gold. I also see poverty. I also see a very great loss and a judgment.” + +“Go!” screamed the angry man. “Do not tell me another word.” + +He dashed into the house in absolute terror, and banged the hall door +after him. + +“I said I would give him a fright,” said Jasper to herself. “Well, if he +don’t touch another morsel till Miss Sylvia comes home late to-night, he +won’t die after my dinner. Ah, the poor old hen! I must get her out of +the basket now or she will be suffocated.” + +The gipsy walked slowly down the path, let herself out by the front +entrance, walked round to the back, got in once more, and handed the old +hen to a boy who was standing by the hedge. + +“There,” she said. “There’s a present for you. Take it at once and go.” + +“What do I want with it?” he asked in astonishment. “Why, it belongs to +old Mr. Leeson, the miser!” + +“Go—go!” she said. “You can sell it for sixpence, or a shilling, or +whatever it will fetch, only take it away.” + +The boy ran off laughing, the hen tucked under his arm. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX.—“WHY DID YOU DO IT?” + + +Meanwhile Sylvia was thoroughly enjoying herself. She started for the +Castle in the highest spirits. Her walk during the morning hours had not +fatigued her; and when, soon after twelve o’clock, she walked slowly and +thoughtfully up the avenue, a happier, prettier girl could scarcely be +seen. The good food she had enjoyed since Jasper had appeared on the +scene had already begun to tell. Her cheeks were plump, her eyes bright; +her somewhat pale complexion was creamy in tint and thoroughly healthy. +Her dress, too, effected wonders. Sylvia would look well in a cotton +frock; she would look well as a milkmaid, as a cottage girl; but she +also had that indescribable grace which would enable her to fill a +loftier station. And now, in her rich furs and dark-brown costume, she +looked fit to move in any society. She held Evelyn’s letter in her hand. +Her one fear was that Evelyn would remark on her own costume +transmogrified for Sylvia’s benefit. + +“Well, if she does, I don’t much care,” thought the happy girl. “After +all, truth is best. Why should I deceive? I deceived when I was here +last, when I wore Audrey’s dress. I had not the courage then that I have +now. Somehow to-day I feel happy and not afraid of anything.” + +She was met, just before she reached the front entrance, by Audrey and +Evelyn. + +“Here, Evelyn,” she cried—“here is a note for you.” + +Evelyn took it quickly. She did not want Audrey to know that Jasper was +living at The Priory. She turned aside and read her note, and Audrey +devoted herself to Sylvia. Audrey had liked Sylvia before; she liked her +better than ever now. She was far too polite to glance at her improved +dress; that somehow seemed to tell her that happier circumstances had +dawned for Sylvia, and a sense of rejoicing visited her. + +“I am so very glad you have come!” she said. “Evelyn and I have been +planning how we are to spend the day. We want to give you, and ourselves +also, a right good time. Do you know that Evelyn and I are schoolgirls +now? Is it not strange? Dear Miss Sinclair has left us. We miss her +terribly; but I think we shall like school-life—eh, Eve?” + +Evelyn had finished Jasper’s letter, and had thrust it into her pocket. + +“I hate school-life!” she said emphatically. + +“Oh Eve! but why?” asked Audrey. “I thought you were making a great many +friends at school.” + +“Wherever I go I shall make friends,” replied Evelyn in a careless tone. +“That, of course, is due to my position. But I do not know, after all,” +she continued, “that I like fair-weather friends. Mothery used to tell +me that I must be careful when with them. She said they would, one and +all, expect me to do something for them. Now, I hate people who want you +to do things for them. For my part, I shall soon let my so-called +friends know that I am not that sort of girl.” + +“Let us walk about now,” said Audrey. “It will be lunch-time before +long; afterwards I thought we might go for a ride. Can you ride, +Sylvia?” + +“I used to ride once,” she answered, coloring high with pleasure. + +“I can lend you a habit; and we have a very nice horse—quite quiet, and +at the same time spirited.” + +“I am not afraid of any horses,” answered the girl. “I should like a +ride immensely.” + +“We will have lunch, then a ride, then a good cozy chat together by the +schoolroom fire, then dinner; and then, what do you say to a dance? We +have asked some young friends to come to the Castle to-night for the +purpose.” + +“I must not be too late in going home,” said Sylvia. “And,” she added, +“I have not brought a dress for the evening.” + +“Oh, we must manage that,” said Audrey. “What a good thing that you and +I are the same height! Now, shall we walk round the shrubbery?” + +“The shrubbery always reminds me,” said Sylvia, “of the first day we +met.” + +“Yes. I was very angry with you that day,” said Audrey, with a laugh. +“You must know that I always hated that old custom of throwing the +Castle open to every one on New Year’s Day.” + +“But I am too glad of it,” said Sylvia. “It made me know you, and Evelyn +too.” + +“Don’t forget, Audrey,” said Evelyn at that moment, “that Sylvia is +really my friend. It was I who first brought her to the Castle.—You do +not forget that, do you, Sylvia?” + +“No,” said Sylvia, smiling. “And I like you both awfully. But do tell me +about your school—do, please.” + +“Well,” said Audrey, “there is a rather exciting thing to tell—something +unpleasant, too. Perhaps you ought not to know.” + +“Please—please tell me. I am quite dying to hear about it.” + +Audrey then described the mysterious damage done to Sesame and Lilies. + +“Miss Henderson was told,” she said, “and yesterday morning she spoke to +the entire school. She is going to punish the person who did it very +severely if she can find her; and if that person does not confess, I +believe the whole school is to be put more or less into Coventry.” + +“But how does she know that any of the girls did it?” was Sylvia’s +answer. “There are servants in the house. Has she questioned them?” + +“She has; but it so happens that the servants are quite placed above +suspicion, for the book was whole at a certain hour the very first day +we came to school, and that evening it was found in its mutilated +condition. During all those hours it happened to be in the Fourth Form +schoolroom.” + +“Yes,” said Evelyn in a careless tone. “It is quite horrid for me, you +know, for I am a Fourth Form girl. I ought not to be. I ought to be in +the Sixth Form with Audrey. But there! those unpleasant mistresses have +no penetration.” + +“But why should you wish to be in a higher form than your acquirements +warrant?” replied Sylvia. “Oh,” she added, with enthusiasm, “don’t I +envy you both your luck! Should I not love to be at school in order to +work hard!” + +“By the way, Sylvia,” said Audrey suddenly, “how have you been +educated?” + +“Why, anyhow,” said the girl. “I have taught myself mostly. But please +do not ask me any questions. I don’t want to think of my own life at all +to-day; I am so very happy at being with you two.” + +Audrey immediately turned the conversation; but soon, by a sort of +instinct, it crept back again to the curious occurrence which had taken +place at Miss Henderson’s school. + +“Please do not speak of it at lunch,” said Audrey, “for we have not told +mother or father anything about it. We hope that this disgraceful thing +will not be made public, but that the culprit will confess.” + +“Much chance of that!” said Evelyn; and she nudged Sylvia’s arm, on +which she happened to be leaning. + +The girls presently went into the house. Lunch followed. Lady Frances +was extremely kind to Sylvia—in fact, she made a pet of her. She looked +with admiration at the pretty and suitable costume, and wondered in her +own heart what she could do for the little girl. + +“I like her,” she said to herself. “She suits me better than any girl I +have ever met except my own dear Audrey. Oh, how I wish she were the +heiress instead of Evelyn!” + +Evelyn was fairly well behaved; she had learnt to suppress herself. She +was now outwardly dutiful to Lady Frances, and was, without any seeming +in the matter, affectionate to her uncle. The Squire was always +specially kind to Evelyn; but he liked young girls, and took notice of +Sylvia also, trying to draw her out. He spoke to her about her father. +He told her that he had once known a distinguished man of the name, and +wondered if it could be the same. Sylvia colored painfully, and showed +by many signs that the conversation distressed her. + +“It cannot be the same, of course,” said the Squire lightly, “for my +friend Robert Leeson was a man who was likely to rise to the very top of +his profession. He was a barrister of extreme eminence. I shall never +forget the brilliant way he spoke in a _cause célèbre_ which occupied +public attention not long ago. He won the case for his clients, and +covered himself with well-earned glory.” + +Sylvia’s eyes sparkled; then they grew dim with unshed tears. She +lowered her eyes and looked on her plate. Lady Frances nodded softly to +herself. + +“The same—doubtless the same,” she said to herself. “A most +distinguished man. How terribly sad! I must inquire into this; Edward +has unexpectedly given me the clue.” + +The girls went for a ride after lunch, and the rest of the delightful +day passed swiftly. Sylvia counted the hours. Whenever she looked at the +clock her face grew a little sadder. Half-hour after half-hour of the +precious time was going by. When should she have such a grand treat +again? At last it was time to go up-stairs to dress for dinner. + +“Now, you must come to my room, Sylvia,” said Evelyn. “Yes, I insist,” +she added, “for I was in reality your first friend.” + +Sylvia was quite willing to comply. She soon found herself in Evelyn’s +extremely pretty blue-and-silver room. How comfortable it looked—how +luxurious, how sweet, how refreshing to the eyes! The cleanliness and +perfect order of the room, the brightness of the fire, the calm, proper +look of Read as she stood by waiting to dress Evelyn for dinner, all +impressed Sylvia. + +“I like this life,” she said suddenly. “Perhaps it is bad for me even to +see it, but I like it; I confess as much.” + +“Perhaps, Miss Leeson,” said Read just then in a very courteous voice, +“you will not object to Miss Audrey lending you the same dress you wore +the last time you were here? It has been nicely made up, and looks very +fresh and new.” + +As Read spoke she pointed to the lovely Indian muslin robe which lay +across Evelyn’s bed. + +“Please, Read,” said Evelyn suddenly, “don’t stay to help me to dress +to-night; Sylvia will do that. I want to have a chat with her; I have a +lot to say.” + +“I will certainly help Evelyn if I can,” replied Sylvia. + +“Very well, miss,” replied Read. “To tell you the truth, I shall be +rather relieved; my mistress requires a fresh tucker to be put into the +dress she means to wear this evening, and I have not quite finished it. +Then you will excuse me, young ladies. If you want anything, will you +have the goodness to ring?” + +The next moment Read had departed. + +“Now, that is right,” said Evelyn. “Now we shall have a cozy time; there +is nearly an hour before we need go down-stairs. How do you like my +room, Sylvia?” + +“Very much indeed. I see the second bed has gone.” + +“Oh yes. I do not mind a scrap sleeping alone now; in fact, I rather +prefer it. Sylvia, I want so badly to confide in you!” + +“To confide in me! How? Why?” + +“I want to ask you about Jasper. Oh yes, she wants to see me. I can +manage to slip out about nine o’clock on Tuesday next; we are not to +dine down-stairs on Tuesday night, for there is a big dinner party. She +can come to meet me then; I shall be standing by the stile in the +shrubbery.” + +“But surely Lady Frances will not like you to be out so late!” + +“As if I minded her! Sylvia, for goodness’ sake don’t tell me that you +are growing goody-goody.” + +“No; I never was that,” replied Sylvia. “I don’t think I could be; it is +not in me, I am afraid.” + +“I hope not; I don’t think Jasper would encourage that sort of thing. +Yes, I have a lot to tell her, and you may say from me that I don’t care +for school.” + +“Oh, I am so sorry! It is incomprehensible to me, for I should think +that you would love it.” + +“For some reasons I might have endured it; but then, you see, there is +that awkward thing about the Ruskin book.” + +“The Ruskin book!” said Sylvia. She turned white, and her heart began to +beat. “Surely—surely, Evelyn, you have had nothing to do with the +tearing out of the first pages of _Sesame and Lilies_!” + +“You won’t tell—you promise you won’t tell?” said Evelyn, nodding her +head, and her eyes looking very bright. + +“Oh! I don’t know. This is dreadful; please relieve my anxiety.” + +“You will not tell; you dare not!” said Evelyn, with passion. “If you +did I would tell about Jasper—I would. Oh! I would not leave a stone +unturned to make your life miserable. There, Sylvia, forgive me; I did +not mean to scold. I like you so much, dear Sylvia; and I am so glad you +have Jasper with you, and it suits me to perfection. But I did tear the +leaves out of the book; yes, I did, and I am glad I did; and you must +never, never tell.” + +“But, Eve—oh, Eve! why did you do such a dreadful thing?” + +“I did it in a fit of temper, to spite that horrid Miss Thompson; I hate +her so! She was so intolerably cheeky; she made me stay in during +recreation on the very first day, and she accused me of telling lies, +and when she had left the room I saw the odious book lying on the table. +I had seen her reading it before, and I thought it was her book; and +almost before I had time to think, the pages were out and torn up and in +the fire. If I had known it was Miss Henderson’s book, of course, I +should not have done it. But I did not know. I meant to punish horrid +old Thompson, and it seems I have succeeded better than I expected.” + +“But, Eve—Eve, the whole school is suspected now. What are you going to +do?” + +“Do!” replied Evelyn. “Nothing.” + +“But you have been asked, have you not, whether you knew anything about +the injury to the book?” + +“I have, and I told a nice little whopper—a nice pretty little whopper—a +dear, charming little whopper—and I mean to stick to it.” + +“Eve!” + +“You look shocked. Well, cheer up; it has not been your fault. I must +confide in some one, so I have told you, and you may tell Jasper if you +like. Dear old Jasper! she will applaud me for my spirit. Oh dear! do +you know, Sylvia, I think you are rather a tiresome girl. I thought you +too would have admired the plucky way I have acted.” + +“How can I admire deceit and lies?” replied Sylvia in a low tone. + +“You dare say those words to me!” + +“Yes, I dare. Oh, you have made me unhappy! Oh, you have destroyed my +day! Oh Eve, Eve, why did you do it?” + +“You won’t tell on me, please, Sylvia? You have promised that, have you +not?” + +“Oh, why should I tell? It is not my place. But why did you do it?” + +“If you will not tell, nothing matters. I have done it, and it is not +your affair.” + +“Yes, it is, now that you have confided in me. Oh, you have made me +unhappy!” + +“You are a goose! But you may tell dear Jasper; and tell her too that +her little Eve will wait for her at the turnstile on Tuesday night at +nine o’clock. Now then, let’s get ready or we shall be late for dinner.” + + + + +CHAPTER XX.—“NOT GOOD NOR HONORABLE.” + + +It was very late indeed when Sylvia got home. On this occasion she was +not allowed to return to The Priory unaccompanied; Lady Frances insisted +on Read going with her. Read said very little as the two walked over the +roads together; but she was ever a woman of few words. Sylvia longed to +question her, as she wanted to take as much news as possible to Jasper, +but Read’s face was decidedly uninviting. As soon as the woman had gone, +Sylvia slipped round to the back entrance, where Jasper was waiting for +her. Jasper had the gate ajar, and Pilot was standing by her side. + +“Come, darling—come right in,” she said. “The coast is clear, and, oh! I +have a lot to tell you.” + +She fastened the back gate, making it look as though it had not been +disturbed for years, and a moment later the woman and the girl were +standing in the warm kitchen. + +“The door is locked, and he will not come,” said Jasper. “He is quite +well, and I heard him go up-stairs to his bed an hour ago.” + +“And did he eat anything, Jasper?” + +“Oh, did he not, my love? Oh, I am fit to die with laughter when I think +of it! He imagines that he has demolished one quarter of the scraggiest +hen in the hen-house.” + +“What! old Wallaroo?” replied Sylvia, a smile breaking over her face. + +“Wallaroo, or whatever outlandish name you like to call the bird.” + +“Please tell me all about it.” + +Sylvia sank down as she spoke into a chair. Jasper related her morning’s +adventure, and the two laughed heartily. + +“Only it seems a shame to deceive him,” said Sylvia at last. “And so +Wallaroo has really gone! Do you know, I shall miss her; I have stood +and watched her antics for so many long days. She was the most +outrageous flirt of any bird I have ever come across, and so indignant +when old Roger paid the least attention to any of his other wives.” + +“She has passed her flirting days,” replied Jasper, “and is now the +property of little Tim Donovan in the village; perhaps, however, she +will get more food there. My dear Miss Sylvia, you must make up your +mind that each one of those birds has to be disposed of in secret, and +that I in exchange get in sleek and fat young fowls for your father’s +benefit. But now, that is enough on the subject for the present. Tell me +all about Miss Evelyn; I am just dying to hear.” + +“She will meet you on Tuesday evening at nine o’clock by the turnstile +in the shrubbery,” replied Sylvia. + +“That is right. What a brave, dear, plucky pet she is!” + +Sylvia was silent. + +“What is the matter with you, Miss Sylvia? Had you not a happy day?” + +“I had—very, very happy until just before dinner.” + +“And what happened then?” + +“I will tell you in the morning, Jasper—not to-night. Something happened +then. I am sorry and sad, but I will tell you in the morning. I must +slip up to bed now without father knowing it.” + +“Your father thinks that you are in bed, for I went up, just imitating +your step to perfection, an hour before he did, and I went into your +room and shut the door; and when he went up he knocked at the door, and +I answered in your voice that I had a bit of a headache and had gone to +bed. He asked me if I had had any supper, and I said no; and he said the +best thing for a headache was to rest the stomach. Bless you! he is keen +on that, whatever else he is not keen on. He went off to his bed +thinking you were snug in yours. When I made sure that he was well in +his bed, which I could tell by the creaking of the bedstead, I let +myself out. I had oiled the lock previously. I shut the door without +making a sound loud enough to wake a mouse, and crept down-stairs; and +here I am. You must not go up to-night or you will give me away, and +there will be a fine to-do. You must sleep in my cozy room to-night.” + +“Well, I do not mind that,” replied Sylvia. “How clever you are, Jasper! +You really did manage most wonderfully; only again I must say it seems a +shame to deceive my dear old father.” + +“It is a question of dying in the cause of your dear old father or +deceiving him,” replied Jasper in blunt tones. “Now then, come to bed, +my love, for if you are not dead with sleep I am.” + +The next morning Mr. Leeson was in admirable spirits. He met Sylvia at +breakfast, and congratulated her on the long day she had spent in the +open air. + +“And you look all the better for it,” he said. “I was too busy to think +about you at tea-time; indeed, I did not have any tea, having consumed a +most admirable luncheon some time before one o’clock. I was so very busy +attending to my accounts all the afternoon that I quite forgot my dear +little girl. Well, I have made arrangements, dearest, to buy shares in +the Kilcolman Gold-mines. The thing may or may not turn up trumps, but +in any case I have made an effort to spare a little money to buy some of +the shares. That means that we must be extra prudent and careful for the +next year or so. You will aid me in that, will you not, Sylvia? You will +solemnly promise me, my dear and only child, that you will not give way +to recklessness; when you see a penny you will look at it two or three +times before you spend it. You have not the least idea how careful it +makes you to keep what I call close and accurate accounts, every +farthing made to produce its utmost value, and, if possible—if possible, +my dear Sylvia—saved. It is surprising how little man really wants here +below; the luxuries of the present day are disgusting, enervating, +unnecessary. I speak to you very seriously, for now and then, I grieve +to say, I have seen traces in you of what rendered my married life +unhappy.” + +“Father, you must not speak against mother,” said Sylvia. Her face was +pale and her voice trembled. “There was no one like mother,” she +continued, “and for her sake I——” + +“Yes, Sylvia, what do you do for her sake?” + +“I put up with this death in life. Oh father, father, do you think I +really—really like it?” + +Mr. Leeson looked with some alarm at his child. Sylvia’s eyes were full +of tears; she laid her hands on the table, bent forward, and looked full +across at her father. + +“For mother’s sake I bear it; you cannot think that I like it!” she +repeated. + +Mr. Leeson’s first amazement now gave place to cold displeasure. + +“We will not pursue this topic,” he said. “I have something more to tell +you. I made a pleasant discovery yesterday. During your absence a +strange thing occurred. A gipsy woman entered the avenue and walked up +to the front door, unmolested by Pilot. She seemed to have a strange +power over Pilot, for the dog did not bar her entrance in the least. I +naturally went to see what she wanted, and she told me that she had +come, thinking I might have some fowls for sale. Now, you know, my dear, +those old birds in the hen-house have long been eating their heads off, +and I rather hailed an opportunity of getting rid of them; they only lay +eggs—and that but a few—in the warm weather, and during the winter we +are at a loss by our efforts to keep them alive.” + +“I know plenty about fowls,” said Sylvia then. “They need hot suppers +and all sorts of good things to make them lay eggs in cold weather.” + +“We can do without eggs, but we cannot afford to give the fowls hot +suppers,” said Mr. Leeson in a tone of great dignity. “But now, Sylvia, +to the point. The woman offered a ludicrous price for the birds, and of +course I would not part with them; at the same time she +incidentally—silly person—gave herself away. She let me understand that +she wanted the fowls to stew down in the gipsy pot. Now, of late, when +arranging my recipes for publication, I have often thought of the +gipsies and the delicious stews they make out of all sorts of things +which other people would throw away. It occurred to me, therefore, to +question her; and the result was, dear, not to go too much into +particulars, that she killed one of the fowls, and in a very short time +brought me a delicious stew made out of the bird, really as tasty and +succulent as anything I have ever swallowed. I paid her a trifle for her +services, and the remainder of the fowl is at the present moment lying +in the cupboard in our sitting-room. I should like it to be warmed up +for our midday repast; there is a great deal more there than we can by +any possibility consume, but we can have a dainty meal out of part of +the stew, and the rest can be saved for supper. I have further decided +that we must get some one to kill the rest of the birds, and we will +have them one by one on the table. Do you ever, my dear Sylvia, in your +perambulations abroad, go near any of the gipsies?—for, if so, I should +not mind giving you a shilling to purchase that woman’s recipe.” + +Sylvia at this juncture rose from the table. She had with the utmost +difficulty kept her composure while her father was so innocently talking +about the gipsy’s stew. + +“I will see—I will see, father. I quite understand,” she said; and the +next instant she ran out of the room. + +“Really,” thought Mr. Leeson when she had gone, “Sylvia talks a little +strangely at times. Just think how she spoke just now of her happy home! +Death in life, she called it—a most wrong and exaggerated term; and +exaggeration of speech leads to extravagance of mind, and extravagance +of mind means most reckless expenditure. If I am not very careful my +poor child will soon be on the road to ruin. I doubt if I ought to feed +her up with dainties—and really that stewed fowl made a rare and +delicious dish—but it is the most saving thing I can do; there are +enough birds in the hen-house to last Sylvia and me for several weeks to +come.” + +Meanwhile Sylvia had rushed off to Jasper. + +“Oh Jasper!” she said, “I nearly died with laughter, and yet it is +horrid to deceive him. Oh! please do not kill any more of the birds for +a long time; it is more than I can stand. Father is so delighted; and he +has offered me a shilling to buy the recipe from you.” + +“Bless you, dear!” replied Jasper, “and I think what I am doing for your +father is well worth a shilling, so you had better give it to me.” + +“I have not got it yet,” replied Sylvia. “You must live on trust, +Jasper; but, oh, it is quite too funny!” + +“Now, you sit down just there,” said Jasper, “and tell me what troubled +you last night.” + +Sylvia’s face changed utterly when Jasper spoke. + +“It is about Eve,” she said. “She has done very wrong—very wrong +indeed.” And then Sylvia related exactly what had occurred at school. + +Jasper stood and listened with her arms akimbo; her face more than once +underwent a curious expression. + +“And so you blame my little Eve very much?” she said when Sylvia had +ceased speaking. + +“How can I help it? To get the whole school accused—to tell a lie to do +it! Oh Jasper, how can I help myself?” + +“You were brought up so differently,” said Jasper. “Maybe if I had had +the rearing of you and the loving of you from your earliest days I might +have thought with you; as it is, I think with Eve. I could not counsel +her to tell. I cannot but admire her spirit when she did what she did.” + +“Jasper! Jasper!” said Sylvia in a tone of horror, “you cannot—cannot +mean what you are saying! Oh, please unsay those dreadful words! I was +hoping—hoping—hoping that you might put things right. What is to be +done? There is going to be a great fuss—a great commotion—a great +trouble at Miss Henderson’s school. Evelyn can put it right by +confessing; are you not going to urge her to confess?” + +“I urge my darling to lower herself! Miss Sylvia, if you say that kind +of thing to me again, you and I can scarcely be friends.” + +“Jasper! Jasper!” + +“We won’t talk about it,” said Jasper, with decision. “I love you, miss, +and what is more, I respect and admire you, but I cannot rise as high as +you, Miss Sylvia; I was not reared so. I do not think that my little Eve +could have done other than she did when she was so tempted.” + +“Then, Jasper, you are a bad friend to Evelyn—a very bad friend; and +what is more, if there is great trouble at the school, and if Audrey +gets into it, and if Evelyn herself will never tell, why, I must.” + +“Oh, good gracious! you would not be so mean as that; and the poor, dear +little innocent confided in you!” + +“I do not want to be so mean, and I will not tell for a long, long time; +but I will tell—I will—if no one else can put it right, for it is quite +too cruel.” + +Jasper looked long and full at Sylvia. + +“This may mean a good deal,” she said—“more than you think. And have you +no sense of honor, miss? What you are told in confidence, have you any +right to give to the world?” + +“I will not tell if I can help myself, but this matter has made me very +unhappy indeed.” + +Then Sylvia put on her shabby hat and went out. She passed the +fowl-house, and stood for a moment, a sad smile on her face, looking +down at the ill-fed birds. Then she went along the tiny shrubbery to the +front entrance, and, accompanied as usual by her beloved Pilot, started +forth. She was in her very shabbiest and oldest dress to-day, and the +joy and brightness of her appearance of twenty-four hours ago had +absolutely left her young face. It was Sunday morning, but Sylvia never +went to church. She heard the bells ringing now. Sweetly they pealed +across the valley, and one little church on the top of the hill sent +forth a low and yet joyful chime. Sylvia longed to press her hands to +her ears; she did not want to listen to the church bells. Those who went +to church did right, not wrong; those who went to church listened to +God’s Word, and followed the ways—the good and holy ways—of religion. + +“And I cannot go because of my shabby, shabby dress,” she thought. “But +why should I not wear the beautiful dress I had yesterday and venture to +church?” + +No sooner had the thought come to her than she returned, dashed in by +the back entrance, desired Pilot to stay where he was, flew up-stairs, +dressed herself recklessly in her rich finery of yesterday, and started +off for church. She had a fancy to go to the church on the top of the +hill, but she had to walk fast to reach it. She did arrive there a +little late. The verger showed her into a pew half-way up the church. +One or two people turned to stare at the handsome girl. The brilliant +color was in her cheeks from the quickness of her walk. She dropped on +her knees and covered her face; all was confusion in her mind. In the +Squire’s pew, a very short distance away, sat Audrey and Evelyn. Could +Evelyn indeed mean to pray? Of what sort of nature was Evelyn made? +Sylvia felt that she could not meet her eyes. + +“Some people who are not good, who are not honorable, go to church,” she +thought to herself. “It is very sad and very puzzling.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXI.—THE TORN BOOK. + + +On the following morning Audrey and Evelyn started off for school. On +the way Audrey turned to her companion. + +“I wonder if anything has been discovered with regard to the injured +book?” she said. + +“Oh, I wish you would not talk so continually about that stupid old +fuss!” said Evelyn in her crossest voice. + +“It is useless to shirk it,” was Audrey’s reply. “You do not suppose for +a single moment that Miss Henderson will not get to the bottom of the +mischief? For my part, I think I could understand a girl doing it just +for a moment in a spirit of revenge, although I have never yet felt +revengeful to any one—but how any one could keep it up and allow the +school to get into trouble is what puzzles me.” + +“Were you ever at school before, Audrey?” was Evelyn’s remark. + +“No; were you?” + +“I wish I had been; I have always longed for school.” + +“Well, you have your wish at last. How do you like it?” + +“I should like it fairly well if I were put into a higher form, and if +this stupid fuss were not going on.” + +“Why do you dislike the subject being mentioned so much?” + +Evelyn colored slightly. Audrey looked at her. There was no suspicion in +Audrey’s eyes; it was absolutely impossible for her to connect her +cousin with anything so mean and low. Evelyn had a great many +objectionable habits, but that she could commit what was in Audrey’s +opinion a very grave sin, and then tell lies about it, was more than the +young girl could either imagine or realize. + +The pretty governess-cart took them to school in good time, and the +usual routine of the morning began. It was immediately after prayers, +however, that Miss Henderson spoke from her desk to the assembled +school. + +“I am sorry to tell you all,” she began, “that up to the present I have +not got the slightest clue to the mystery of the injured book. I have +questioned, I have gone carefully into every particular, and all I can +find out is that the book was left in classroom No. 4 (which is usually +occupied by the girls of the Fourth Form); that it was placed there at +nine o’clock in the morning, and was not used again by Miss Thompson +until school was over—namely, between five and six o’clock in the +evening. During that time, as far as I can make out, only one girl was +alone in the room. That girl was Evelyn Wynford. I do not in any way +accuse Evelyn Wynford of having committed the sin—for sin it was—but I +have to mention the fact that she was alone in the room during recess, +having failed to learn a lesson which had been set her. During the +afternoon the room was, as far as I can tell, empty for a couple of +hours, and of course some one may have come in then and done the +mischief. I therefore have not the slightest intention of suspecting a +girl who only arrived that morning; but I mention the fact, all the +same, that Evelyn Wynford was _alone in the room for the space of twenty +minutes_.” + +While Miss Henderson was speaking all eyes were turned in Evelyn’s +direction; all eyes saw a white and stubborn face, and two angry brown +eyes that flashed almost wildly round the room and then looked down. +Just for an instant a few of the girls said to themselves, “That is a +guilty face.” But again they thought, “How could she do it? Why should +she do it? No, it certainly cannot be Evelyn Wynford.” + +As to Audrey, she pitied Evelyn very much. She thought it extremely hard +on her that Miss Henderson should have singled her out for individual +notice on this most painful occasion, and out of pity for her she would +not once glance in her direction. + +Miss Henderson paused for a moment; then she continued: + +“Whoever the sinner may be, I am determined to sift this crime to the +bottom. I shall severely punish the girl who tore the book unless she +makes up her mind to confess to me between now and to-morrow evening. If +she confesses before school is over to-morrow evening, I shall not only +not punish but I shall forgive her. It will be my painful duty, however, +to oblige her to confess her sin before the entire school, as in no +other way can the rest of the girls be exonerated. I give her till +to-morrow evening to make up her mind. I hope she will ask for strength +from above to enable her to make this very painful confession. I myself +shall pray that she may be guided aright. If no one comes forward by +that time, I must again assemble the school to suggest a very terrible +alternative.” + +Here Miss Henderson left the room, and the different members of the +school went off to their respective duties. + +School went on much as usual. The girls were forced to attend to their +numerous duties; the all-absorbing theme was therefore held more or less +in abeyance for the time being. At recess, however, knots of girls might +be seen talking to one another in agitated whispers. The subject of the +injured book was the one topic on every one’s tongue. Evelyn produced +chocolates, crystallized fruits, and other dainties from a richly +embroidered bag which she wore at her side, and soon had her own little +coterie of followers. To these she imparted her opinion that Miss +Henderson was not only a fuss, but a dragon; that probably a servant had +torn the book—or perhaps, she added, Miss Thompson herself. + +“Why,” said Evelyn, “should not Miss Thompson greatly dislike Miss +Henderson, and tear the outside page out of the book just to spite her?” + +But this theory was not received as possible by any one to whom she +imparted it. Miss Thompson was a favorite; Miss Thompson hated no one; +Miss Thompson was the last person on earth to do such a shabby thing. + +“Well,” said Evelyn crossly, “I don’t know who did it; and what is more, +I don’t care. Come and walk with me, Alice,” she said to a pretty little +curly-headed girl who sat next to her at class. “Come and let me tell +you about all the grandeur which will be mine by and by. I shall be +queen by and by. It is a shame—a downright shame—to worry a girl in my +position with such a trifle as a torn book. The best thing we can all do +is to subscribe amongst ourselves and give the old dragon another +_Sesame and Lilies_. I don’t mind subscribing. Is it not a good +thought?” + +“But that will not help her,” said Alice; while Cherry, who stood near, +solemnly shook her head. + +“Why will it not help her?” asked Evelyn. + +“Because it was the inscription she valued—the inscription in her +brother’s writing; her brother who is dead, you know.” + +Evelyn was about to make another pert remark when a memory assailed her. +Naughty, heartless, rude as she was, she had somewhere a spark of +feeling. If she had loved any one it was the excitable and strange woman +she had called “mothery.” + +“If mothery gave me something and wrote my name in it I’d be fond of +it,” she thought; and just for a moment a prick of remorse visited her +hard little heart. + +No other girl in the whole school could confess the crime which Evelyn +had committed, and the evening came in considerable gloom and +excitement. Audrey could talk of nothing else on their way home. + +“It is terrible,” said Audrey. “I am really sorry we are both at the +school; it makes things so unpleasant for us. And you, Evelyn—I did pity +you when Miss Henderson said to-day that you were alone in the room. Did +you not feel awful?” + +“No, I did not,” replied Evelyn. “At least, perhaps I did just for a +minute.” + +“Well, it was very brave of you. I should not have liked to be in your +position.” + +Evelyn turned the conversation. + +“I wonder whether any one will confess to-morrow,” said Audrey again. + +“Perhaps it was one of the servants,” remarked Evelyn. Then she said +abruptly, “Oh, do let us change the subject!” + +“There is something fine about Evelyn after all,” thought Audrey; “And I +am so glad! She took that speech of Miss Henderson’s very well indeed. +Now, I scarcely thought it fair to have her name singled out in the way +it was. Surely Miss Henderson could not have suspected my little +cousin!” + +At dinner Audrey mentioned the whole circumstance of the torn book to +her parents. The girls were again dining with the Squire and Lady +Frances. The Squire was interested for a short time; he then began to +chat with Evelyn, who was fast, in her curious fashion, becoming a +favorite of his. She was always at her best in his society, and now +nestled up close to him, and said in an almost winsome manner: + +“Don’t let us talk about the old fuss at school.” + +“Whom do you call the old fuss, Evelyn?” + +“Miss Henderson. I don’t like her a bit, Uncle Edward.” + +“That is very naughty, Evelyn. Remember, I want you to like her.” + +“Why?” + +“Because for the present, at least, she is your instructress.” + +“But why should I like my instructress?” + +“She cannot influence you unless you like her.” + +“Then she will never influence me, because I shall never like her,” +cried the reckless girl. “I wish you would teach me, Uncle Edward. I +should learn from you; you would influence me because I love you.” + +“I do try to influence you, Evelyn, and I want you to do a great many +things for me.” + +“I would do anything in all the world for him,” thought Evelyn, “except +confess that I tore that book; but that I would not do even for him. Of +course, now that there has been such an awful fuss, I am sorry I did it, +but for no other reason. It is one comfort, however, they cannot +possibly suspect me.” + +Lady Frances, however, took Audrey’s information in a very different +spirit from what her husband did. She felt indignant at Evelyn’s having +been singled out for special and undoubtedly unfavorable notice by Miss +Henderson, and resolved to call at the school the next day to have an +interview with the head-mistress. She said nothing to Audrey about her +intention, and the girls went off to school without the least idea of +what Lady Frances was about to do. Her carriage stopped before Chepstow +House a little before noon. She inquired for Miss Henderson, and was +immediately admitted into the head-mistress’s private sitting-room. +There Miss Henderson a moment or two later joined her. + +“I am sorry to trouble you,” began Lady Frances at once, “but I have +come on a matter which occasioned me a little distress. I allude to the +mystery of the torn book. Audrey has told me all about it, so I am in +possession of full particulars. Of course I am extremely sorry for you, +and can quite understand your feelings with regard to the injury of a +book you value so much; but, at the same time, you will excuse my +saying, Miss Henderson, that I think your mentioning Evelyn’s name in +the way you did was a little too obvious. It was uncomfortable for the +poor child, although I understand from my daughter that she took it +extremely well.” + +“In a case of this kind,” replied Miss Henderson quietly, “one has to be +just, and not to allow any favoritism to appear.” + +“Oh, certainly,” said Lady Frances; “it was my wish in sending both +girls to school that they should find their level.” + +“And I regret to say,” answered Miss Henderson, “that your niece’s level +is not a high one.” + +“Alas! I am aware of it. I have been terribly pained since Evelyn came +home by her recklessness and want of obedience; but this is a very +different matter. This shows a most depraved nature; and of course you +cannot for a moment have suspected my niece when you spoke of her being +alone in the room.” + +“Had any other girl been alone in the room I should equally have +mentioned her name,” said Miss Henderson. “I certainly did not at the +time suspect Miss Wynford.” + +“What do you mean by ‘did not at the time’? Have you changed your +opinion?” + +Lady Frances’s face turned very white. + +“I am sorry to say that I have.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“If you will pardon me for a moment I will explain.” + +Miss Henderson left the room. + +While she was absent Lady Frances felt a cold dew breaking out on her +forehead. + +“This is beyond everything,” she thought. “But it is impossible; the +child could never have done it. What motive would she have? She is not +as bad as that; and it was her very first day at school.” + +Miss Henderson re-entered the room, accompanied by Miss Thompson. In +Miss Thompson’s hand was a copy of the History of England that Evelyn +had been using. + +“Will you kindly open that book,” said Miss Henderson, “and show Lady +Frances what you have found there?” + +Miss Thompson did so. She opened the History at the reign of Edward I. +Between the leaves were to be seen two fragments of torn paper. Miss +Thompson removed them carefully and laid them upon Lady Frances’s hand. +Lady Frances glanced at them, and saw that they were beyond doubt torn +from a copy of Ruskin’s _Sesame and Lilies_. She let them drop back +again on to the open page of the book. + +“I accuse no one,” said Miss Henderson. “Even now I accuse no one; but I +grieve to tell you, Lady Frances, that this book was in the hands of +your niece, Evelyn Wynford, on that afternoon.—Miss Thompson, will you +relate the entire circumstances to Lady Frances?” + +“I am very, very sorry,” said Miss Thompson. “I wish with all my heart I +had understood the child better, but of course she was a stranger to me. +The circumstance was this: I gave her the history of the reign of Edward +I. to look over during class, as of course on her first day at school +she had no regular lessons ready. She glanced at it, told me she knew +the reign, and amused herself looking about during the remainder of the +time. At recess I called her to me and questioned her. She seemed to be +totally ignorant of anything relating to Edward I. I reproved her for +having made an incorrect statement——” + +“For having told a lie, you mean,” snapped Lady Frances. + +Miss Thompson bowed. + +“I reproved her, and as a punishment desired her to look over the reign +while the other girls were in the playground.” + +“And quite right,” said Lady Frances. + +“She was very much annoyed, but I was firm. I left her with the book in +her hand. I have nothing more to say. At six o’clock that evening I +removed _Sesame and Lilies_ from its place in the classroom, and took it +away to continue the preparation of a lecture. I then found that several +pages had been removed. This morning, early, I happened to take this +very copy of the History, and found these fragments in the part of the +book which contains the reign of Edward I.” + +“Suspicion undoubtedly now points to Evelyn,” said Miss Henderson; “and +I must say, Lady Frances, that although a matter of this kind pertains +entirely to the school, and must be dealt with absolutely by the +head-mistress, yet your having called, and in a measure taken the matter +up, relieves me of a certain responsibility.” + +“Suspicion does undoubtedly point to the unhappy child,” said Lady +Frances; “but still, I can scarcely believe it. What do you mean to do?” + +“I shall to-morrow morning have to state before the entire school what I +have now stated to you.” + +“It might be best for me to remove Evelyn, and let her confess to you in +writing.” + +“I do not think that would be either right or fair. If the girl is taken +away now she is practically injured for life. Give her a chance, I +beseech you, Lady Frances, of retrieving her character.” + +“Oh, what is to be done?” said Lady Frances. “To think that my daughter +should have a girl like that for a companion! You do not know how we are +all to be pitied.” + +“I do indeed; you have my sincere sympathy,” said Miss Henderson. + +“And what do you advise?” + +“I think, as she is a member of the school, you must leave her to me. +She committed this offense on the very first day of her school-life, and +if possible we must not be too severe on her. She has not been brought +up as an English girl.” + +Lady Frances talked a little longer with the head-mistress, and went +away; she felt terribly miserable and unhappy. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII.—“STICK TO YOUR COLORS, EVELYN.” + + +Evelyn met Jasper, as arranged, on Tuesday evening. She found it quite +easy to slip away unnoticed, for in truth Lady Frances was too unhappy +to watch her movements particularly. The girls had been dining alone. +Audrey had a headache, and had gone to bed early. Evelyn rushed up to +her room, put on a dark shawl, which completely covered her fair hair +and white-robed little figure, and rushed out by a side entrance. She +wore thin shoes, however, being utterly reckless with regard to her +health. Jasper was waiting for her. It took but an instant for Jasper to +clasp her in her arms, lifting her off the ground as she did so. + +“Oh, my little darling,” cried the affectionate woman—“my sweet little +white Eve! Oh, let me hug you; let me kiss you! Oh, my pet! it is like +cold water to a thirsty person to clasp you in my arms again.” + +“Do not squeeze me quite so tight, Jasper,” said Evelyn. “Yes, of +course, I am glad to see you—very glad.” + +“But let me feel your feet, pet. Oh, to think of your running out like +this in your house-shoes! You will catch your death! Here, I will sit +down on this step and keep you in my arms. Now, is not that cozy, my fur +cloak wrapped round you, feet and all? Is not that nice, little Eve?” + +“Yes, very nice,” said Evelyn. “It is almost as good as if I were back +again on the ranch with mothery and you.” + +“Ah, the happy old days!” sighed Jasper. + +“Yes, they were very happy, Jasper. I almost wish I was back again. I am +worried a good bit; things are not what I thought they would be in +England. There is no fuss made about me, and at school they treat me so +horribly.” + +“You bide your time, my love; you bide your time.” + +“I don’t like school, Jas.” + +“And why not, my beauty? You know you must be taught, my dear Miss +Evelyn; an ignorant young lady has no chance at all in these enlightened +days.” + +“Oh! please, Jas, do not talk so much like a horrid book; be your true +old self. What does learning matter?” + +“Everything, love; I assure you it does.” + +“Well, I shall never be learned; it is too much trouble.” + +“But why don’t you like school, pet?” + +“I will tell you. I have got into a scrape; I did not mean to, but I +have.” + +“Oh, you mean about that book. Sylvia told me. Why did you tell Sylvia, +Evelyn?” + +“I had to tell some one, and she is not a schoolgirl.” + +“She is not your sort, Evelyn.” + +“Is she not? I like her very much.” + +“But she is not your sort; for instance, she could not do a thing of +that kind.” + +“Oh, I do not suppose many people would have spirit enough,” said Evelyn +in the voice of one who had done a very fine act. + +“She could not do it,” repeated Jasper; “and I expect she is in the +right, and that you, my little love, are in the wrong. You were +differently trained. Well, my dear Eve, the long and short of it is that +I admire what you did, only somehow Sylvia does not, and you will have +to be very careful or she may——” + +“What—what, Jasper?” + +“She may not regard it as a secret that she will always keep.” + +“Is she that sort? Oh, the horrid, horrid thing!” said Evelyn. “Oh, to +think that I should have told her! But you cannot mean it; it is +impossible that you can mean it, Jasper!” + +“Don’t you fret, love, for I will not let her. If she dares to tell on +you, why, I will leave her, and then it is pretty near starvation for +the poor little miss.” + +“You are sure you will not let her tell? I really am in rather a nasty +scrape. They are making such a horrid fuss at school. This evening was +the limit given for the guilty person—I should not say the guilty +person, but the spirited person—to tell, and the spirited person has not +told; and to-morrow morning goodness knows what will happen. Miss +Henderson has a rod in pickle for us all, I expect. I declare it is +quite exciting. None of the girls suspect me, and I talk so openly, and +sometimes they laugh, too. I suppose we shall all be punished. I do not +really know what is going to be done.” + +“You hold your tongue and let the whole matter slide. That is my +advice,” said Jasper. “I would either do that or I would out with it +boldly—one or the other. Say you did it, and that you are not ashamed to +have done it.” + +“I could not—I could not,” said Evelyn. “I may be brave after a fashion, +but I am not brave enough for that. Besides, you know, Jasper, I did say +already that I had not done it.” + +“Oh, to be sure,” answered Jasper. “I forgot that. Well, you must stick +to your colors now, Eve; and at the worst, my darling, you have but to +come to me and I will shield you.” + +“At the worst—yes, at the worst,” said Evelyn. “I will remember that. +But if I want to come to you very badly how can I?” + +“I will come every night to this stile at nine o’clock, and if you want +me you will find me. I will stay here for exactly five minutes, and any +message you may like to give you can put under this stone. Now, is not +that a ’cute thought of your dear old Jasper’s?” + +“It is—it is,” said the little girl. “Perhaps, Jasper, I had better be +going back now.” + +“In a minute, darling—in a minute.” + +“And how are you getting on with Sylvia, Jasper?” + +“Oh, such fun, dear! I am having quite an exciting time—hidden from the +old gentleman, and acting the gipsy, and pretending I am feeding him +with old fowls when I am giving him the tenderest chicken. You have not, +darling, a little scrap of money to spare that you can help old Jasper +with?” + +“Oh! you are so greedy, Jasper; you are always asking for things. Uncle +Edward makes me an allowance, but not much; no one would suppose I was +the heiress of everything.” + +“Well dear, the money don’t matter. I will come here again to-morrow +night. Now, keep up your pecker, little Eve, and all will be well.” + +Evelyn kissed Jasper, and was about to run back to the house when the +good woman remembered the light shoes in which she had come out. + +“I’ll carry you back,” she said. “Those precious little feet shall not +touch the frosty ground.” + +Jasper was very strong, and Evelyn was all too willing. She was carried +to within fifty yards of the side entrance in Jasper’s strong arms; then +she dashed back to the house, kissed her hand to the dark shadow under a +tree, and returned to her own room. Read had seen her, but Evelyn knew +nothing of that. Read had had her suspicions before now, and determined, +as she said, to keep a sharp lookout on young miss in future. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII.—ONE WEEK OF GRACE. + + +There never was a woman more distressed and puzzled than Miss Henderson. +She consulted with her sister, Miss Lucy; she consulted with her +favorite teacher, Miss Thompson. They talked into the small hours of the +night, and finally it was resolved that Evelyn should have another +chance. + +“I must appeal to her honor; it is impossible that any girl could be +quite destitute of that quality,” said Miss Henderson. + +“I am sure you are doing right, sister,” said Miss Lucy. “Once you +harden a girl you do for her. Whatever Evelyn Wynford’s faults may be, +she will hold a high position one day. It would be terrible—more than +terrible—if she grew up a wicked woman. How awful to have power and not +to use it aright! My dear Maria, whatever you are, be merciful.” + +“I must pray to God to guide me aright,” answered Miss Maria. “This is a +case for a right judgment in all things. Poor child! I pity her from my +heart; but how to bring her to the necessary confession is the +question.” + +Miss Henderson went to bed, but not to sleep. Early in the morning she +arose, having made up her mind what to do. + +Accordingly, when Audrey and Evelyn arrived in the pretty little +governess-cart—Audrey with a high color in her cheeks, looking as sweet +and fresh and good and nice as English girl could look, and Evelyn +tripping after her with a certain defiance on her white face and a look +of hostility in her brown eyes—they were both greeted by Miss Henderson +herself. + +“Ah, Audrey dear,” she said in a cheerful and friendly tone, “how are +you this morning?—How do you do, Evelyn?—No, Audrey, you are not late; +you are quite in nice time. Will you go to the schoolroom, my dear? I +will join you presently for prayers.—Evelyn, can I have a word with +you?” + +“Why so?” asked Evelyn, backing a little. + +“Because I have something I want to say to you.” + +Audrey also stood still. She cast a hostile glance at Miss Henderson, +saying to herself: + +“After all, my head-mistress is horribly unfair; she is doubtless going +to tell Evelyn that she suspects her.” + +“Evelyn,” said Audrey, “I will wait for you in the dressing-room if Miss +Henderson has no objection.” + +“But I have, for it may be necessary for me to detain your cousin for a +short time,” said Miss Henderson. “Go, Audrey; do not keep me any +longer.” + +Evelyn stood sullenly and perfectly still in the hall; Audrey +disappeared in the direction of the schoolrooms. Miss Henderson now took +Evelyn’s hand and led her into her private sitting-room. + +“What do you want me for?” asked the little girl. + +“I want to say something to you, Evelyn.” + +“Then say it, please.” + +“You must not be pert.” + +“I do not know what ‘pert’ is.” + +“What you are now. But there, my dear child, please control yourself; +believe me, I am truly sorry for you.” + +“Then you need not be,” said Evelyn, with a toss of her head. “I do not +want anybody to be sorry for me. I am one of the most lucky girls in the +world. Sorry for me! Please don’t. Mothery could never bear to be +pitied, and I won’t be pitied; I have nothing to be pitied for.” + +“Who did you say never cared to be pitied?” asked Miss Henderson. + +“Never you mind.” + +“And yet, Evelyn, I think I have heard the words. You allude to your +mother. I understand from Lady Frances that your mother is dead. You +loved her, did you not?” + +Evelyn gave a quick nod; her face seemed to say, “That is nothing to +you.” + +“I see you did, and she was fond of you.” + +In spite of herself Evelyn gave another nod. + +“Poor little girl; how sad to be without her!” + +“Don’t,” said Evelyn in a strained voice. + +“You lived all your early days in Tasmania, and your mother was good to +you because she loved you, and you loved her back; you tried to please +her because you loved her.” + +“Oh, bother!” said Evelyn. + +“Come here, dear.” + +Evelyn did not budge an inch. + +“Come over to me,” said Miss Henderson. + +Miss Henderson was not accustomed to being disobeyed. Her tone was not +loud, but it was quiet and determined. She looked full at Evelyn. Her +eyes were kind. Evelyn felt as if they mesmerized her. Step by step, +very unwillingly, she approached the side of the head-mistress. + +“I love girls like you,” said Miss Henderson then. + +“Bother!” said Evelyn again. + +“And I do not mind even when they are sulky and rude and naughty, as you +are now; still, I love them—I love them because I am sorry for them.” + +“You need not be sorry for me; I won’t have you sorry for me,” said +Evelyn. + +“If I must not be sorry for you I must be something else.” + +“What?” + +“Angry with you.” + +“Why so? I never! What do you mean now?” + +“I must be angry with you, Evelyn—very angry. But I will say no more by +way of excusing my own conduct. I will say nothing of either sorrow or +anger. I want to state a fact to you.” + +“Get it over,” said Evelyn. + +Miss Henderson now approached the table; she opened the History at the +reign of Edward I., and taking two tiny fragments of torn paper from the +pages of the book, she laid them in her open palm. In her other hand she +held the mutilated copy of _Sesame and Lilies_. The print on the torn +scrap exactly corresponded with the print in the injured volume. Miss +Henderson glanced from Evelyn to the scraps of paper, and from Evelyn to +the copy of Ruskin. + +“You have intelligence,” she said; “you must see what this means.” + +She then carefully replaced the bits of paper in the History and laid it +on the table by her side. + +“Between now,” she said, “and this time yesterday Miss Thompson +discovered these scraps of paper in the copy of the History which you +had to read on the morning of the day when you first came to school. The +scraps are evidently part of the pages torn from the injured book. Have +you anything to say with regard to them?” + +Evelyn shook her head; her face was white and her eyes bright. But there +was a small red spot on each cheek—a spot about the size of a farthing. +It did not grow any larger. It gave a curious effect to the pallid face. +The obstinacy of the mouth was very apparent. The cleft in the chin +still further showed the curious bias of the girl’s character. + +“Have you anything to say—any remark to make?” + +Again the head was slowly shaken. + +“Is there any reason why I should not immediately after prayers to-day +explain these circumstances to the whole school, and allow the school to +draw its own conclusions?” + +Evelyn now raised her eyes and fixed them on Miss Henderson’s face. + +“You will not do that, will you?” she asked. + +“Have you ever, Evelyn, heard of such a thing as circumstantial +evidence?” + +“No. What is it?” + +“You are very ignorant, my dear child—ignorant as well as wilful; wilful +as well as wicked.” + +“No, I am not wicked; you shall not say it!” + +“Tell me, is there any reason why I should not show what I have now +shown you to the rest of the school, and allow the school to draw its +own conclusion?” + +“You won’t—will you?” + +“Must I explain to you, Evelyn, what this means?” + +“You can say anything you like.” + +“These scraps of paper prove beyond doubt that you, for some +extraordinary reason, were the person who tore the book. Why you did it +is beyond my conception, is beyond Miss Thompson’s conception, is beyond +the conception of my sister Lucy; but that you did do it we none of us +for a moment doubt.” + +“Oh, you are wicked! How dare you think such things of me?” + +“Tell me, Evelyn—tell me why you did it. Come here and tell me. I will +not be unkind to you, my poor little girl. I am sorry for one so +ignorant, so wanting in all conceptions of right or wrong. Tell me, +dear, and as there is a God in heaven, Evelyn, I will forgive you.” + +“I will not tell you what I did not do,” said the angry child. + +“You are vexed now and do not know what you are saying. I will go away, +and come back again at the end of half an hour; perhaps you will tell me +then.” + +Evelyn stood silent. Miss Henderson, taking the History with her, left +the room. She turned the key in the lock. Evelyn rushed to the window. +Could she get out by it? She rushed to the door and tried to open it. +Window and door defied her efforts. She was locked in. She was like a +wild creature in a trap. To scream would do no good. Never before had +the spoilt child found herself in such a position. A wild agony seized +her; even now she did not repent. + +If only mothery were alive! If only she were back on the ranch! If only +Jasper were by her side! + +“Oh mothery! oh Jasper!” she cried; and then a sob rose to her throat, +tears burst from her eyes. The tension for the time was relieved; she +huddled up in a chair, and sobbed as if her heart would break. + +Miss Henderson came back again in half an hour. Evelyn was still +sobbing. + +“Well, Evelyn,” she said, “I am just going into the schoolroom now for +prayers. Have you made up your mind? Will you tell me why you did it, +and how you did it, and why you denied it? Just three questions, dear; +answer truthfully, and you will have got over the most painful and +terrible crisis of your life. Be brave, little girl; ask God to help +you.” + +“I cannot tell you what I do not know,” burst now from the angry child. +“Think what you like. Do what you like. I am at your mercy; but I hate +you, and I will never be a good girl—never, never! I will be a bad girl +always—always; and I hate you—I hate you!” + +Miss Henderson did not speak a word. The most violent passion cannot +long retain its hold when the person on whom its rage is spent makes no +reply. Even Evelyn cooled down a little. Miss Henderson stood quite +still; then she said gently: + +“I am deeply sorry. I was prepared for this. It will take more than this +to subdue you.” + +“Are you going into the schoolroom with those scraps of paper, and are +you going to tell all the girls I am guilty?” said Evelyn. + +“No, I shall not do that; I will give you another chance. There was to +have been a holiday to-day, but because of that sin of yours there will +be no holiday. There was to be a visit on Saturday to the museum at +Chisfield, which the girls were all looking forward to; they are not to +go on account of you. There were to be prizes at the break-up; they will +not be given on account of you. The girls will not know that you are the +cause of this deprivation, but they will know that the deprivation is +theirs because there is a guilty person in the school, and because she +will not confess. Evelyn, I give you a week from now to think this +matter over. Remember, my dear, that I know you are guilty; remember +that my sister Lucy knows it, and Miss Thompson; but before you are +publicly disgraced we wish to give you a chance. We will treat you +during the week that has yet to run as we would any other girl in the +school. You will be treated until the week is up as though you were +innocent. Think well whether you will indeed doom your companions to so +much disappointment as will be theirs during the next week, to so dark a +suspicion. During the next week the school will practically be sent to +Coventry. Those who care for the girls will have to hold aloof from +them. All the parents will have to be written to and told that there is +an ugly suspicion hanging over the school. Think well before you put +your companions, your schoolfellows, into this cruel position.” + +“It is you who are cruel,” said Evelyn. + +“I must ask God to melt your hard heart, Evelyn.” + +“And are you really going to do all this?” + +“Certainly.” + +“And at the end of the week?” + +“If you have not confessed before then I shall be obliged to confess for +you before all the school. But, my poor child, you will; you must make +amends. God could not have made so hard a heart!” + +Evelyn wiped away her tears. She scarcely knew what she felt; she +scarcely comprehended what was going to happen. + +“May I bathe my eyes,” she said, “before I go with you into the +schoolroom?” + +“You may. I will wait for you here.” + +The little girl left the room. + +“I never met such a character,” said Miss Henderson to herself. “God +help me, what am I to do with her? If at the end of a week she has not +confessed her sin, I shall be obliged to ask Lady Frances to remove her. +Poor child—poor child!” + +Evelyn came back looking pale but serene. She held out her hand to Miss +Henderson. + +“I do not want your hand, Evelyn.” + +“You said you would treat me for a week as if I were innocent.” + +“Very well, then; I will take your hand.” + +Miss Henderson entered the schoolroom holding Evelyn’s hand. Evelyn was +looking as if nothing had happened; the traces of her tears had +vanished. She sat down on her form; the other girls glanced at her in +some wonder. Prayers were read as usual; the head-mistress knelt to +pray. As her voice rose on the wings of prayer it trembled slightly. She +prayed for those whose hearts were hard, that God would soften them. She +prayed that wrong might be set right, that good might come out of evil, +and that she herself might be guided to have a right judgment in all +things. There was a great solemnity in her prayer, and it was felt +throughout the hush in the big room. When she rose from her knees she +ascended to her desk and faced the assembled girls. + +“You know,” she said, “what an unpleasant task lies before me. The +allotted time for the confession of the guilty person who injured my +book, _Sesame and Lilies_, has gone by. The guilty person has not +confessed, but I may as well say that the injury has been traced home to +one of your number—but to whom, I am at present resolved not to tell. I +give that person one week in order to make her confession. I do this for +reasons which my sister and I consider all-sufficient; but during that +week, I am sorry to say, my dear girls, you must all bear with her and +for her the penalty of her wrong-doing. I must withhold indulgences, +holidays, half-holidays, visits from friends; all that makes life +pleasant and bright and home-like will have to be withdrawn. Work will +have to be the order of the hour—work without the impetus of reward—work +for the sake of work. I am sorry to have to do this, but I feel that +such a course of conduct is due to myself. In a week’s time from now, if +the girl has not confessed, I must take further steps; but I can assure +the school that the cloud of my displeasure will then alone visit the +guilty person, on whom it will fall with great severity.” + +There was a long, significant pause when Miss Henderson ceased speaking. +She was about to descend from her seat when Brenda Fox spoke. + +“Is this quite fair?” she said. “I hope I am not asking an impertinent +question, but is it fair that the innocent should suffer for the +guilty?” + +“I must ask you all to do so. Think of the history of the past, girls. +Take courage; it is not the first time.” + +“I think,” said Brenda Fox later on that same day to Audrey, “that Miss +Henderson is right.” + +“Then I think her wrong,” answered Audrey. “Of course I do not know her +as well as you do, Brenda, and I am also ignorant with regard to the +ordinary rules of school-life, but I cannot but feel it would be much +better, if the guilty girl will not confess, to punish her at once and +put an end to the thing.” + +“It would be pleasanter for us,” replied Brenda Fox; “but then, Miss +Henderson never thinks of that.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“I mean that Miss Henderson is the sort of woman who would think very +little of small personal pain and inconvenience compared with the injury +which might be permanently inflicted on a girl who was harshly dealt +with.” + +“Still I do not quite understand. If any girl in the school did such a +disgraceful thing it ought to be known at once.” + +“Miss Henderson evidently does know, but for some reason she hopes the +girl will repent.” + +“And we are to be punished?” + +“Is it not worth having a little discomfort if the girl’s character can +be saved?” + +“Yes, of course; if it does save her.” + +“We must hope for that. For my part,” said Brenda in a reverent tone, “I +shall pray about it. I believe in prayer.” + +“And so do I,” answered Audrey. “But do you know, Brenda, that I think +Miss Henderson was greatly wanting in tact when she mentioned my poor +little cousin’s name two days ago.” + +“Why so? Your cousin did happen to be alone in the room.” + +“But it seemed to draw a very unworthy suspicion upon her head.” + +“Oh no, no, Audrey!” answered Brenda. “Who could think that your cousin +would do it? Besides, she is quite a stranger; it was her first day at +school.” + +“Then have you the least idea who did it?” + +“None; no one has. We are all very fond of Miss Thompson. We are all +fond of Miss Henderson; we respect her and Miss Lucy as most able and +worthy mistresses. We enjoy our school-life. Who could have been so +unkind?” + +Audrey had an uncomfortable sensation at her heart that Evelyn at least +did not enjoy her school-life; that Evelyn disliked Miss Thompson, and +openly said that she hated Miss Henderson. Still, that Evelyn could +really be guilty did not for an instant visit her brain. + +Meanwhile Evelyn went recklessly on her way. The _dénouement_, of +whatever nature, was still a week off. For a week she could be gay or +impertinent or rude or defiant or good, just as the mood took her; at +the end of the week, or towards the end, she would run away. She would +go to Jasper and tell her she must hide her. This was her resolve. She +was as inconsequent as an infant. To save herself trouble and pain was +her one paramount idea; even her schoolfellows’ annoyance and distress +scarcely worried her. As she and Audrey always spent their evenings at +home, the dulness of the school, the increase of lessons and the absence +of play, the walks two and two in absolute silence, scarcely depressed +her; she could laugh and play at home, and talk to her uncle and draw +him out to tell her stories of her father. The one redeeming trait in +her character was her love for Uncle Edward. She was certainly going +downhill very rapidly at this time. Poor child! who was there to +understand her, to bring her to a standstill, to help her to choose +right? + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV.—“WHO IS E. W.?” + + +The one person who might have helped Evelyn was too busy with her own +troubles just then to think a great deal about her. Poor Sylvia was +visited with a very great dread. Her father’s manner was strange; she +began to fear that he suspected Jasper’s presence in the house. If +Jasper left, Sylvia felt that things must come to a crisis; she could +not stand the life she had lived before the comfortable advent of this +kindly but ill-informed woman. Sylvia was really very much attached to +Jasper, and although she argued much over Evelyn, and disagreed strongly +with her with regard to the best way to treat this unruly little member +of society, Sylvia’s very life depended on Jasper’s purse and Jasper’s +tact. + +One by one the fowls disappeared, the same boy receiving them over the +hedge day by day from Jasper. The boy sold each of the old hens for +sixpence, and reaped quite a harvest in consequence. He was all too +willing to keep Jasper’s secret. Jasper bought tender young cockerels +from a neighbor in the village, conveyed them home under her arm, killed +them, and dressed them in various and dainty manners for Mr. Leeson’s +meals. He was loud in his praise of Sylvia, and told her that if the +worst came to the worst she could go out as a lady cook. + +“Nothing could give me such horror, my dear child,” he said, “as to +think that a Leeson, and a member of one of the proudest families in the +kingdom, should ever demean herself to earn money; but, my dear girl, in +these days of chance and change one must be prepared for the worst—there +never is any telling. Sylvia, I go through anxious moments—very, very +anxious moments.” + +“You do, father,” answered the girl. “You watch the post too much. I +cannot imagine,” she continued, “why you are so fretted and so +miserable, for surely we must spend very, very little indeed.” + +“We spend more than we ought, Sylvia—far more. But there, dear, I am not +complaining; I suppose a young girl must have dainties and fine dress.” + +“Fine dress!” said Sylvia. She looked down at her shabby garment and +colored painfully. + +Mr. Leeson faced her with his bright and sunken dark eyes. + +“Come here,” he said. + +She went up to him, trembling and her head hanging. + +“I saw you two days ago; it was Sunday, and you went to church. I was +standing in the shrubbery. I was lost—yes, lost—in painful thoughts. +Those recipes which I was about to give to the world were occupying my +mind, and other things as well. You rushed by in your shabby dress; you +went into the house by the back entrance. Sylvia dear, I sometimes think +it would be wise to lock that door. With you and me alone in the house +it might be safest to have only one mode of ingress.” + +“But I always lock it when I go out,” said Sylvia; “and it saves so much +time to be able to use the back entrance.” + +“It is just like you, Sylvia; you argue about every thing I say. +However, to proceed. You went in; I wondered at your speed. You came out +again in a quarter of an hour transformed. Where did you get that +dress?” + +“What dress, father?” + +“Do not prevaricate. Look me straight in the face and tell me. You were +dressed in brown of rich shade and good material. You had a stylish and +fanciful and hideous hat upon your head; it had feathers. My very breath +was arrested when I saw the merry-andrew you made of yourself. You had +furs, too—doubtless imitations, but still, to all appearance, rich +furs—round neck and wrist. Sylvia, have you during these months and +years been secretly saving money?” + +“No, father.” + +“You say ‘No, father,’ in a very strange tone. If you had no money to +buy the dress, how did you get it?” + +“It was—given to me.” + +“By whom?” + +“I would rather not say.” + +“But you must say.” + +Here Mr. Leeson took Sylvia by both her wrists; he held them tightly in +his bony hands. He was seated, and he pulled her down towards him. + +“Tell me at once. I insist upon knowing.” + +“I cannot—there! I will not.” + +“You defy me?” + +“If that is defying you, father, yes. The dress was given to me.” + +“You refuse to say by whom?” + +“Yes, father.” + +“Then leave my presence. I am angry, hurt. Sylvia, you must return it.” + +“Again, no, father.” + +“Sylvia, have you ever heard of the Fifth Commandment?” + +“I have, father; but I will break it rather than return the dress. I +have been a good daughter to you, but there are limits. You have no +right to interfere. The dress was given to me; I did not steal it.” + +“Now you are intolerable. I will not be agitated by you; I have enough +to bear. Leave me this minute.” + +Sylvia left the room. She did not go to Jasper; she felt that she could +not expose her father in the eyes of this woman. She ran up to her own +bedroom, locked the door, and flung herself on her bed. Of late she had +not done this quite so often. Circumstances had been happier for her of +late: her father had been strange, but at the same time affectionate; +she had been fed, too, and warmed; and, oh! the pretty dress—the pretty +dress—she had liked it. She was determined that she would not give it +up; she would not submit to what she deemed tyranny. She wept for a +little; then she got up, dried her tears, put on her cloak (sadly thin +from wear), and went out. Pilot came, looked into her face, and begged +for her company. She shook her head. + +“No, darling; stay at home—guard him,” she whispered. + +Pilot understood, and turned away. Sylvia found herself on the +high-road. As she approached the gate, and as she spoke to Pilot, eager +eyes watched her over the wire screen which protected the lower part of +Mr. Leeson’s sitting-room. + +“What can all this mean?” he said to himself. “There is a mystery about +Sylvia. Sometimes I feel that there is a mystery about this house. +Sylvia used to be a shocking cook; now the most dainty chef who has ever +condescended to cook meals for my pampered palate can scarcely excel +her. She confessed that she did not get the recipe from the gipsy; the +gipsies had left the common, so she could not get what I gave her a +shilling to obtain. Or, did I give her the shilling? I think not—I hope +not. Oh, good gracious! if I did, and she lost it! I did not; I must +have it here.” + +He fumbled anxiously in his waistcoat pocket. + +“Yes, yes,” he said, with a sigh of relief. “I put it here for her, but +she did not need it. Thank goodness, it is safe!” + +He looked at it affectionately, replaced it in its harbor of refuge, and +thought on. + +“Now, who gave her those rich and extravagant clothes? Can she possibly +have been ransacking her mother’s trunks? I was under the impression +that I had sold all my poor wife’s things, but it is possible I may have +overlooked something. I will go and have a look now in the attics. I had +her trunks conveyed there. I will go and have a look.” + +When Mr. Leeson was engaged in what he was pleased to call a voyage of +discovery, he, as a rule, stepped on tiptoe. As he wore, for purposes of +economy, felt slippers when in the house, his steps made no noise. Now, +it so happened that when Jasper arrived at The Priory she brought not +only her own luggage, which was pretty considerable, but two or three +boxes of Evelyn’s finery. These trunks having filled up Jasper’s bedroom +and the kitchens to an unnecessary extent, she and Sylvia had contrived +to drag them up to the attics in a distant part of the house without Mr. +Leeson hearing. The trunks, therefore, mostly empty, which had contained +the late Mrs. Leeson’s wardrobe and Evelyn’s trunks were now all +together, in what was known as the back attic—that attic which stood, +with Sylvia’s room between, exactly over the kitchen. + +Mr. Leeson knew, as he imagined, every corner of the house. He was well +aware of the room where his wife’s trunks were kept, and he went there +now, determined, as he expressed it, to ferret out the mystery which was +unsettling his life. + +He reached the attic in question, and stared about him. There were the +trunks which he remembered so well. Many marks of travel were on +them—names of foreign hotels, names of distant places. Here was a trophy +of a good time at Florence; here a remembrance of a delightful fortnight +at Rome; here, again, of a week in Cairo; here, yet more, of a +never-to-be-forgotten visit to Constantinople. He stared at the +hall-marks of his past life as he gazed at his wife’s trunks, and for a +time memory overpowered the lonely man, and he stood with his hands +clasped and his head slightly bent, thinking—thinking of the days that +were no more. No remorse, it is true, seized his conscience. He did not +recognize how, step by step, the demon of his life had gained more and +more power over him; how the trunks became too shabby for use, but the +desire for money prevented his buying new ones. Those labels were old, +and the places he and his wife had visited were much changed, and the +hotels where they had stayed had many of them ceased to exist, but the +labels put on by the hall porters remained on the trunks and bore +witness against Mr. Leeson. He turned quickly from the sight. + +“This brings back old times,” he said to himself, “and old times create +old feelings. I never knew then that she would be cursed by the demon of +extravagance, and that her child—her only child—would inherit her +failing. Well, it is my bounden duty to nip it in the bud, or Sylvia +will end her days in the workhouse. I thought I had sold most of the +clothes, but doubtless she found some materials to make up that +unsuitable costume.” + +He dragged the trunks forward. They were unlocked, being supposed to +contain nothing of value. He pulled them open and went on his knees to +examine them. Most of them were empty; some contained old bundles of +letters; there was one in the corner which still had a couple of muslin +dresses and an old-fashioned black lace mantilla. Mr. Leeson remembered +the mantilla and the day when he bought it, and how pretty his handsome +wife had looked in it. He flung it from him now as if it distressed him. + +“Faugh!” he said. “I remember I gave ten guineas for it. Think of any +man being such a fool!” + +He was about to leave the attic, more mystified than ever, when his eyes +suddenly fell upon the two trunks which contained that portion of Evelyn +Wynford’s wardrobe which Lady Frances had discarded. The trunks were +comparatively new. They were handsome and good, being made of crushed +cane. They bore the initials E. W. in large white letters on their +arched roofs. + +“But who in the name of fortune is E. W.?” thought Mr. Leeson; and now +his heart beat in ungovernable excitement. “E. W.! What can those +initials stand for?” + +He came close to the trunks as though they fascinated him. They were +unlocked, and he pulled them open. Soon Evelyn’s gay and useless +wardrobe was lying helter-skelter on the attic floor—silk dresses, +evening dresses, morning dresses, afternoon dresses, furs, hats, cloaks, +costumes. He kicked them about in his rage; his anger reached +white-heat. What was the meaning of this? + +E. W. and E. W.’s clothes took such an effect on his brain that he could +scarcely speak or think. He left the attic with all the things scattered +about, and stumbled rather than walked down-stairs. He had nearly got to +his own part of the house when he remembered something. He went back, +turned the key in the attic door, and put it in his pocket. He then +breathed a sigh of relief, and went back to his sitting-room. The fire +was nearly out; the day was colder than ever—a keen north wind was +blowing. It came in at the badly fitting windows and shook the old panes +of glass. The attic in which Mr. Leeson had stood so long had also been +icy-cold. He shivered and crept close to the remains of the fire. Then a +thought came to him, and he deliberately took up the poker and poked out +the remaining embers. They flamed up feebly on the hearth and died out. + +“No more fires for me,” he said to himself; “I cannot afford it. She is +ruining—ruining me. Who is E. W.? Where did she get all those clothes? +Oh, I shall go mad!” + +He stood shivering and frowning and muttering. Then a change came over +him. + +“There is a secret, and I mean to discover it,” he said to himself; “and +until I do I shall say nothing. I shall find out who E. W. is, where +those trunks came from, what money Sylvia stole to purchase those awful +and ridiculous and terrible garments. I shall find out before I act. +Sylvia thinks that she can make a fool of her old father; she will +discover her mistake.” + +The postman’s ring was heard at the gate. The postman was never allowed +to go up the avenue. Mr. Leeson kept a box locked in the gate, with a +little slit for the postman to drop in the letters. He allowed no one to +open this box but himself. Without even putting on his greatcoat, he +went down the snowy path now, unlocked the box, and took out a letter. +He returned with it to the house; it was addressed to himself, and was +from his broker in London. The letter contained news which affected him +pretty considerably. The gold mine in which he had invested nearly the +whole of his available capital was discovered to be by no means so rich +in ore as was at first anticipated. Prices were going down steadily, and +the shares which Mr. Leeson had bought were now worth only half their +value. + +“I’ll sell out—I’ll sell out this minute,” thought the wretched man; “if +I don’t I shall lose all.” + +But then he paused, for there was a postscript to the letter. + +“It would be madness to sell now,” wrote the broker. “Doubtless the +present scare is a passing one; the moment the shares are likely to go +up then sell.” + +Mr. Leeson flung the letter from him and tore his gray hair. He paced up +and down the room. + +“Disaster after disaster,” he murmured. “I am like Job; all these things +are against me. But nothing cuts me like Sylvia. To buy those things—two +trunks full of useless finery! Oh yes, I have money on the +premises—money which I saved and never invested; I wonder if that is +safe. For all I can tell——But, oh, no, no, no! I will not think that. +That way madness lies. I will bury the canvas bag to-night; I have +delayed too long. No one can discover that hiding-place. I will bury the +canvas bag, come what may, to-night.” + +Mr. Leeson wrote to his broker, telling him to seize the first +propitious moment to sell out from the gold-mine, and then sat moodily, +getting colder and colder, in front of the empty grate. + +Sylvia came in presently. + +“Dinner is ready, father,” she said. + +“I don’t want dinner,” he muttered. + +She went up to him and laid her hand on his arm. + +“Why are you like ice?” she said. + +He pushed her away. + +“The fire is out,” she continued; “let me light it.” + +“No!” he thundered. “Leave it alone; I wish for no fire. I tell you I am +a beggar, and worse; and I wish for no fire!” + +“Oh father—father darling!” said the girl. + +“Don’t ‘darling’ me; don’t come near me. I am displeased with you. You +have cut me to the quick. I am angry with you. Leave me.” + +“You may be angry,” she answered, “but I will not leave you ; and if you +are cold—cold to death—and cannot afford a fire, you will warm yourself +with me. Let me put my arms round you; let me lay my cheek against +yours. Feel how my cheek glows. There, is not that better?” + +He struggled, but she insisted. She sat on his knee now and put the +cloak she was wearing, thin and poor enough in itself, round his neck. +Inside the cloak she circled him with her arms. Her dark luxuriant hair +fell against his white and scanty locks; she pressed her face close to +his. + +“You may hate me, but I am going to stay with you,” she said. “How cold +you are!” + +Just for a minute or two Mr. Leeson bore the loving caress and the +endearing words. She was very sweet, and she was his—his only child—bone +of his bone. Yes, it was nicer to be warm than cold, nicer to be loved +than to be hated, nicer to——But was he loved? Those trunks up-stairs; +that costly, useless finery; those initials which were not Sylvia’s! + +“Oh that I could tell her!” he said to himself. “She pretends; she is +untrue—untrue as our first mother. What woman was ever yet to be +trusted?” + +“Go, Sylvia,” he replied vehemently; and he started up and shook her off +cruelly, so that she fell and hurt herself. + +She rose, pushed her hair back from her forehead and gazed at him in +bewilderment. Was he going mad? + +“Come and eat your dinner before it gets cold,” she said. “It is +extravagant to waste good food; come and eat it.” + +“Made from some of those old fowls?” he queried; and a scornful smile +curled his lips. + +“Come and eat it; it costs you practically nothing,” she added. “Come, +it is extravagant to waste it.” + +He pondered in his own mind; there were still about three fowls left. He +would not take her hand but he followed her into the dining-room. He sat +down before the dainty dish, helped her to a small portion, and ate the +rest. + +“Now you are better,” she said cheerfully. + +He gave her a glance which seemed to her to be one of almost venom. + +“I am going into my sitting-room,” he said; “do not disturb me again +to-day.” + +“But you must have a fire!” + +“I decline to have a fire.” + +“You will die of cold.” + +“Much you care.” + +“Father!” + +“Yes, Sylvia, much you care; you are like the one who gave you being. I +will not say any more.” + +She started away at this; he knew she would. She was patient with him +almost beyond the limits of human patience, but she could not stand +having her mother abused. + +He went down the passage, and locked himself in his sitting-room. + +“Now I can think,” he thought; “and to-night when Sylvia is in bed I +will bury the last canvas bag.” + +When Sylvia went into the kitchen Jasper asked her at once what was the +matter. She stood for a moment without speaking; then she said in a low, +broken-hearted voice: + +“Father sometimes gets these moods, but I never saw him as bad before. +He refuses to have a fire in the parlor; he will die of this cold.” + +“Let him,” muttered Jasper under her breath. She did not say these words +aloud; she knew Sylvia too well by this time. + +“What has put him into this state of mind?” she asked as she dished up a +hot dinner for Sylvia and herself. + +“It was my dress, Jasper; I ought not to have allowed you to make it for +me. I ran in to put it on to go to church on Sunday; and he saw me and +drew his own conclusions, as he said. He asked me where I got it, and I +refused to tell him.” + +“Now, if I were you, dear,” said Jasper, “I would just up and tell him +the whole story. I would tell him that I am here, and that I mean to +stay, and that he has been living on me for some time now. I would tell +him everything. He would rage and fume, but not more than he has raged +and fumed. Things are past bearing, darling. Why, your pretty, young, +and brave heart will be broken. I would not bear it. It is best for him +too, dear; he must learn to know you, and if necessary to fear you. He +cannot go on killing himself and every one else with impunity. It is +past bearing, Sylvia, my love—past bearing.” + +“I know, Jasper—I know—but I dare not tell him. You cannot imagine what +he is when he is really roused. He would turn you out.” + +“Well, darling, and you would come with me. Why should we not go out?” + +“In the first place, Jasper, you have no money to support us both. Why, +poor, dear old thing, you are using up all your little savings to keep +me going! And in the next place, even if you could afford it, I promised +mother that I would never leave him. I could not break my word to her. +Oh! it hurt much; but the pain is over. I will never leave him while he +lives, Jasper.” + +“Dear, dear!” said Jasper, “what a power of love is wasted on worthless +people! It is the most extraordinary fact on earth.” + +Sylvia half-smiled. She thought of Evelyn, who was also in her opinion +more or less worthless, and how Jasper was wasting both substance and +heart on her. + +“Well,” she said, “I can eat if I can do nothing else ; but the thought +of father dying of cold does come between me and all peace.” + +She finished her dinner, and then went and stood by the window. + +“It is a perfect miracle he has not found me out before,” said Jasper; +“and, by the same token,” she added, “I heard footsteps in the attic +up-stairs while I was preparing his fowl for dinner. My heart stood +still. It must have been he; and I thought he would see the smoke +curling up through that stack of chimneys just alongside of the attics. +What was he doing up stairs?” + +“Oh, I know—I know!” said Sylvia; and her face turned very white, and +her eyes seemed to start from her head. “He went to look in mother’s +trunks; he thought that I had got my brown dress from there.” + +“And he will discover Evelyn’s trunks as sure as fate,” said Jasper; +“and what a state he will be in! That accounts for it, Sylvia. Well, +darling, discovery is imminent now; and for my part the sooner it is +over the better.” + +“I wonder if he did discover! Something has put him into a terrible +rage,” thought the girl. + +She went out of the kitchen, and stole softly up-stairs to the attic +where the trunks were kept. It was locked. Doubt was now, of course, at +an end. Sylvia went back and told her discovery to Jasper. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV.—UNCLE EDWARD. + + +According to her promise, Jasper went that evening to meet Evelyn at the +stile. Evelyn was there, and the news she had for her faithful nurse was +the reverse of soothing. + +“You cannot stand it,” said Jasper; “you cannot demean yourself. I don’t +know that I’d have done it—yes, perhaps I would—but having done it, you +must stick to your guns.” + +“Yes,” said Evelyn in a mournful tone; “I must run away. I have quite, +quite, absolutely made up my mind.” + +“And when, darling?” said Jasper, trembling a good deal. + +“The night before the week is up. I will come to you here, Jasper, and +you must take me.” + +“Of course, love; you will come back with me to The Priory. I can hide +you there as well as anywhere on earth—yes, love, as well as anywhere on +earth.” + +“Oh, I’d be so frightened! It would be so close to them all!” + +“The closer the better, dear. If you went into any village or any town +near you would be discovered; but they’d never think of looking for you +at The Priory. Why, darling, I have lived there unsuspected for some +time now—weeks, I might say. Sylvia will not tell. You shall sleep in my +bed, and I will keep you safe. Only you must bring some money, Evelyn, +for mine is getting sadly short.” + +“Yes,” said Evelyn. “I will ask Uncle Edward; he will not refuse me. He +is very kind to me, and I love him better than any one on earth—better +even than Jasper, because he is father’s very own brother, and because I +am his heiress. He likes to talk to me about the place and what I am to +do when it belongs to me. He is not angry with me when I am quite alone +with him and I talk of these things; only he has taught me to say +nothing about it in public. If I could be sorry for having got into this +scrape it would be on his account; but there, I was not brought up with +his thoughts, and I cannot think things wrong that he thinks wrong. Can +you, Jasper?” + +“No, my little wild honey-bird—not I. Well, dearie, I will meet you +again to-morrow night; and now I must be going back.” + +Evelyn returned to the house. She went up to her room, changed her +shoes, tidied her hair, and came down to the drawing-room. Lady Frances +was leaning back in a chair, turning over the pages of a new magazine. +She called Evelyn to her side. + +“How do you like school?” she said. Her tones were abrupt; the eyes she +fixed on the child were hard. + +Evelyn’s worst feelings were always awakened by Lady Frances’s manner to +her. + +“I do not like it at all,” she said. “I wish to leave.” + +“Your wishes, I am afraid, are not to be considered; all the same, you +may have to leave.” + +“Why?” asked Evelyn, turning white. She wondered if Lady Frances knew. + +Her aunt’s eyes were fixed, as though they were gimlets, on her face. + +“Sit down,” said Lady Frances, “and tell me how you spend your day. What +class are you in? What lessons are you learning?” + +“I am in a very low class indeed?” said Evelyn. “Mothery always said I +was clever.” + +“I do not suppose your mother knew.” + +“Why should she not know, she who was so very clever herself? She taught +me all sorts of things, and so did poor Jasper.” + +“Ah! I am glad at least that I have removed that dreadful woman out of +your path,” said Lady Frances. + +Evelyn smiled and lowered her eyes. Her manner irritated her aunt +extremely. + +“Well,” she said, “go on; we will not discuss the fact of the form you +ought to be in. What lessons do you do?” + +“Oh, history, grammar; I suppose, the usual English subjects.” + +“Yes, yes; but history—that is interesting. English history?” + +“Yes, Aunt Frances.” + +“What part of the history?” + +“We are doing the reigns of the Edwards now.” + +“Ah! can you tell me anything with regard to the reign of Edward I.?” + +Evelyn colored. Lady Frances watched her. + +“I am certain she knows,” thought the little girl. “But, oh, this is +terrible! Has that awful Miss Henderson told her? What shall I do? I do +not think I will wait until the week is up; I think I will run away at +once.” + +“Answer my question, Evelyn,” said her aunt. + +Evelyn did mutter a tiny piece of information with regard to the said +reign. + +“I shall question you on your history from time to time,” said Lady +Frances. “I take an interest in this school experiment. Whether it will +last or not I cannot say; but I may as well say one thing—if for any +reason your presence is not found suitable in the school where I have +now sent you, you will go to a very different order of establishment and +to a much stricter _régime_ elsewhere.” + +“What is a _régime?_” asked Evelyn. + +“I am too tired to answer your silly questions. Now go and read your +book in that corner. Do not make a noise; I have a headache.” + +Evelyn slouched away, looking as cross and ill-tempered as a little girl +could look. + +“Audrey darling,” called her mother in a totally different tone of +voice, “play me that pretty thing of Chopin’s which you know I am so +fond of.” + +Audrey approached the piano and began to play. + +Evelyn read her book for a time without attending much to the meaning of +the words. Then she observed that her uncle, who had been asleep behind +his newspaper, had risen and left the room. Here was the very +opportunity that she sought. If she could only get her Uncle Edward +quite by himself, and when he was in the best of good humors, he might +give her some money. She could not run away without money to go with. +Jasper, she knew, had not a large supply. Evelyn, with all her ignorance +of many things, had early in her life come into contact with the want of +money. Her mother had often and often been short of funds. When Mrs. +Wynford was short, the ranch did without even, at times, the necessaries +of life. Evelyn had a painful remembrance of butterless breakfasts and +meatless dinners; of shoes which were patched so often that they would +scarcely keep out the winter snows; of little garments turned and turned +again. Then money had come back, and life became smooth and pleasant; +there was an abundance of good food for the various meals, and Evelyn +had shoes to her heart’s content, and the sort of gay-colored garments +which her mother delighted in. Yes, she understood Jasper’s appeal for +money, and determined on no account to go to that good woman’s +protection without a sufficient sum in hand. + +Therefore, as Audrey was playing some of the most seductive music of +that past master of the art, Chopin, and Lady Frances lay back in her +chair with closed eyes and listened, Evelyn left the room. She knew +where to find her uncle, and going down a corridor, opened the door of +his smoking-room without knocking. He was seated by the fire smoking. A +newspaper lay by his side; a pile of letters which had come by the +evening post were waiting to be opened. When Evelyn quietly opened the +door he looked round and said: + +“Ah, it is you, Eve. Do you want anything, my dear?” + +“May I speak to you for a minute or two, Uncle Edward?” + +“Certainly, my dear Evelyn; come in. What is the matter, dear?” + +“Oh, nothing much.” + +Evelyn went and leant up against her uncle. She had never a scrap of +fear of him, which was one reason why he liked her, and thought her far +more tolerable than did his wife or Audrey. Even Audrey, who was his own +child, held him in a certain awe; but Evelyn leant comfortably now +against his side, and presently she took his arm of her own accord and +passed it securely round her waist. + +“Now, that is nice,” she said; “when I lean up against you I always +remember that you are father’s brother.” + +“I am glad that you should remember that fact, Evelyn.” + +“You are pleased with me on the whole, aren’t you, Uncle Edward?” asked +the little girl. Evelyn backed her head against his shoulder as she +spoke, and looked into his face with her big and curious eyes. + +“On the whole, yes.” + +“But Aunt Frances does not like me.” + +“You must try to win her affection, Evelyn; it will all come in good +time.” + +“It is not pleasant to be in the house with a person who does not like +you, is it, Uncle Edward?” + +“I can understand you, Evelyn; it is not pleasant.” + +“And Audrey only half-likes me.” + +“My dear little girl,” said her uncle, rousing himself to talk in a more +serious strain, “would it not be wisest for you to give over thinking of +who likes you and who does not, and to devote all your time to doing +what is right?” + +Evelyn made a wry face. + +“I don’t care about doing what is right,” she said; “I don’t like it.” + +Her uncle smiled. + +“You are a strange girl; but I believe you have improved,” he said. + +“You would be sorry if I did anything very, very naughty, Uncle Edward?” + +“I certainly should.” + +Evelyn lowered her eyes. + +“He must not know. I must keep him from knowing somehow, but I wonder +how I shall,” she thought. + +“And perhaps you would be sorry,” she continued, “if I were not here—if +your naughty, naughty Eve was no longer in the house?” + +“I should. I often think of you. I——” + +“What, Uncle Edward?” + +“Love you, little girl.” + +“Love me! Do you?” she asked in a tone of affection. “Do you really? +Please say that again.” + +“I love you, Evelyn.” + +“Uncle Edward, may I give you just the tiniest kiss?” + +“Yes, dear.” + +Evelyn raised her soft face and pressed a light kiss on her uncle’s +cheek. She was quite silent then for a minute; truth to tell, her heart +was expanding and opening out and softening, and great thrills of pure +love were filling it, so that soon, soon that heart might have melted +utterly and been no longer a hard heart of stone. But, alas! as these +good thoughts visited her, there came also the remembrance of the sin +she had committed, and of the desperate measures she was about to take +to save herself—for she had by no means come to the stage of confessing +that sin, and by so doing getting rid of her naughtiness. + +“Uncle Edward,” she said abruptly, “I want you to give me a little +money. I have come here to ask you. I want it all for my very own self. +I want some money which no one else need know anything about.” + +“Of course, dear, you shall have money. How much do you want?” + +“Well, a good bit. I want to give Jasper a present.” + +“Your old nurse?” + +“Yes. You know it was unkind of Aunt Frances to send her away; mothery +wished her to stay with me.” + +“I know that, Evelyn, and as far as I personally am concerned, I am +sorry; but your aunt knows very much more about little girls than I do.” + +“She does not know half so much about this girl.” + +“Well, anyhow, dear, it was her wish, and you and I must submit.” + +“But you are sorry?” + +“For some reasons, yes.” + +“And you would like me to help Jasper?” + +“Certainly. Do you know where your nurse is now, Evelyn?” + +“I do.” + +“Where?” + +“I would rather not say; only, may I send her some money?” + +“That seems reasonable enough,” thought the Squire. + +“How much do you want?” he asked. + +“Would twenty pounds be too much?” + +“I think not. It is a good deal, but she was a faithful servant. I will +give you twenty pounds for her now.” + +The Squire rose and took out his check-book. + +“Oh, please,” said Evelyn, “I want it in gold.” + +“But how will you send it to her?” + +“Never, never mind; I must have it in gold.” + +“Poor child! She is in earnest,” thought the Squire. “Perhaps the woman +will come to meet her somewhere. I really cannot see why she should be +tabooed from having a short interview with her old nurse. Frances and I +differ on this head. Yes, I will let her have the money; the child has a +good deal of heart when all is said and done.” + +So the Squire put two little rolls, neatly made up in brown paper, into +Evelyn’s hands. + +“There,” he said; “it is a great deal of money to trust a little girl +with, but you shall have it; only you must not ask me for any more.” + +“Oh, what a darling you are, Uncle Edward! I feel as if I must kiss you +again. There! those kisses are full of love. Now I must go. But, oh, I +say, _what_ a funny parcel!” + +“What parcel, dear?” + +“That long parcel on that table.” + +“It is a gun-case which I have not yet unpacked. Now run away.” + +“But that reminds me. You said I might go out some day to shoot with +you.” + +“On some future day. I do not much care for girls using firearms; and +you are so busy now with your school.” + +“You think, perhaps, that I cannot fire a gun, but I can aim well; I can +kill a bird on the wing as neatly as any one. I told Audrey, and she +would not believe me. Please—please show me your new gun. + +“Not now; I have not looked at it myself yet.” + +“But you do believe that I can shoot?” + +“Oh yes, dear—yes, I suppose so. All the same, I should be sorry to +trust you; I do not approve of women carrying firearms. Now leave me, +Evelyn; I have a good deal to attend to.” + +Evelyn went to bed to think over her uncle’s words; her disgrace at +school; the terrible _dénouement_ which lay before her; the money, which +seemed to her to be the only way out, and which would insure her comfort +with Jasper wherever Jasper might like to take her; and finally, and by +no means least, she meditated over the subject of her uncle’s new gun. +On the ranch she had often carried a gun of her own; from her earliest +days she had been accustomed to regard the women of her family as +first-class shots. Her mother had herself taught her how to aim, how to +fire, how to make allowance in order to bring her bird down on the wing, +and Evelyn had followed out her instructions many times. She felt now +that her uncle did not believe her, and the fear that this was the case +irritated her beyond words. + +“I do not pretend to be learned,” thought Evelyn, “and I do not pretend +to be good, but there is one thing that I am, and that is a first-rate +shot. Uncle Edward might show me his new gun. How little he guesses that +I can manage it quite as well as he can himself!” + +Two or three days passed without anything special occurring. Evelyn was +fairly good at school; it was not, she considered, worth her while any +longer to shirk her lessons. She began in spite of herself, and quite +against her declared inclination, to have a sort of liking for her +books. History was the only lesson which she thoroughly detested. She +could not be civil to Miss Thompson, whom she considered her enemy; but +to her other teachers she was fairly agreeable, and had already to a +certain extent won the hearts of more than one of the girls in her form. +She was bright and cheerful, and could say funny things; and as also she +brought an unlimited supply of chocolates and other sweetmeats to +school, these facts alone insured her being more or less of a favorite. +At home she avoided her aunt and Audrey, and evening after evening she +went to the stile to have a chat with Jasper. + +Jasper never failed to meet her little girl, as she called Evelyn, at +their arranged rendezvous. Evelyn managed to slip out without, as she +thought, any one noticing her; and the days went by until there was only +one day left before Miss Henderson would proclaim to the entire school +that Evelyn Wynford was the guilty person who had torn the precious +volume of Ruskin. + +“When you come for me to-morrow night, Jasper,” said Evelyn, “I will go +away with you. Are you quite sure that it is safe to take me back to The +Priory?” + +“Quite, quite safe, darling; hardly a soul knows that I am at The +Priory, and certainly no one will suspect that you are there. Besides, +the place is all undermined with cellars, and at the worst you and I +could hide there together while the house was searched.” + +“What fun!” cried Evelyn, clapping her hands. “I declare, Jasper, it is +almost as good as a fairy story.” + +“Quite as good, my little love.” + +“And you will be sure to have a very, very nice supper ready for me +to-morrow night?” + +“Oh yes, dear; just the supper you like best—chocolate and sweet cakes.” + +“And you will tuck me up in bed as you used to?” + +“Darling, I have put a little white bed close to my own, where you shall +sleep.” + +“Oh Jasper, it will be nice to be with you again! And you are positive +Sylvia will not tell?” + +“She is sad about you, Evelyn, but she will not tell. I have arranged +that.” + +“And that terrible old man, her father, will he find out?” + +“I think not, dear; he has not yet found out about me at any rate.” + +“Perhaps, Jasper, I had better go back now; it is later than usual.” + +“Be sure you bring the twenty pounds when you come to-morrow night,” +said Jasper; “for my funds, what with one thing and another, are getting +low.” + +“Yes, I will bring the money,” replied Evelyn. + +She returned to the house. No one saw her as she slipped in by the back +entrance. She ran up to her room, smoothed her hair, and went down to +the drawing-room. Lady Frances and Audrey were alone in the big room. +They had been talking together, but instantly became silent when Evelyn +entered. + +“They have been abusing me, of course,” thought the little girl; and she +flashed an angry glance first at one and then at the other. + +“Evelyn,” said her aunt, “have you finished learning your lessons? You +know how extremely particular Miss Henderson is that school tasks should +be perfectly prepared.” + +“My lessons are all right, thank you,” replied Evelyn in her brusquest +voice. She flung herself into a chair and crossed her legs. + +“Uncross your legs, my dear; that is a very unlady-like thing to do.” + +Evelyn muttered something, but did what her aunt told her. + +“Do not lean back so much, Evelyn; it is not good style. Do not poke out +your chin, either; observe how Audrey sits.” + +“I don’t want to observe how Audrey sits,” said Evelyn. + +Lady Frances colored. She was about to speak, but a glance from her +daughter restrained her. Just then Read came into the room. Between Read +and Evelyn there was already a silent feud. Read now glanced at the +young lady, tossed her head a trifle, and went up to Lady Frances. + +“I am very sorry to trouble you, madam,” she said, “but if I may see you +quite by yourself for a few moments I shall be very much obliged.” + +“Certainly, Read; go into my boudoir and I will join you there,” said +her mistress. “I know,” added Lady Frances graciously, “that you would +not disturb me if you had not something important to say.” + +“No, madam; I should be very sorry to do so.” + +Lady Frances and Read now left the room, and Audrey and Evelyn were +alone. Audrey uttered a sigh. + +“What is the matter, Audrey?” asked her cousin. + +“I am thinking of the day after to-morrow,” answered Audrey. “The +unhappy girl who has kept her secret all this time will be openly +denounced. It will be terribly exciting.” + +“You do not pretend that you pity her!” said Evelyn in a voice of scorn. + +“Indeed I do pity her.” + +“What nonsense! That is not at all your way.” + +“Why should you say that? It is my way. I pity all people who have done +wrong most terribly.” + +“Then have you ever pitied me since I came to England?” + +“Oh yes, Evelyn—oh, indeed I have!” + +“Please keep your pity to yourself; I don’t want it.” + +Audrey relapsed into silence. + +By and by Lady Frances came back; she was still accompanied by Read. + +“What does a servant want in this room?” said Evelyn in her most +disagreeable voice. + +“Evelyn, come here,” said her aunt; “I have something to say to you.” + +Evelyn went very unwillingly. Read stood a little in the background. + +“Evelyn,” said Lady Frances, “I have just heard something that surprises +me extremely, that pains me inexpressibly; it is true, so there is no +use in your denying it, but I must tell you what Read has discovered.” + +“Read!” cried Evelyn, her voice choking with passion and her face white. +“Who believes what a tell-tale-tit of that sort says?” + +“You must not be impertinent, my dear. I wish to tell you that Read has +found you out. Your maid Jasper has not left this neighborhood, and you, +Evelyn—you are naughty enough and daring enough to meet her every night +by the stile that leads into the seven-acre meadow. Read observed your +absence one night, and followed you herself to-night, and she discovered +everything.” + +“Did you hear what I was saying to Jasper?” asked Evelyn, turning her +white face now and looking full at Read. + +“No, Miss Evelyn,” replied the maid; “I would not demean myself to +listen.” + +“You would demean yourself to follow,” said Evelyn. + +“Confess your sin, Evelyn, and do not scold Read,” interrupted Lady +Frances. + +“I have nothing to confess, Aunt Frances.” + +“But you did it?” + +“Certainly I did it.” + +“You dared to go to meet a woman privately, clandestinely, whom I, your +aunt, prohibited the house?” + +“I dared to go to meet the woman my mother loved,” replied Evelyn, “and +I am not a bit ashamed of it; and if I had the chance I would do it +again.” + +“You are a very, very naughty girl. I am more than angry with you. I am +pained beyond words. What is to become of you I know not. You are a bad +girl; I cannot bear to think that you should be in the same house with +Audrey.” + +“Loving the woman whom my mother loved does not make me a bad girl,” +replied Evelyn. “But as you do not like to have me in the room, Aunt +Frances, I will go away—I will go up-stairs. I think you are very, very +unkind to me; I think you have been so from the first.” + +“Do not dare to say another word to me, miss; go away immediately.” + +Evelyn left the room. She was half-way up-stairs when she paused. + +“What is the use of being good?” she said to herself. “What is the use +of ever trying to please anybody? I really did not mean to be naughty +when first I came, and if Aunt Frances had been different I might have +been different too. What right had she to deprive me of Jasper when +mothery said that Jasper was to stay with me? It is Aunt Frances’s fault +that I am such a bad girl now. Well, thank goodness! I shall not be here +much longer; I shall be away this time to-morrow night. The only person +I shall be sorry to leave is Uncle Edward. Audrey and I will be going to +school early in the morning, and then there will be the fuss and bustle +and the getting away before Read sees me. Oh, that dreadful old Read! +what can I do to blind her eyes to-morrow night? Throw dust into them in +some fashion I must. I will just go and have one word of good-by with +Uncle Edward now.” + +Evelyn ran down the corridor which led to her uncle’s room. She tapped +at the door. There was no answer. She opened the door softly and peeped +in. The room was empty. She was just about to go away again, +considerably crestfallen and disappointed, when her eyes fell upon the +gun-case. Instantly a sparkle came into her eyes; she went up to the +case, and removing the gun, proceeded to examine it. It was made on the +newest pattern, and was light and easily carried. It held six chambers, +all of which could be most simply and conveniently loaded. + +Evelyn knew well how to load a gun, and finding the proper cartridges, +now proceeded to enjoy herself by making the gun ready for use. Having +loaded it, she returned it to its case. + +“I know what I’ll do,” she thought. “Uncle Edward thinks that I cannot +shoot; he thinks that I am not good at any one single thing. But I will +show him. I’ll go out and shoot two birds on the wing before breakfast +to-morrow; whether they are crows or whether they are doves or whether +they are game, it does not matter in the least; I’ll bring them in and +lay them at his feet, and say: + +“Here is what your wild niece Evelyn can do; and now you will believe +that she has one accomplishment which is not vouchsafed to other girls.” + +So, having completed her task of putting the gun in absolute readiness +for its first essay in the field, she returned the case to its corner +and went up-stairs to bed. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI.—TANGLES. + + +When Audrey and her mother found themselves alone, Lady Frances turned +at once to her daughter. + +“Audrey,” she said, “I feel that I must confide in you.” + +“What about, mother?” asked Audrey. + +“About Evelyn.” + +“Yes, mother?” + +Audrey’s face looked anxious and troubled; Lady Frances’s scarcely less +so. + +“The child hates me,” said Lady Frances. “What I have done to excite +such a feeling is more than I can tell you; from the first I have done +my utmost to be kind to her.” + +“It is difficult to know how best to be kind to Evelyn,” said Audrey in +a thoughtful voice. + +“What do you mean, my dear?” + +“I mean, mother, that she is something of a little savage. She has never +been brought up with our ideas. Do you think, mother—I scarcely like to +say it to one whom I honor and love and respect as I do you—but do you +think you understand her?” + +“No, I do not,” said Lady Frances. “I have never understood her from the +first. Your father seems to manage her better.” + +“Ah, yes,” said Audrey; “but then, she belongs to him.” + +Lady Frances looked annoyed. + +“She belongs to us all,” she remarked. “She is your first cousin, and my +niece, of course, by marriage. Her father was a very dear fellow; how +such a daughter could have been given to him is one of those puzzles +which will never be unraveled. But now, dear, we must descend from +generalities to facts. Something very grave and terrible has occurred. +Read did right when she told me about Evelyn’s secret visits to Jasper +at the stile. You know how from the very first I have distrusted and +disliked that woman. You must not suppose, Audrey, that I felt no pain +when I turned the woman away after the letter which Evelyn’s mother had +written to me; but there are times when it is wrong to yield, and I felt +that such was the case.” + +“I knew, my darling mother, that you must have acted from the best of +motives,” said Audrey. + +“I did, my dearest child; I did. Well, Evelyn has managed to meet this +woman, and instead of being removed from her influence, is under it to a +remarkable and dangerous degree—for the woman, of course, thinks herself +wronged, and Evelyn agrees with her. Now, the fact is this, Audrey: I +happen to know about that very disagreeable occurrence which took place +at Chepstow House.” + +“What, mother—what?” cried Audrey. “You speak as if you knew something +special.” + +“I do, Audrey.” + +“But what, mother?” + +Audrey’s face turned red; her eyes shone. She went close to her mother, +knelt by her, and took her hand. + +“Who has spoken to you about it?” she asked. + +“Miss Henderson.” + +“Oh mother! and what did she say?” + +“My darling, I am afraid you will be terribly grieved; I can scarcely +tell you how upset I am. Audrey, the strongest, the very strongest, +circumstantial evidence points to Evelyn as the guilty person.” + +“Oh mother! Evelyn! But why? Oh, surely, surely whoever accuses poor +Evelyn is mistaken!” + +“I agreed with you, Audrey; I felt just as indignant as you do when +first I heard what Miss Henderson told me; but the more I see of Evelyn +the more sure I am that she would be capable of this action, that if the +opportunity came she would do this cruel and unjustifiable wrong, and +after having done it the unhappy child would try to conceal it.” + +“But, mother darling, what motive could she have?” + +“Well, dear, let me tell you. Miss Henderson seems to be well aware of +the entire story. On the first day when Evelyn went to school she was +asked during class to read over the reign of Edward I. in the history of +England. Evelyn, in her usual pert way which we all know so well, +declared that she knew the reign, and while the other girls in her form +were busy with their lessons she amused herself looking about her. As it +was the first day, Miss Thompson took no notice; but when the girls went +into the playground for recess she called Evelyn to her and questioned +her with regard to the history. Evelyn’s wicked lie was immediately +manifest, for she did not know a single word about the reign. Miss +Thompson was naturally angry, and desired her to stay in the schoolroom +and learn the reign while the other girls were at play. Evelyn was +angry, but could not resist. About six o’clock that evening Miss +Thompson came into the schoolroom, found Ruskin’s _Sesame and Lilies_, +which she had left there that morning, and took it away with her. She +was preparing a lecture out of the book, and did not open it at once. +When she did so she perceived, to her horror, that some pages had been +torn out. You know, my dear, what followed. You know what a strained and +unhappy condition the school is now in.” + +“Oh yes, mother—yes, I know all that; the only part that is new to me is +that Evelyn was kept indoors to learn her history.” + +“Yes, dear, and that supplies the motive; not to one like you, my +Audrey, but to such a perverted, such an unhappy and ignorant child as +poor Evelyn, one who has never learnt self-control, one whose passions +are ever in the ascendency.” + +“Oh, poor Evelyn, poor Evelyn!” said Audrey. “But still, +mother—still——Oh, I am sure she never did it! She has denied it, mother; +whatever she is, she is not a coward. She might have done it in a fit of +rage; but if she did she would confess. Why should she wreak her anger +on Miss Henderson? Oh, mother darling, there is nothing proved against +her!” + +“Wait, Audrey; I have not finished my story. Two days passed before Miss +Thompson needed to open the history-book which Evelyn had been using; +when she did, she found, lying in the pages which commenced the reign of +Edward I., some scraps of torn paper, all too evidently torn out of +_Sesame and Lilies_. + +“Mother!” + +“It is true, Audrey.” + +“Who told you this?” + +“Miss Henderson.” + +“Does Miss Henderson believe that Evelyn is guilty?” + +“Yes; and so do I.” + +“Mother, mother, what will happen?” + +“Who knows? But Miss Henderson is determined—and, yes, my dear, I must +say I agree with her—she is determined to expose Evelyn; she said she +would give her a week in which to repent.” + +“And that week will be up the day after to-morrow,” said Audrey. + +“Yes, Audrey—yes; there is only to-morrow left.” + +“Oh mother, how can I bear it?” + +“My poor child, it will be dreadful for you.” + +“Oh mother, why did she come here? I could almost hate her! And yet—no, +I do not hate her—no, I do not; I pity her.” + +“You are an angel! When I think that you, my sweet, will be mixed up in +this, and—and injured by it, and brought to low esteem by it, oh, my +dearest, what can I say?” + +Audrey was silent for a moment. She bent her head and looked down; then +she spoke. + +“It is a trial,” she said, “but I am not to be pitied as Evelyn is to be +pitied. Mother darling, there is but one thing to be done.” + +“What is that, dearest?” + +“To get her to repent—to get her to confess between now and the morning +after next. Oh mother! leave her to me.” + +“I will, Audrey. If any one can influence her, you can; you are so +brave, so good, so strong!” + +“Nay, I have but little influence over her,” said Audrey. “Let me think +for a few moments, mother.” + +Audrey sank into a chair and sat silent. Her sweet, pure, high-bred face +was turned in profile to her mother. Lady Frances glanced at it, and +thought over the circumstances which had brought Evelyn into their +midst. + +“To think that that girl should supplant her!” thought the mother; and +her anger was so great that she could not keep quiet. She was going out +of the room to speak to her husband, but before she reached the door +Audrey called her. + +“What are you going to do, mother?” + +“It is only right that I should tell you, Audrey. An idea has come to +me. Evelyn respects your father; if I told him just what I have told you +he might induce her to confess.” + +“No, mother,” said Audrey suddenly; “do not let us lower her in his +eyes. The strongest possible motive for Evelyn to confess her sin will +be that father does not know; that he need never know if she confesses. +Do not tell him, please, mother; I have got another thought.” + +“What is that, my darling?” + +“Do you not remember Sylvia—pretty Sylvia?” + +“Of course. A dear, bright, fascinating girl!” + +“Evelyn is fond of her—fonder of Sylvia than she is of me; perhaps +Sylvia could induce her to confess.” + +“It is a good thought, Audrey. I will ask Sylvia over here to dine +to-morrow evening.” + +“Oh, mother darling, that is too late! May I not send a messenger for +her to come in the morning? Oh mother, if she could only come now!” + +“No dearest; it is too late to-night.” + +“But Evelyn ought to see her before she goes to school.” + +“My dearest, you have both to be at school at nine o’clock.” + +“Oh, I don’t know what is to be done! I do feel that I have very little +influence, and Sylvia may have much. Oh dear! oh dear!” + +“Audrey, I am almost sorry I have told you; you take it too much to +heart.” + +“Dear mother, you must have told me; I could not have stood the shock, +the surprise, unprepared. Oh mother, think of the morning after next! +Think of our all standing up in school, and Evelyn, my cousin, being +proclaimed guilty! And yet, mother, I ought only to think of Evelyn, and +not of myself; but I cannot help thinking of myself—I cannot—I cannot.” + +“Something must be done to help you, Audrey. Let me think. I will write +a line to Miss Henderson and say I am detaining you both till afternoon +school. Then, dearest, you can have your talk with Evelyn in the +morning, and afterwards Sylvia can see her, and perhaps the unhappy +child may be brought to repentance, and may speak to Miss Henderson and +confess her sin in the afternoon. That is the best thing. Now go to bed, +and do not let the trouble worry you, my sweet; that would indeed be the +last straw.” + +Audrey left the room. But during that night she could not sleep. From +side to side of her pillow she tossed; and early in the morning, an hour +or more before her usual time of rising, she got up. She dressed herself +quickly and went in the direction of Evelyn’s room. Her idea was to +speak to Evelyn there and then before her courage failed her. She opened +the door of her cousin’s room softly. She expected to see Evelyn, who +was very lazy as a rule, sound asleep in bed; but, to her astonishment, +the room was empty. Where could she be? + +“What can be the matter?” thought Audrey; and in some alarm she ran +down-stairs. + +The first person she saw was Evelyn, who was making straight for her +uncle’s room, intending to go out with the well-loaded gun. Evelyn +scowled when she saw her cousin, and a look of anger swept over her +face. + +“What are you doing up so early, Evelyn?” asked Audrey. + +“May I ask what are _you_ doing up so early,” retorted Evelyn. + +“I got up early on purpose to talk to you.” + +“I don’t want to talk just now.” + +“Do come with me, Evelyn—please do. Why should you turn against me and +be so disagreeable? Oh, dear! oh dear! I am so terribly sorry for you! +Do you know that I was awake all night thinking of you?” + +“Then you were very silly,” said Evelyn, “for certainly I was not awake +thinking of you. What is it you want to say?” she continued. + +She recognized that she must give up her sport. How more than provoking! +for the next morning she would be no longer at Wynford Castle; she would +be under the safe shelter of her beloved Jasper’s wing. + +“The morning is quite fine,” said Audrey; “do come out and let us walk.” + +Evelyn looked very cross, but finally agreed, and they went out +together. Audrey wondered how she should proceed. What could she say to +influence Evelyn? In truth, they were not the sort of girls who would +ever pull well together. Audrey had been brought up in the strictest +school, with the highest sense of honor. Evelyn had been left to grow up +at her own sweet will; honorable actions had never appealed to her. +Tricks, cheating, smart doings, clever ways, which were not the ways of +righteousness, were the ways to which she had been accustomed. It was +impossible for her to see things with Audrey’s eyes. + +“What do you want to say to me?” said Evelyn. “Why do you look so +mysterious?” + +“I want to say something—something which I must say. Evelyn, do not ask +me any questions, but do just listen. You know what is going to happen +to-morrow morning at school?” + +“Lessons, I suppose,” said Evelyn. + +“Please don’t be silly; you must know what I mean.” + +“Oh, you allude to the row about that stupid, stupid book. What a fuss! +I used to think I liked school, but I don’t now. I am sure mistresses +don’t go on in that silly way in Tasmania, for mothery said she loved +school. Oh, the fun she had at school! Stolen parties in the attics; +suppers brought in clandestinely; lessons shirked! Oh dear! oh dear! she +had a time of excitement. But at this school you are all so proper! I do +really think you English girls have no spunk and no spirit.” + +“But I’ll tell you what we have,” said Audrey; and she turned and faced +her cousin. “We have honor; we have truth. We like to work straight, not +crooked; we like to do right, not wrong. Yes, we do, and we are the +better for it. That is what we English girls are. Don’t abuse us, +Evelyn, for in your heart of hearts—yes, Evelyn, I repeat it—in your +heart of hearts you must long to be one of us.” + +There was something in Audrey’s tone which startled Evelyn. + +“How like Uncle Edward you look!” she said; and perhaps she could not +have paid her cousin a higher compliment. + +The look which for just a moment flitted across the queer little face of +the Tasmanian girl upset Audrey. She struggled to retain her composure, +but the next moment burst into tears. + +“Oh dear!” said Evelyn, who hated people who cried, “what is the +matter?” + +“You are the matter. Oh, why—_why_ did you do it?” + +“I do what?” said Evelyn, a little startled, and turning very pale. + +“Oh! you know you did it, and—and—— There is Sylvia Leeson coming across +the grass. Do let Sylvia speak to you. Oh, you know—you know you did +it!” + +“What is the matter?” said Sylvia, running up, panting and breathless. +“I have been asked to breakfast here. Such fun! I slipped off without +father knowing. But are not you two going to school? Why was I asked? +Audrey, what are you crying about?” + +“About Evelyn. I am awfully unhappy——” + +“Have you told, Evelyn?” asked Sylvia breathlessly. + +“No,” said Evelyn; “and if you do, Sylvia——” + +“Sylvia, do you know about this?” cried Audrey. + +“About what?” asked Sylvia. + +“About the book which got injured at Miss Henderson’s school.” + +Sylvia glanced at Evelyn; then her face flushed, her eyes brightened, +and she said emphatically: + +“I know; and dear little Evelyn will tell you herself.—Won’t you, +darling—won’t you?” + +Evelyn looked from one to the other. + +“You are enough, both of you, to drive me mad,” she said. “Do you think +for a single moment that I am going to speak against myself? I hate you, +Sylvia, as much as I ever loved you.” + +Before either girl could prevent her she slipped away, and flying round +the shrubberies, was lost to view. + +“Then she did do it?” said Audrey. “She told you?” + +Sylvia shut her lips. + +“I must not say any more,” she answered. + +“But, Sylvia, it is no secret. Miss Henderson knows; there is +circumstantial evidence. Mother told me last night. Evelyn will be +exposed before the whole school.” + +Now Jasper, for wise reasons, had said nothing to Sylvia of Evelyn’s +proposed flight to The Priory, and consequently she was unaware that the +naughty girl had no intention of exposing herself to public disgrace. + +“She must be brought to confess,” continued Audrey, “and you must find +her and talk to her. You must show her how hopeless and helpless she is. +Show her that if she tells, the disgrace will not be quite so awful. Oh, +do please get her to tell!” + +“I can but try,” said Sylvia; “only, somehow,” she added, “I have not +yet quite fathomed Evelyn.” + +“But I thought she was fond of you?” + +“You see what she said. She did confide something to me, only I must not +tell you any more; and she is angry with me because she thinks I have +not respected her confidence. Oh, what is to be done? Yes, I will go and +have a talk with her. Go in, please, Audrey; you look dead tired.” + +“Oh! as if anything mattered,” said Audrey. “I could almost wish that I +were dead; the disgrace is past enduring.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII.—THE STRANGE VISITOR IN THE BACK BEDROOM. + + +In vain Sylvia pleaded and argued. She brought all her persuasions to +bear; she brought all her natural sweetness to the fore. She tried love, +with which she was so largely endowed; she tried tact, which had been +given to her in full measure; she tried the gentle touch of scorn and +sarcasm; finally she tried anger, but for all she said and did she might +as well have held her peace. Evelyn put on that stubbornness with which +she could encase herself as in armor; nowhere could Sylvia find a crack +or a crevice through which her words might pierce the obdurate and +naughty little heart. What was to be done? At last she gave up in +despair. Audrey met her outside Evelyn’s room. Sylvia shook her head. + +“Don’t question me,” she said. “I am very unhappy. I pity you from my +heart. I can say nothing; I am bound in honor to say nothing. Poor +Evelyn will reap her own punishment.” + +“If,” said Audrey, “you have failed I give up all hope.” + +After lunch Evelyn and Audrey went back to school. There were a good +many classes to be held that afternoon—one for deportment, another for +dancing, another for recitation. Evelyn could recite extremely well when +she chose. She looked almost pretty when she recited some of the +spirited ballads of her native land for the benefit of the school. Her +eyes glowed, darkened, and deepened; the pallor of her face was +transformed and beautified by a faint blush. There was a heart somewhere +within her; as Audrey watched her she was obliged to acknowledge that +fact. + +“She is thinking of her dead mother now,” thought the girl. “Oh, if only +that mother had been different we should not be placed in our present +terrible position!” + +It was the custom of the school for the girls on recitation afternoons +to do their pieces in the great hall. Miss Henderson, Miss Lucy, and a +few visitors generally came to listen to the recitations. Miss Thompson +was the recitation mistress, and right well did she perform her task. If +a girl had any dramatic power, if a girl had any talent for seeing +behind the story and behind the dream of the poet, Miss Thompson was the +one to bring that gift to the surface. Evelyn, who was a dramatist by +nature, became like wax in her hands; the way in which she recited that +afternoon brought a feeling of astonishment to those who listened to +her. + +“What remarkable little girl is that?” said a lady of the neighboring +town to Miss Henderson. + +“She is a Tasmanian and Squire Edward Wynford’s niece,” replied Miss +Henderson; but it was evident that she was not to be drawn out on the +subject, nor would she allow herself to express any approbation of +Evelyn’s really remarkable powers. + +Audrey’s piece, compared with Evelyn’s, was tame and wanting in spirit. +It was well rendered, it is true, but the ring of passion was absent. + +“Really,” said the same lady again, “I doubt whether recitations such as +Miss Evelyn Wynford has given are good for the school; surely girls +ought not to have their minds overexcited with such things!” + +Miss Henderson was again silent. + +The time passed by, and the close of the day arrived. Just as the girls +were putting on their cloaks and hats preparatory to going home, and +some were collecting round and praising Evelyn for her remarkable +performance of the afternoon, Miss Henderson appeared on the scene. She +touched the little girl on the arm. + +“One moment,” she said. + +“What do you want?” said Evelyn, backing. + +“To speak to you, my dear.” + +Audrey gave Evelyn a beseeching look. Perhaps if Audrey had refrained +from looking at that moment, Evelyn, excited by her triumph, touched by +the plaudits of her companions, might have done what she was expected to +do, and what immediately followed need not have taken place. But Evelyn +hated Audrey, and if for no other reason but to annoy her she would +stand by her guns. + +Miss Henderson took her hand, and entered a room adjoining the +cloakroom. She closed the door, and said: + +“The week is nearly up. You know what will happen to-morrow?” + +“Yes,” said Evelyn, lowering her eyes. + +“You will be present?” + +Evelyn was silent. + +“I shall see that you are. You must realize already what a pitiable +figure you will be, how deep and lasting will be your disgrace. You have +just tasted the sweets of success; why should you undergo that which +will be said of you to-morrow, that which no English girl can ever +forgive? It will not be forgotten in the school that owing to you much +enjoyment has been cut short, that owing to you a cloud has rested on +the entire place for several days—prizes forgone, liberty curtailed, +amusements debarred; and, before and above all these things, the fearful +stigma of disgrace resting on every girl at Chepstow House. But even +now, Evelyn, there is time; even now, by a full confession, much can be +mitigated. You know, my dear, how strong is the case against you. +To-morrow morning both Miss Thompson and I proclaim before the entire +school what has occurred. You are, in short, as a prisoner at the bar. +The school will be the judges; they will declare whether you are +innocent or guilty.” + +“Let me go,” said Evelyn. “Why do you torture me? I said I did not do +it, and I mean to stick to what I said. Let me go.” + +“Unhappy child! I shall not be able to retain you in the school after +to-morrow morning. But go now—go. God help you!” + +Evelyn walked across the hall. Her school companions were still standing +about; many wondered why her face was so pale, and asked one another +what Miss Henderson had to say in especial to the little girl. + +“It cannot be,” said Sophie, “that she did it. Why, of course she did +not do it; she would have no motive.” + +“Don’t let us talk about it,” said her companion. “For my part I rather +like Evelyn—there is something so quaint and out-of-the-common about +her—only I wish she would not look so angry sometimes.” + +“But how splendidly she recited that song of the ranch!” said Sophie. “I +could see the whole picture. We must not expect her to be quite like +ourselves; before she came here she was only a wild little savage.” + +The governess-cart had come for the two girls. They drove home in +silence. Audrey was thinking of the misery of the following morning. +Evelyn was planning her escape. She meant to go before dinner. She had +asked Jasper to meet her at seven o’clock precisely. She had thought +everything out, and that seemed to be the best hour; the family would be +in their different rooms dressing. Evelyn would make an excuse to send +Read away—indeed, she seldom now required her services, preferring to +dress alone. Read would be busy with her mistress and her own young +lady, and Evelyn would thus be able to slip away without her prying eyes +observing it. + +Tea was ready for the girls when they got home. They took it almost +without speaking. Evelyn avoided looking at Audrey. Audrey felt that it +was now absolutely hopeless to say a word to Evelyn. + +“I should just like to bid Uncle Edward good-by,” thought the child. +“Perhaps I may never come back again. I do not suppose Aunt Frances will +ever allow me to live at the Castle again. I should like to kiss Uncle +Edward; he is the one person in this house whom I love.” + +She hesitated between her desire and her frantic wish to be out of reach +of danger as soon as possible, but in the end the thought that her uncle +might notice something different from usual about her made her afraid of +making the attempt. She went up to her room. + +“It is not necessary to dress yet,” said Audrey, who was going slowly in +the direction of the pretty schoolroom. + +“No; but I have a slight headache,” said Evelyn. “I will lie down for a +few minutes before dinner. And, oh! please, Audrey, tell Read I do not +want her to come and dress me this evening. I shall put on my white +frock, and I know how to fasten it myself.” + +“All right; I will tell her,” replied Audrey. + +She did not say any more, but went on her way. Evelyn entered her room. +There she packed a few things in a bag; she was not going to take much. +In the bottom of the bag she placed for security the two little rolls of +gold. These she covered over with a stout piece of brown paper; over the +brown paper she laid the treasures she most valued. It did not occur to +her to take any of the clothes which her Aunt Frances had bought for +her. + +“I do not need them,” she said to herself. “I shall have my own dear old +things to wear again. Jasper took my trunks, and they are waiting for me +at The Priory. How happy I shall be in a few minutes! I shall have +forgotten the awful misery of my life at Castle Wynford. I shall have +forgotten that horrid scene which is to take place to-morrow morning. I +shall be the old Evelyn again. How astonished Sylvia will be! Whatever +Sylvia is, she is true to Jasper; and she will be true to me, and she +will not betray me.” + +The time flew on; soon it was a quarter to seven. Evelyn could see the +minute and hour hand of the pretty clock on her mantelpiece. The time +seemed to go on leaden wings. She did not dare to stir until a few +minutes after the dressing-gong had sounded; then she knew she should +find the coast clear. At last seven silvery chimes sounded from the +little clock, and a minute later the great gong in the central hall +pealed through the house. There was the gentle rustle of ladies’ silk +dresses as they went to their rooms to dress—for a few visitors had +arrived at the Castle that day. Evelyn knew this, and had made her plans +accordingly. The family had a good deal to think of; Read would be +specially busy. She went to the table where she had put her little bag, +caught it up, took a thick shawl on her arm, and prepared to rush +down-stairs. She opened the door of her room and peeped out. All was +stillness in the corridor. All was stillness in the hall below. She +hoped that she could reach the side entrance and get away into the +shrubberies without any one seeing her. Cautiously and swiftly she +descended the stairs. The stairs were made of white marble, and of +course there was no sound. She crossed the big hall and went down by a +side corridor. Once she looked back, having a horrible suspicion that +some one was watching her. There was no one in sight. She opened the +side door, and the next instant had shut it behind her. She gave a gasp +of pleasure. She was free; the horrid house would know her no more. + +“Not until I go back as mistress and pay them all out,” thought the +angry little girl. “Never again will I live at Castle Wynford until I am +mistress here.” + +Then she put wings to her feet and began to run. But, alas for Evelyn! +the best-laid plans are sometimes upset, and at the moment of greatest +security comes the sudden fall. For she had not gone a dozen yards +before a hand was laid on her shoulder, and turning round and trying to +extricate herself, she saw her Aunt Frances. Lady Frances, who she +supposed was safe in her room was standing by her side. + +“Evelyn,” she said, “what are you doing?” + +“Nothing,” said Evelyn, trying to wriggle out of her aunt’s grasp. + +“Then come back to the house with me.” + +She took the little girl’s hand, and they re-entered the house side by +side. + +“You were running away,” said Lady Frances, “but I do not permit that. +We will not argue the point; come up-stairs.” + +She took Evelyn up to her room. There she opened the door and pushed her +in. + +“Doubtless you can do without dinner as you intended to run away,” said +Lady Frances. “I will speak to you afterwards; for the present you stay +in your room.” She locked the door and put the key into her pocket. + +The angry child was locked in. To say that Evelyn was wild with passion, +despair, and rage is but lightly to express the situation. For a time +she was almost speechless; then she looked round her prison. Were there +any means of escape? Oh! she would not stand it; she would burst open +the door. Alas, alas for her puny strength! the door was of solid oak, +firmly fastened, securely locked; it would defy the efforts of twenty +little girls of Evelyn’s size and age. The window—she would escape by +the window! She rushed to it, opened it, and looked out. Evelyn’s room +was, it is true, on the first floor, but the drop to the ground beneath +seemed too much for her. She shuddered as she looked below. + +“If I were on the ranch, twenty Aunt Franceses would not keep me,” she +thought; and then she ran into her sitting-room. + +Of late she had scarcely ever used her sitting-room, but now she +remembered it. The windows here were French; they looked on the +flower-garden. To drop down here would not perhaps be so difficult; the +ground at least would be soft. Evelyn wondered if she might venture; but +she had once seen, long ago in Tasmania, a black woman try to escape. +She had heard the thud of the woman’s body as it alighted on the ground, +and the shriek which followed. This woman had been found and brought +back to the house, and had suffered for weeks from a badly-broken leg. +Evelyn now remembered that thud, and that broken leg, and the shriek of +the victim. It would be worse than folly to injure herself. But, oh, was +it not maddening? Jasper would be waiting for her—Jasper with her big +heart and her great black eyes and her affectionate manner; and the +little white bed would be made, and the delicious chocolate in +preparation; and the fun and the delightful escapade and the daring +adventure must all be at an end. But they should not—no, no, they should +not! + +“What a fool I am!” thought Evelyn. “Why should I not make a rope and +descend in that way? Aunt Frances has locked me in, but she does not +know how daring is the nature of Evelyn Wynford. I inherit it from my +darling mothery; I will not allow myself to be defeated.” + +Her courage and her spirits revived when she thought of the rope. She +must wait, however, at least until half-past seven. The great gong +sounded once more. Evelyn rushed to her door, and heard the rustle of +the silken dresses of the ladies as they descended. She had her eye at +the keyhole, and fancied that she detected the hated form of her aunt +robed in ruby velvet. A slim young figure in white also softly +descended. + +“My cousin Audrey,” thought the girl. “Oh dear! oh dear! and they leave +me here, locked up like a rat in a trap. They leave me here, and I am +out of everything. Oh, I cannot, will not stand it!” + +She ran to her bed, tore off the sheets, took a pair of scissors, and +cut them into strips. She had all the ways and quick knowledge of a girl +from the wilds. She knew how to make a knot which would hold. Soon her +rope was ready. It was quite strong enough to bear her light weight. She +fastened it to a heavy article of furniture just inside the French +windows of her sitting-room, and then dropping her little bag to the +ground below, she herself swiftly descended. + +“Free! free!” she murmured. “Free in spite of her! She will see how I +have gone. Oh, won’t she rage? What fun! It is almost worth the misery +of the last half-hour to have escaped as I have done.” + +There was no one now to watch the little culprit as she stole across the +grass. She ran up to the stile where Jasper was still waiting for her. + +“My darling,” said Jasper, “how late you are! I was just going back; I +had given you up.” + +“Kiss me, Jasper,” said Evelyn. “Hug me and love me and carry me a bit +of the way in your strong arms; and, oh! be quick—be very quick—for we +must hide, you and I, where no one can ever, ever find us. Oh Jasper, +Jasper, I have had such a time!” + +It was not Jasper’s way to say much in moments of emergency. She took +Evelyn up, wrapped her warm fur cloak well round the little girl, and +proceeded as quickly as she could in the direction of The Priory. Evelyn +laid her head on her faithful nurse’s shoulder, and a ray of warmth and +comfort visited her miserable little soul. + +“Oh, I am lost but for you!” she murmured once or twice. “How I hate +England! How I hate Aunt Frances! How I hate the horrid, horrid school, +and even Audrey! But I love you, darling, darling Jasper, and I am happy +once more.” + +“You are not lost with me, my little white Eve,” said Jasper. “You are +safe with me; and I tell you what it is, my sweet, you and I will part +no more.” + +“We never, never will,” said the little girl with fervor; and she +clasped Jasper still more tightly round the neck. + +But notwithstanding all Jasper’s love and good-will, the little figure +began to grow heavy, and the way seemed twice as long as usual; and when +Evelyn begged and implored of her nurse to hurry, hurry, hurry, poor +Jasper’s heart began to beat in great thumps, and finally she paused, +and said with panting breath: + +“I must drop you to the ground, my dearie, and you must run beside me, +for I have lost my breath, pet, and I cannot carry you any farther.” + +“Oh, how selfish I am!” said Evelyn at once. “Yes, of course I will run, +Jasper. I can walk quite well now. I have got over my first fright. The +great thing of all is to hurry. And you are certain, certain sure they +will not look for me at The Priory?” + +“Well, now, darling, how could they? Nobody but Sylvia knows that I live +at The Priory, and why should they think that you had gone there? No; it +is the police they will question, and the village they will go to, and +the railway maybe. But it is fun to think of the fine chase we are +giving them, and all to no purpose.” + +Evelyn laughed, and the two, holding each other’s hands, continued on +their way. By and by they reached the back entrance to The Priory. +Jasper had left the gate a little ajar. Pilot came up to show +attentions; he began to growl at Evelyn, but Jasper laid her hand on his +big forehead. + +“A friend, good dog! A little friend, Pilot,” was Jasper’s remark; and +then Pilot wagged his tail and allowed his friend Jasper—to whom he was +much attached, as she furnished him with unlimited chicken-bones—to go +to the house. Two or three minutes later Evelyn found herself +established in Jasper’s snug, pretty little bedroom. There the fire +blazed; supper was in course of preparation. Evelyn flung herself down +on a chair and panted slightly. + +“So this is where you live?” she said. + +“Yes, my darling, this is where I live.” + +“And where is Sylvia?” asked Evelyn. + +“She is having supper with her father at the present moment.” + +“Oh! I should like to see her. How excited and astonished she will be! +She won’t tell—you are sure of that, Jasper?” + +“Tell! Sylvia tell!” said Jasper. “Not quite, my dearie.” + +“Well, I should like to see her.” + +“She’ll be here presently.” + +“You have not told that I was coming?” + +“No, darling; I thought it best not.” + +“That is famous, Jasper; and do you know, I am quite hungry, so you +might get something to eat without delay.” + +“You did not by any chance forget the money?” said Jasper, looking +anxiously at Evelyn. + +“Oh no; it is in my little black bag; you had better take it while you +think of it. It is in two rolls; Uncle Edward gave it to me. It is all +gold—gold sovereigns; and there are twenty of them.” + +“Are not you a darling, a duck, and all the rest!” said Jasper, much +relieved at this information. “I would not worry you for the money, +darling,” she continued as she bustled about and set the milk on to boil +for Evelyn’s favorite beverage, “but that my own funds are getting +seriously low. You never knew such a state as we live in here. But we +have fun, darling; and we shall have all the more fun now that you have +come.” + +Evelyn leant back in her chair without replying. She had lived through a +good deal that day, and she was tired and glad to rest. She felt secure. +She was hungry, too; and it was nice to be petted by Jasper. She watched +the preparations for the chocolate, and when it was made she sipped it +eagerly, and munched a sponge-cake, and tried to believe that she was +the happiest little girl in the world. But, oh! what ailed her? How was +it that she could not quite forget the horrid days at the Castle, and +the dreadful days at school, and Audrey’s face, and Lady Frances’s +manner, and—last but not least—dear, sweet, kind Uncle Edward? + +“And I never proved to him that I could shoot a bird on the wing,” she +thought. “What a pity—what a sad pity! He will find the gun loaded, and +how astonished he will be! And he will never, never know that it was his +Evelyn loaded it and left it ready. Oh dear! I am sorry that I am not +likely to see Uncle Edward for a long time again. I am sorry that Uncle +Edward will be angry; I do not mind about any one else, but I am sorry +about him.” + +Just then there came the sound of a high-pitched and sweet voice in the +kitchen outside. + +“There is Sylvia,” said Jasper. “I am going to tell her now, and to +bring her in.” + +She went into the outside kitchen. Sylvia, in her shabbiest dress, with +a pinched, cold look on her face, was standing by the embers of the +fire. + +“Oh Jasper,” she said eagerly, “I do not know what to make of my father +to-night! He has evidently had bad news by the post to-day—something +about his last investments. I never saw him so low or so irritable, and +he was quite cross about the nice little hash you made for his supper. +He says that he will cut down the fuel-supply, and that I am not to have +big fires for cooking; and, worst of all, Jasper, he threatens to come +into the kitchen to see for himself how I manage. Do you know, I feel +quite frightened to-night. He is very strange in his manner, and +suspicious; and he looks so cold, too. No fire will he allow in the +sitting-room. He gets worse and worse.” + +“Well, darling,” said Jasper as cheerfully as she could, “this is an old +story, is it not? He did eat his hash, when all is said and done.” + +“Yes; but I don’t like his manner. And you know he discovered about the +boxes in the box-room.” + +“That is over and done with too,” said Jasper. “He cannot say much about +that; he can only puzzle and wonder, but it would take him a long time +to find out the truth.” + +“I don’t like his way,” repeated Sylvia. + +“And perhaps you don’t like my way either, Sylvia,” said a strange +voice; and Sylvia uttered a scream, for Evelyn stood before her. + +“Evelyn!” cried the girl. “Where have you come from? Oh, what is the +matter? Oh, I do declare my head is going round!” + +She clasped her hands to her forehead in absolute bewilderment. Jasper +went and locked the kitchen door. + +“Now we are safe,” she said; “and you two had best go into the bedroom. +Yes, you had, for when he comes along it is the wisest plan for him to +find the kitchen locked and the place in darkness. He will never think +of my bedroom; and, indeed, when the curtains are drawn and the shutters +shut you cannot get a blink of light from the outside, however hard you +try.” + +“Come, Sylvia,” said Evelyn. She took Sylvia’s hand and dragged her into +the bedroom. + +“But why have you come, Evelyn? Why is it?” said poor Sylvia, in great +distress and alarm. + +“You will have to welcome me whether you like it or not,” said Evelyn; +“and what is more, you will have to be true to me. I came here because I +have run away—run away from the school and the fuss and the disgrace of +to-morrow—run away from horrid Aunt Frances and from the horrid Castle; +and I have come here to dear old Jasper; and I have brought my own +money, so you need not be at any expense. And if you tell you will—— +But, oh, Sylvia, you will not tell?” + +“But this is terrible!” said Sylvia. “I don’t understand—I cannot +understand.” + +“Sit down, Miss Sylvia, dearie,” said Jasper, “and I will try to +explain.” + +Sylvia sank down on the side of the little white bed. + +“Now I know why you were getting this ready,” she said. “You would not +explain to me, and I thought perhaps it was for me. Oh dear! oh dear!” + +“I longed to tell you, but I dared not,” said Jasper. “Would I let my +sweet little lady die or be disgraced? That is not in me. She will hide +here with me for a bit, and afterwards—it will come all right +afterwards, my dear Miss Sylvia. Why, there, darlings! I love you both. +And see what I have been planning. I mean to go up-stairs to-night and +sleep in your room, Miss Sylvia. Yes, darling; and you and Miss Evelyn +can sleep together here. The supper is all ready, and I have had as much +as I want. I mean to go quickly; and then if your father comes along and +rattles at the kitchen door he’ll get no answer, and if he peers through +the keyhole, the place will be black as night. Then, being made up of +suspicions, poor man, he’ll tramp up-stairs and he’ll thunder at your +door; but it will be locked, and after a time I’ll answer him in your +voice from the heart of the big bed, and all his suspicions will melt +away like snow when the sun shines on it. That is all, Miss Sylvia; and +I mean to do it, and at once, too; for if we were so careful and chary +and anxious before, we must be twice as careful and twice as chary now +that I have got the precious little Eve to look after.” + +Jasper’s plan was carried out to the letter. Sylvia did not like it, but +at the same time she did not know how to oppose it; and when Evelyn put +her arms round her neck and was soft and gentle—she who was so hard with +most, and so difficult to manage—and when she pleaded with tears in her +big brown eyes and a pathetic look on her white face, Sylvia yielded for +the present. Whatever happened, she would not betray her. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII.—THE ROOM WITH THE LIGHT THAT FLICKERED. + + +Now, all might have gone well for the little conspirators but for Evelyn +herself. But when the girls, tired with talking, tired with the spirit +of adventure, had lain down—Sylvia in Jasper’s bed, and Evelyn in the +new little white couch which had been got so lovingly ready for +her—Sylvia, tired out, soon fell asleep; but Evelyn could not rest. She +was pleased, excited, relieved, but at the same time she had a curious +sense of disappointment about her. Her heart beat fast; she wondered +what was happening. It seemed to her that in this tiny room at the back +of the kitchen she was in a sort of prison. The sense of being in prison +was anything but pleasant to this child of a free country and of an +untrained mother. She slipped softly out of bed, and going to the +window, unbarred the heavy shutters and looked out. + +There was a moon in the sky, and the garden stood in streaks of bright +light, and of dense shadow where the thick yew-hedge shut away the cold +rays of the moon. Evelyn’s white little face was pressed against the +pane. Pilot stalked up and down outside, now and then baying to the +moon, now and then uttering a suspicious bark, but he never glanced in +the direction of the window out of which Evelyn looked. To the right of +the window lay the hens’ run and hen-house which have already been +mentioned in these pages. Evelyn knew nothing about them, however; she +thought the view ugly and uninteresting. She disliked the thick +yew-hedge and the gnarled old yew-tree, and grumbling under her breath, +she turned from the window, having quite forgotten to close the +shutters. She got into bed now and fell asleep, little knowing what +mischief she had done. + +For it was on that very same night that Mr. Leeson determined, not to +bury his bags of gold, but to dig them up. He was in a weak and +trembling condition, and what he considered the most terrible misfortune +had overpowered him, for the large sums which he had lately invested in +the Kilcolman Gold-mines had been irretrievably lost; the gold-mines +were nothing more nor less than a huge fraud, and all the shareholders +had lost their money. The daily papers were full of the fraudulent +scheme, and indignation was rife against the promoters of the company. +But little cared Mr. Leeson for that; one fact alone concerned him. He, +who grudged a penny to give his only child warmth and comfort, had by +one fell blow lost thousands of pounds. He was almost like a man bereft +of his senses. When Sylvia had left him that evening he had stood for +some time in the cold and desolate parlor; then he sat down and began to +think. His money was invested in more than one apparently promising +speculation. He meant to call it all in—to collect it all and leave the +country. He would not trust another sovereign in any bank in the +kingdom; he would guard his own money; above all things, he would guard +his precious savings. He had saved during his residence at The Priory +something over twelve hundred pounds. This money, which really +represented income, not capital, had been taken from what ought to have +been spent on the necessaries of life. More and more had he saved, until +a penny saved was more valuable in his eyes than any virtue under the +sun; and as he saved and added sovereign to sovereign, he buried his +money in canvas bags in the garden. But the time had come now to dig up +his gold and fly. There were three trunks in the box-room; he would +divide the money between the three. They were strong, covered with +cow-hide, old-fashioned, safe to endure even such a weight as was to be +put into them. He had made all his plans. He meant to take Sylvia, leave +The Priory, and go. What further savings he could effect in a foreign +land he knew not; he only wanted to be up and doing. This night, just +when the moon set, would be the very time for his purpose. He was +anxious—very anxious—about those fresh trunks which had been put into +the attic; there was something also about Sylvia which aroused his +suspicions. He felt certain that she was not quite so open with him as +formerly. Those suppers were too good, too delicate, too tasty to be +eaten without suspicion. At the best she was burning too much fuel. He +would go round to the kitchen this very night and see for himself that +the fire was out—dead out. Why should Sylvia warm herself by the kitchen +fire while he shivered fireless and almost candleless in the desolate +parlor? Soon after ten o’clock, therefore, he started on his rounds. He +went through room after room, looking into each; he had never been so +restless. He felt that a great and terrible task lay before him, and so +bewildered was his mind, so much was his balance shaken, that he thought +more of the twelve hundred pounds which he had saved than of the +thousands which he had lost by foolish investment. The desolate rooms in +the old Priory were all as they had ever been—scarcely any furniture in +some, no furniture at all in others; they were bare and bleak and ugly. +He went to the kitchen; the door was locked. He shook it and called +aloud; there was no answer. + +“The child has gone to bed,” he said to himself. “That is well.” + +He stooped down and tried to look through the keyhole; only darkness met +his gaze. He turned and shambled up-stairs. He turned the handle of +Sylvia’s door. How wise had been Jasper when she had guessed that the +master of the house would do just what he did do! + +“Sylvia!” he called aloud—“Sylvia!” + +“Yes, father,” said a voice which seemed to be quite the voice of his +daughter. + +“Are you in bed?” + +“Yes. Do you want me?” + +“No; stay where you are. Good night.” + +“Good night,” answered the pretended Sylvia. + +But Mr. Leeson, as he went down-stairs, did not hear the stifled +laughter which was smothered in the pillows. He waited until the moon +was on the wane, and then, armed with the necessary implements, went +into the garden. He would certainly remove half the bags that night; the +remainder might wait until to-morrow. + +He reached the garden; he arrived at the spot where his treasure was +buried, and then he stood still for a moment, and looked around him. +Everything seemed all right—silent as the grave—still as death. It was a +windless night; the moon would very soon set and there would be +darkness. He wanted darkness for his purpose. Pilot came shuffling up. + +“Good dog! guard—guard. Good dog!” said his master. + +Pilot had been trained to know what this meant, and he went immediately +and stood within a foot or two of the main entrance. Mr. Leeson did not +know that a gate at the back entrance was no longer firmly secured and +chained, as he imagined it to be. He thought himself safe, and began to +work. + +He had dug up six of the bags, and there were six more yet to be +unearthed, when, suddenly raising his head, he saw a light in a window +on the ground floor. It was a very faint light, and seemed to come and +go. + +He was much puzzled. His heart beat strangely; suspicion visited him. +Had any one seen him? If so he was lost. He dared not wait another +moment; he took two of the bags of gold and dragged them as best he +could into the house. He went out again to fetch another two, and yet +another two. He put the six canvas bags in the empty hall, and then +returning to the garden, he pressed down the earth and covered it with +gravel, and tried to make it look as if no one had been there—as if no +one had disturbed it. But he was trembling all over, and as he did so he +looked again at the flickering, broken light which came dimly, like +something gray and uncertain, from within the room. + +He went on tiptoe softly, very softly, up to the window and peered in. +He could not see much—nothing, in fact, except one thing. The room had a +fire. That was enough for him. + +Furious anger shook the man to his depths. He hurried into the house. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX.—WHAT COULD IT MEAN? + + +Anger gave Mr. Leeson a false strength. He put the canvas bags of gold +into a large cupboard in the parlor; he locked the door and put the key +into his pocket. Then he went gingerly and on tiptoe to another +cupboard, and took down out of the midst of an array of dirty empty +bottles one which contained a very little brandy. He kept this brandy +here so that no one should guess at its existence. He poured himself out +about a thimbleful of the potent spirit and drank it off. He then +returned the bottle to its place, and fumbling in a lower shelf, +collected some implements together. With these he went out into the open +air. + +He now approached the window where the light shone—the faint, dim light +which flickered against the blind and seemed almost to go out, and then +shone once more. Slowly and dexterously he cut, with a diamond which he +had brought for the purpose, a square of glass out of the lower pane. He +put the glass on the ground, and slipping in his hand, pushed back the +bolt. All his movements were quiet. He said “Ah!” once or twice under +his breath. When he had gently and very softly lifted the sash, he took +a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away some drops which stood on +his forehead. Then he said “Ah!” once more, and slipped softly, deftly, +and quietly into the room. He had made no noise whatsoever. The young +sleepers never moved. He stood in the fire-lit, and in his opinion +lavishly furnished, room. Here was a small white bed and an occupant; +here a larger bed and another occupant. He crept on tiptoe towards the +two beds. He bent down over the little occupant of the smaller bed. + +A girl—a stranger! A girl with long, fair hair, and light lashes lying +on a white cheek. A curious-looking girl! She moaned once or twice in +her sleep. He did not want to awaken her. + +He looked towards the other bed, in which lay Sylvia, pretty, debonair, +rosy in her happy, warm slumber. She had flung one arm outside the +counterpane. Her lips parted; she uttered the words: + +“Darling father! Poor, poor father!” + +The man who listened started back as though something had struck him. + +Sylvia in that bed—Sylvia who had spoken to him not two hours ago +up-stairs? What did it mean? What could it mean? And who was this +stranger? And what did the fire mean, and all the furniture? A carpet on +the floor, too! A carpet on his floor—his! And a fire which he had never +warranted in his grate, and beds which he had never ordered in his room! +Oh! was it not enough to strike a man mad with fury? And yet again! what +was this? A table and the remains of supper! Good living, warmth, +luxuries, under the roof of the man who was fireless and cold and, as he +himself fondly and foolishly believed, a beggar! + +He stood absolutely dumb. He would not awaken the sleepers. A strange +sensation visited him. He was determined not to give way to his +passions; he was determined, before he said a word to Sylvia, to regain +his self-control. + +“Once I said bitter things to her mother; I will not err in that +direction any more,” he said to himself. “And in her sleep she called me +‘Father’ and ‘Poor father.’ But all the same I shall cast her away. She +is no longer my Sylvia. I disown her; I disinherit her. She goes out +into the cold. She is ruining her father. She has deceived me; she shall +never be anything to me again. Paw! how I hate her!” + +He went to the window, got out just as he had got in, drew down the +sash, and stepped softly across the dark lawn. + +He was very cold now, and he felt faint; the effect of the tiny supply +of brandy which he had administered to himself had worn off. He went +into his desolate parlor. How cold it was! He thought of the big fire in +the bedroom which he had left. How poor and desolate was this room by +contrast! What a miserable bed he reposed on at night—absolutely not +enough blankets—but Sylvia lay like a bird in its nest, so warm, so +snug! Oh! how bad she was! + +“Her mother was never as bad as that,” he muttered to himself. “She was +extravagant, but she was not like Sylvia. She never willingly deceived +me. Sylvia to have a strange and unknown girl—a stranger—in the house! +All my suspicions are verified. My doubts are certainties. God help me! +I am a miserable old man.” + +He cowered down, and the icy cold of the room struck through his bones. +He looked at the grate, and observed that a fire had been laid there. + +“Sylvia did that,” he said to himself. “The little minx did not like to +feel that she was so warm and I so cold, so she laid the fire; she +thought that I would indulge myself. I! But am I not suffering for her? +While she lies in the lap of luxury I die of cold and hunger, and all +for her. But I will do it no longer. I will light the fire; I will have +a feast; I will eat and drink and be merry, and forget that I had a +daughter.” + +So the unfortunate man, half-mad with bewilderment and the grief of his +recent losses, lit a blazing fire, and going to his cupboard, took out +his brandy and drank what was left in the bottle. He was warm now, and +his pulse beat more quickly. He remembered his six bags of gold, and the +other six bags in the garden, and he resolved that if necessary he would +fly without Sylvia. Sylvia could stay behind. If she managed to have +such luxuries without his aid, she could go on having them; he would +leave her a trifle—yes, a trifle—and save the rest for himself, and be +no longer tortured by an unworthy and deceitful daughter. But as he +thought these things he became more and more puzzled. The Sylvia lying +on that bed was undoubtedly his daughter; but his daughter had spoken to +him from her own room at a reasonable hour—between ten and eleven +o’clock—that same night. How could there be two Sylvias? + +“The mystery thickens,” he muttered to himself. “This is more than I can +stand. I will ferret the thing out—yes, and to the very bottom. Those +trunks in the attic! I suppose they belong to that ugly child. That +voice in Sylvia’s room! Well, of course it was Sylvia’s voice; but what +about the other Sylvia down-stairs? I must see into this matter without +delay.” + +He went up-stairs and found himself outside Sylvia’s door. He turned the +handle, but it was locked. There was a light in the room, doubtless +caused by another fire. He looked through the keyhole; the door was +locked from within, for the key was in the lock. + +More and more remarkable! How could Sylvia lock the door from within if +she was not in the room? Really the matter was enough to daze any man. +Suddenly he made up his mind. It was now five o’clock in the morning; in +a short time the day would break. Sylvia was an early riser. If Sylvia +or any one else was in that room he would wait on the threshold to +confront that person. Oh, of course it was Sylvia; she had slipped back +again and was in bed, and thought he would never discover her. How +astonished she would be when she saw him seated outside her door! + +So Mr. Leeson fetched a broken-down chair from his own bedroom, placed +it softly just outside the door of the room where Jasper was reposing, +and prepared himself to watch. He was far too excited to sleep, and the +hours dragged slowly on. There was an old eight-day clock in the hall, +and it struck solemnly hour after hour. Six o’clock—seven o’clock. +Sylvia rose soon after seven. He waited now impatiently. The days were +beginning to lengthen, and it was light—not full daylight, but nearly +so. He heard a stir in the room. + +“Ha, ha, Miss Sylvia!” he said to himself, “I shall catch you, take you +by the hand, bring you down to my parlor, tell you exactly what I think +of——Hullo! she is making a good deal of noise. How strong she is! How +she bounded out of bed!” + +He listened impatiently. His heart warmed now to the work which lay +before him. He was, on the whole, enjoying himself at the thought of +discovering to Sylvia how black he thought her iniquities. + +“No child of my own any more!” he said to himself. “‘Poor father,’ +indeed! ‘Darling father, forsooth!’ No, no, Sylvia; acts speak louder +than words, and you were convicted out of your own mouth, my daughter.” + +Jasper dressed with despatch. She washed; she arranged her toilet. She +came to the door; she opened it. Mr. Leeson looked up. + +Jasper fell back. + +“Merciful heavens!” cried the woman; and then Mr. Leeson grasped her +hand and dragged her out of the room. + +“Who are you, woman?” he said. “How dare you come into my house? What +are you doing in my daughter’s room?” + +“Ah, Mr. Leeson,” said Jasper quietly, “discovered at last. Well, sir, +and I am not sorry.” + +“But who are you? What are you? What are you doing in my daughter’s +room?” + +“Will you come down to the parlor with me, Mr. Leeson, or shall I +explain here?” + +“You do not stir a step from this place until you tell me.” + +“Then I will, sir—I will. I have been living in this house for the last +six weeks. During that time I have paid Miss Sylvia, and she has had +money enough to keep the breath of life within her. Be thankful that I +came, Mr. Leeson, for you owe me much, and I owe you nothing. Ah! do you +recognize me now? The gipsy—forsooth!—the gipsy who gave you a recipe +for making the old hen tender! Ha, ha! I laugh as I thought never to +laugh again when I recall that day.” + +Mr. Leeson stood cold and white, looking full at Jasper. Suddenly a +great dizziness took possession of him; he stretched out his hand +wildly. + +“There is something wrong with me,” he said. “I don’t think I am well.” + +“Poor old gentleman!” said Jasper—“no wonder!” and her voice became +mild. “The shock of it all, and the confusion! Sakes alive! I am not +going to take you into that icy bedroom of yours. Lean on me. There now, +sir. You have not lost a penny by me; you have saved, on the contrary, +and I have kept your daughter alive, and I have given you the best food, +made out of the tenderest chickens, out of my own money, mark you—out of +my own money—for weeks and weeks. Come down-stairs, sir; come and I will +get you a bit of breakfast.” + +“I—cannot—see,” muttered Mr. Leeson again. + +“Well then, sir, I suppose you can feel. Anyhow, here is a good, strong +right arm. Lean on it—all your weight if you like. Now then, we will get +down-stairs.” + +Mr. Leeson was past resistance. Jasper pulled his shaky old hand through +her arm, and half-carried, half-dragged him down to the parlor. There +she put him in a big armchair near the fire, and was bustling out of the +room to get breakfast when he called her back. + +“So you really are the woman who had the recipe for making old hens +tender?” + +“Bless you, Mr. Leeson!—bless you!—yes, I am the woman.” + +“You will let me buy it from you?” + +“Certainly—yes,” replied Jasper, not quite knowing whether to laugh or +to cry. “But I am going to get you some breakfast now.” + +“And who is the other girl?” + +“Does he know about her too?” thought Jasper. “What can have happened in +the night?” + +“If you mean my dear little Miss Eve, why, no one has a better right to +be here, for she belongs to me and I pay for her—yes, every penny; and, +for the matter of that, she only came last night. But do not fash +yourself now, my good sir; you are past thought, I take it, and you want +a hearty meal.” + +Jasper bustled away; Mr. Leeson lay back in his chair. Was the world +turning upside down? What had happened? Oh, if only he could feel well! +If only that giddiness would leave him! What was the matter? He had been +so well and so fierce and so strong a few hours ago, and now—now even +his anger was slipping away from him. He had felt quite comforted when +he leaned on Jasper’s strong arm; and when she pushed him into the +armchair and wrapped an old blanket round him, he had enjoyed it rather +than otherwise. Oh! he ought to be nearly mad with rage; and yet +somehow—somehow he was not. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX.—THE LOADED GUN. + + +Now, it so happened that the fuss and confusion incident on Evelyn’s +departure had penetrated to every individual in the Castle with the +exception of the Squire; but the Squire had been absent all day on +business. He had been attending a very important meeting in a +neighboring town, and, as his custom was, told his wife that he should +probably not return until the early morning. When this was the case the +door opening into his private apartments was left on the latch. He could +himself open it with his latch-key and let himself in, go to bed in a +small room prepared for the purpose, and not disturb the rest of the +family. Lady Frances had many times during the previous evening lamented +her husband’s absence, but when twelve o’clock came and the police who +had been sent to search for Evelyn could nowhere find the little girl, +and when the different servants had searched the house in vain, and all +that one woman could think of had been done, Lady Frances, feeling +uncomfortable, but also convinced in her own mind that Evelyn and Jasper +were quite safe and snug somewhere, resolved to go to bed. + +“It is no use, Audrey,” she said to her daughter; “you have cried +yourself out of recognition. My dear child, you must go to bed now, and +to sleep. That naughty, naughty girl is not worth our all being ill.” + +“But, oh, mother! what has happened to her?” + +“She is with Jasper, of course.” + +“But suppose she is not, mother?” + +“I do not suppose what is not the case, Audrey. She is beyond doubt with +that pernicious woman, and as far as I am concerned I wash my hands of +her.” + +“And—the disgrace to-morrow?” said poor Audrey. + +“My darling, you at least shall not be subjected to it. If I could find +Evelyn I would take her myself to the school, and make her stand up +before the scholars and tell them all that she had done; or if she +refused I would tell for her. But as she is not here you are not going +to be disgraced, my precious. I shall write a line to Miss Henderson +telling her that the guilty party has flown, and that you are far too +distressed to go to school; and I shall beg her to take any steps she +thinks best. Really and truly that girl has made the place too hot to +live in; I shall ask your father to take us abroad for the winter.” + +“But surely, mother, you will not allow poor little Evelyn to get quite +lost; you will try to find her?” + +“Oh, my dear! have I not been trying? Do not say any more to me about +her to-night. I am really so irritated that I may say something I shall +be sorry for afterwards.” + +So Audrey went to bed, and being young, she soon dropped asleep. Lady +Frances, being dead tired, also slept; and the Squire, who knew nothing +of all the fuss and trouble, came in at an early hour in the morning. + +He lay down to sleep, and awoke after a short slumber. He then got up, +dressed, and went into his grounds. + +Lady Frances and Audrey were at breakfast—Lady Frances very pale, and +Audrey with traces of her violent weeping the night before still on her +face—when a servant burst in great terror and excitement into the room. + +“Oh, your ladyship,” he exclaimed, “the Squire is lying in the copse +badly shot with his own gun! One of the grooms is with him, and Jones +has gone for the doctor, and I came at once to tell your ladyship.” + +Poor Lady Frances in her agony scarcely knew what she was doing. Audrey +asked a frenzied question, and soon the two were bending over the +stricken man. The Squire was shot badly in the side. A new fowling-piece +lay a yard or two away. + +“How did it happen?” said Lady Frances. “What can it mean?” + +Audrey knelt by her father, took his icy-cold hand in hers, and held it +to her lips. Was he dead? + +As he lay there the young girl for the first time in all her life +learned how passionately, how dearly she loved him. What would life be +without him? In some ways she was nearer to her mother than to her +father, but just now, as he lay looking like death itself, he was all in +all to her. + +“Oh, when will the doctor come?” said Lady Frances, raising her haggard +face. “Oh, he is bleeding to death—he is bleeding to death!” + +With all her knowledge—and it was considerable—with all her +common-sense, on which she prided herself, Lady Frances knew very little +about illness and still less about wounds. She did not know how to stop +the bleeding, and it was well the doctor, a bright-faced young man from +the neighboring village, was soon on the spot. He examined the wounds, +looked at the gun, did what was necessary to stop the immediate +bleeding, and soon the Squire was carried on a hastily improvised litter +back to his stately home. + +An hour ago in the prime of life, in the prime of strength; now, for all +his terrified wife and daughter could know, he was already in the shadow +of death. + +“Will he die, doctor?” asked Audrey. + +The young doctor looked at her pitifully. + +“I cannot tell,” he replied; “it depends upon how far the bullet has +penetrated. It is unfortunate that he should have been shot in such a +dangerous part of the body. How did it happen?” + +A groom now came up and told a hasty tale. + +“The Squire called me this morning,” he said, “and told me to go into +his study and bring him out his new fowling-piece, which had been sent +from London a few days ago. I brought it just as it was. He took it +without noticing it much. I was about to turn round and say to him, ‘It +is at full cock—perhaps you don’t know, sir,’ but I thought, of course, +he had loaded it and prepared it himself; and the next minute he was +climbing a hedge. I heard a report, and he was lying just where you +found him.” + +The question which immediately followed this recital was, “Who had +loaded the gun?” + +Another doctor was summoned, and another telegraphed for from London, +and great was the agitation and misery. By and by Audrey found herself +alone. She could scarcely understand her own sensations. In the first +place, she was absolutely useless. Her mother was absorbed in the +sickroom; the servants were all occupied—even Read was engaged as +temporary nurse until a trained one should arrive. Poor Audrey put on +her hat and went out. + +“If only my dear Miss Sinclair were here!” she thought. “Even if Evelyn +were here it would be better than nothing. Oh, no wonder we quite forget +Evelyn in a time of anguish like the present!” + +Then a fearful thought stabbed her to the heart. + +“If anything happens——” She could not get her lips to form the word she +really thought of. Once again she used the conventional phrase: + +“If anything happens, Evelyn will be mistress here.” + +She looked wildly around her. + +“Oh! I must find some one; I must speak to some one,” she thought. “I +will go to Sylvia; it is no great distance to The Priory. I will go over +there at once.” + +She walked quickly. She was glad of the exercise—of any excuse to keep +moving. She soon reached The Priory, and was just about to put her hand +on the latch to open the big gates when a girl appeared on the other +side—a girl with a white face, somewhat sullen in outline, with big +brown eyes, and a quantity of fair hair falling over her shoulders. Even +in the midst of her agitation Audrey gave a gasp. + +“Evelyn!” she said. + +“I am not going with you,” said Evelyn. She backed away, and a look of +apprehension crossed her face. “Why have you come here? You never come +to The Priory. What are you doing here? Go away. You need not think you +will have anything to do with me in the future. I know it is all up with +me. I suppose you have come from the school to—to torture me!” + +“Don’t, Evelyn—don’t,” said Audrey. “Oh, the misery you caused us last +night! But that is nothing to what has happened now. Listen, and forget +yourself for a minute.” + +Poor Audrey tottered forward; her composure gave way. The next moment +her head was on her cousin’s shoulder; she was sobbing as if her heart +would break. + +“Why, how strange you are!” said Evelyn, distressed and slightly +softened, but, all the same, much annoyed at what she believed would +frustrate all her plans. For things had been going so well! The poor, +silly old man who lived at The Priory was too ill to take any notice. +She and Sylvia could do as they pleased. Jasper was Mr. Leeson’s nurse. +Mr. Leeson was delirious and talking wild nonsense. Evelyn was in a +scene of excitement; she was petted and made much of. Why did Audrey +come to remind her of that world from which she had fled? + +“I suppose it was rather bad this morning at school,” she said. “I can +imagine what a fuss they kicked up—what a shindy—all about nothing! But +there! yes, of course, I do not mind saying now that I did do it. I was +sorry afterwards; I would not have done it if I had known—if I had +guessed that everybody would be so terribly miserable. But you do not +suppose—you do not suppose, Audrey, that I, who am to be the owner of +Castle Wynford some day——” + +But at these words Audrey gave a piercing cry: + +“Some day! Oh, Evelyn, it may be to-day!” + +“What do you mean?” said Evelyn, her face turning very white. She pushed +Audrey, who was a good deal taller than her cousin, away and looked up +at her. Audrey had now ceased crying; she wiped the tears from her +cheeks. + +“I must tell you,” she said. “It is my father. He shot himself by +accident this morning. His new gun from London was loaded. I suppose he +did not know it; anyhow, he knocked the gun against something and it +went off, and—he is at death’s door.” + +“What—do—you say?” asked Evelyn. + +A complete change had come over her. Her eyes looked dim and yet wild. +She took Audrey by the arm and shook her. + +“The gun from London loaded, and it went off, and—— Is he hurt +much—much? Speak, Audrey—speak!” + +She took her cousin now and shook her frantically. + +“Speak!” she said. “You are driving me mad!” + +“What is the matter with you, Evelyn?” + +“Speak! Is he—hurt—much?” + +“Much!” said Audrey. “The doctor does not know whether he will ever +recover. Oh, what have I done to you?” + +“Nothing,” said Evelyn. “Get out of my way.” + +Like a wild creature she darted from her cousin, and, fast and fleet as +her feet could carry her, rushed back to Castle Wynford. + +It took a good deal to touch a heart like Evelyn’s, but it was touched +at last; nay, more, it was wounded; it was struck with a blow so deep, +so sudden, so appalling, that the bewildered child reeled as she ran. +Her eyes grew dark with emotion. She was past tears; she was almost past +words. By and by, breathless, scared, bewildered, carried completely out +of herself, she entered the Castle. There was no one about, but a +doctor’s brougham stood before the principal entrance. Evelyn looked +wildly around her. She knew her uncle’s room. She ran up-stairs. Without +waiting for any one to answer, she burst open the door. The room was +empty. + +“He must be very badly hurt,” she whispered to herself. “He must be in +his little room on the ground floor.” + +She went down-stairs again. She ran down the corridor where often, when +in her best moments, she had gone to talk to him, to pet him, to love +him. She entered the sitting-room where the gun had been. A great +shudder passed through her frame as she saw the empty case. She went +straight through the sitting-room, and, unannounced, undesired, +unwished-for, entered the bedroom. + +There were doctors round the bed; Lady Frances was standing by the head; +and a man was lying there, very still and quiet, with his eyes shut and +a peaceful smile on his face. + +“He is dead,” thought Evelyn—“he is dead!” She gave a gasp, and the next +instant lay in an unconscious heap on the floor. + +When the unhappy child came to herself she was lying on a sofa in the +sitting-room. A doctor was bending over her. + +“Now you are better,” he said. “You did very wrong to come into the +bedroom. You must lie still; you must not make a fuss.” + +“I remember everything,” said Evelyn. “It was I who did it. It was I who +killed him. Don’t—don’t keep me. I must sit up; I must speak. Will he +die? If he dies I shall have killed him. You understand, I—I shall have +done it!” + +The doctor looked disturbed and distressed. Was this poor little girl +mad? Who was she? He had heard of an heiress from Australia: could this +be the child? But surely her brain had given way under the extreme +pressure and shock! + +“Lie still, my dear,” he said gently; and he put his hand on the excited +child’s forehead. + +“I will be good if you will help me,” said the girl; and she took both +his hands in hers and raised her burning eyes to his face. + +“I will do anything in my power.” + +“Don’t you see what it means to me?—and I must be with him. Is he dead?” + +“No, no.” + +“Is he in great danger?” + +“I will tell you, if you are good, after the doctor from London comes.” + +“But I did it.” + +“Excuse me, miss—I do not know your name—you are talking nonsense.” + +“Let me explain. Oh! there never was such a wicked girl; I do not mind +saying it now. I loaded the gun just to show him that I could shoot a +bird on the wing, and—and I forgot all about it; I forgot I had left the +gun loaded. Oh, how can I ever forgive myself?” + +The doctor asked her a few more questions. He tried to soothe her. He +then said if she would stay where she was he would bring her the very +first news from the London doctor. The case was not hopeless, he assured +her; but there was danger—grave danger—and any shock would bring on +hemorrhage, and hemorrhage would be fatal. + +The little girl listened to him, and as she listened a new and wonderful +strength was given to her. At that instant Evelyn Wynford ceased to be a +child. She was never a child any more. The suffering and the shock had +been too mighty; they had done for her what perhaps nothing else could +ever do—they had awakened her slumbering soul. + +How she lived through the remainder of that day she could never tell to +any one. No one saw her in the Squire’s sitting-room. No one wanted the +room; no one went near it. Audrey was back again at the Castle, +comforting her mother and trying to help her. When she spoke of Evelyn, +Lady Frances shuddered. + +“Don’t mention her,” she said. “She had the impertinence to rush into +the room; but she also had the grace to——” + +“What, mother?” + +“She was really fond of her uncle, Audrey; I always said so. She +fainted—poor, miserable girl—when she saw the state he was in.” + +But Lady Frances did not know of Evelyn’s confession to the young +doctor; nor did Dr. Watson tell any one. + +It was late and the day had passed into night when the doctor came in +and sat down by Evelyn’s side. + +“Now,” he said, “you have been good, and have kept your word, and have +obliterated yourself.” + +She did not ask him the meaning of the word, although she did not +understand it. She looked at him with the most pathetic face he had ever +seen. + +“Speak,” she said. “Will he live?” + +“Dr. Harland thinks so, and he is the very best authority in the world. +He hopes in a day or two to remove the pellets which have done the +mischief. The danger, as I have already told you, lies in renewed +hemorrhage; but that I hope we can prevent. Now, are you going to be a +very good girl?” + +“What can I do?” asked Evelyn. “Can I go to him and stay with him?” + +“I wonder,” said the doctor—“and yet,” he added, “I scarcely like to +propose it. There is a nurse there; your aunt is worn out. I will see +what I can do.” + +“If I could do that it would save me,” said Evelyn. “There never, never +has been quite such a naughty girl; and I—I did it—oh! not meaning to +hurt him, but I did it. Oh! it would save me if I might sit by him.” + +“I will see,” said the doctor. + +He felt strangely interested in this queer, erratic, lost-looking child. +He went back again to the sickroom. The Squire was conscious. He was +lying in comparative ease on his bed; a trained nurse was within reach. + +“Nurse,” said the doctor. + +The woman went with him across the room. + +“I am going to stay here to-night.” + +“Yes, sir; I am glad to hear it.” + +“It is quite understood that Lady Frances is to have her night’s rest?” + +“Her ladyship is quite worn out, sir. She has gone away to her room. She +will rest until two in the morning, when she will come down-stairs and +help me to watch by the patient.” + +“Then I will sit with him until two o’clock,” said the doctor. “At two +o’clock I will lie down in the Squire’s sitting-room, where I can be +within call. Now, I want to make a request.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“I am particularly anxious that a little girl who is in very great +trouble, but who has learnt self-control, should come in and sit in the +armchair by the Squire’s side. She will not speak, but will sit there. +Is there any objection?” + +“Is it the child, sir, who fainted when she came into the room to-day?” + +“Yes; she was almost mad, poor little soul; but I think she is all right +now, and she has learnt her lesson. Nurse, can you manage it?” + +“It must be as you please, sir.” + +“Then I will risk it,” said the doctor. + +He went back to Evelyn, and said a few words to her. + +“You must wash your face,” he said, “and tidy yourself; and you must +have a good meal.” + +Evelyn shook her head. + +“If you do not do exactly what I tell you I cannot help you.” + +“Very well; I will eat and eat until you tell me to stop,” she answered. + +“Go, and be quick, then,” said the doctor, “for we are arranging things +for the night.” + +So Evelyn went, and returned in a few minutes; then the doctor took her +hand and led her into the sickroom, and she sat by the side of the +patient. + +The room was very still—not a sound, not a movement. The sick man slept; +Evelyn, with her eyes wide open, sat, not daring to move a finger. + +What she thought of her past life during that time no one knows; but +that soul within her was coming more and more to the surface. It was a +strong soul, although it had been so long asleep, and already new +desires, unselfish and beautiful, were awakening in the child. Between +twelve and one that night the Squire opened his eyes and saw a little +girl, with a white face and eyes big and dark, seated close to him. + +He smiled, and his hand just went out a quarter of an inch to Evelyn. +She saw the movement, and immediately her own small fingers clasped his. +She bent down and kissed his hand. + +“Uncle Edward, do not speak,” she said. “It was I who loaded the gun. +You must get well, Uncle Edward, or I shall die.” + +He did not answer in any words, but his eyes smiled at her; and the next +moment she had sunk back in her chair, relieved to her heart’s core. Her +eyes closed; she slept. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI.—FOR UNCLE EDWARD’S SAKE. + + +The Squire was a shade better the next morning; but Mr. Leeson, not two +miles away, lay at the point of death. Fever had claimed him for its +prey, and he continued to be wildly delirious, and did not know in the +least what he was doing. Thus two men, each unknown to the other, but +who widely influenced the characters of this story, lay within the Great +Shadow. + +Evelyn Wynford continued to efface herself. This was the first time in +her whole life she had ever done so; but when Lady Frances appeared, +punctual to the hour, to take her place at her husband’s side, the +little girl glided from the room. + +It was early on the following morning, when the mistress of the Castle +was standing for a few bewildered moments in her sitting-room, her hand +pressed to her forehead, her eyes looking across the landscape, tears +dimming their brightness, that a child rushed into her presence. + +“Go away, Evelyn,” she said. “I cannot speak to you.” + +“Tell me one thing,” said Evelyn; “is he better?” + +“Yes.” + +“Is he out of danger?” + +“The doctors think so.” + +“Then, Aunt Frances, I can thank God; and what is more, I—even I, who am +such an awfully naughty girl—can love God.” + +“I don’t like cant,” said Lady Frances; and she turned away with a +scornful expression on her lips. + +Evelyn sprang to her, clutched both her hands, and said excitedly: + +“Listen; you must. I have something to say. It was I who did it!” + +“You, Evelyn—you!” + +Lady Frances pushed the child from her, and moved a step away. There was +such a look of horror on her face that Evelyn at another moment must +have recoiled from it; but nothing could daunt her now in this hour of +intense repentance. + +“I did it,” she repeated—“oh, not meaning to do it! I will tell you; you +must listen. Oh, I have been so—so wicked, so—so naughty, so stubborn, +so selfish! I see myself at last; and there never, never was such a +horrid girl before. Aunt Frances, you shall listen. I loaded the gun, +for I meant to go out and shoot some birds on the wing. Uncle Edward +doubted that I could do it, and I wanted to prove to him that I could; +but I was prevented from going, and I forgot about the gun; and the +night before last I ran away. I ran to Jasper. When you locked me up in +my room I got out of my sitting-room window.” + +“I know all that,” said Lady Frances. + +“I went to Jasper, and Jasper took me to The Priory—to Sylvia’s home. +Jasper has been staying in the house with Sylvia for a long time, and I +went to Sylvia and to Jasper, and I hid there. Audrey came yesterday +morning and told me what had happened; and, oh! I thought my heart would +break. But Uncle Edward has forgiven me.” + +“What! Have you dared to see him?” + +“The doctor gave me leave. I stayed with him half last night, until you +came at two o’clock; and I told Uncle Edward, and he smiled. He has +forgiven me. Oh! I love him better than any one in all the world; I +could just die for him. And, Aunt Frances, I did tear the book, and I +did behave shockingly at school; and I will go straight to Miss +Henderson and tell her, and I will do everything—everything you wish, if +only you will let me stay in the house with Uncle Edward. For +somehow—somehow,” continued Evelyn in a whisper, her voice turning husky +and almost dying away, “I think Uncle Edward has made religion and _God_ +possible to me.” + +As Evelyn said the last words she staggered against the table, deadly +white. She put one hand on a chair to steady herself, and looked up with +pathetic eyes at her aunt. + +What was there in that scared, bewildered, and yet resolved face which +for the first time since she had seen it touched Lady Frances? + +“Evelyn,” she said, “you ask me to forgive you. What you have said has +shocked me very much, but your manner of saying it has opened my eyes. +If you have done wrong, doubtless I am not blameless I never showed +you——” + +“Neither sympathy nor understanding,” said Evelyn. “I might have been +different had you been different. But please—please, do anything with me +now—anything—only let me stay for Uncle Edward’s sake.” + +Lady Frances sat down. + +“I am a mother,” she said, “and I am not without feeling, and not +without sympathy, and not without understanding.” + +And then she opened her arms. Evelyn gave a bewildered cry; the next +moment she was folded in their embrace. + +“Oh, can I believe it?” she sobbed. + + * * * * * + +Thus Evelyn Wynford found the Better Part, and from that moment, +although she had struggles and difficulties and trials, she was in the +very best sense of the word a new creature; for Love had sought her out, +and Love can lead one by steep ascents on to the peaks of self-denial, +unselfishness, truth, and honor. + +Sylvia’s father, after a mighty struggle with severe illness, came back +again slowly, sadly to the shores of life; and Sylvia managed him and +loved him, and he declared that never to his dying day could he do +without Jasper, who had nursed him through his terrible illness. The +instincts of a miser had almost died out during his illness, and he was +willing that Sylvia should spend as much money as was necessary to +secure good food and the comforts of life. + +The Squire got slowly better, and presently quite well; and when another +New Year dawned upon the world, and once again the Wynfords of Wynford +Castle kept open house, Sylvia was there, and also Mr. Leeson; and all +the characters in this story met under the same roof. Evelyn clung fast +to her uncle’s hand. Audrey glanced at her cousin, and then she looked +at Sylvia, and said in a low voice: + +“Never was any one so changed; and, do you know, since the accident she +has never once spoken of being the heiress. I believe if any thing +happened to father Evelyn would die.” + + THE END. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Very Naughty Girl, by L. T. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Very Naughty Girl + +Author: L. T. Meade + +Release Date: July 25, 2011 [EBook #36853] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A VERY NAUGHTY GIRL *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + A VERY NAUGHTY GIRL + + By L. T. MEADE + + Author of "Palace Beautiful," "Sweet Girl Graduate," + "Wild Kitty," "World of Girls," etc., etc. + + A. L. BURT COMPANY, + PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK. + + + + + CONTENTS + + CHAPTER PAGE + I. Sylvia and Audrey 1 + II. Arrival of Evelyn 10 + III. The Cradle Life of Wild Eve 25 + IV. "I Draw the Line at Uncle Ned" 36 + V. Frank's Eyes 43 + VI. The Hungry Girl 57 + VII. Staying to Dinner 68 + VIII. Evening-Dress 78 + IX. Breakfast in Bed 106 + X. Jasper was to Go 117 + XI. I Cannot Alter my Plans 126 + XII. Hunger 143 + XIII. Jasper to the Rescue 163 + XIV. Change of Plans 169 + XV. School 184 + XVI. Sylvia's Drive 198 + XVII. The Fall in the Snow 213 + XVIII. A Red Gipsy Cloak 228 + XIX. "Why Did you Do it?" 242 + XX. "Not Good Nor Honourable" 253 + XXI. The Torn Book 264 + XXII. "Stick to your Colors, Evelyn" 276 + XXIII. One Week of Grace 281 + XXIV. "Who is E.W.?" 295 + XXV. Uncle Edward 311 + XXVI. Tangles 330 + XXVII. The Strange Visitor in the Back Bedroom 343 + XXVIII. The Room with the Light that Flickered 362 + XXIX. What Could it Mean? 368 + XXX. The Loaded Gun 377 + XXXI. For Uncle Edward's Sake 391 + + + + +A VERY NAUGHTY GIRL + + + + +CHAPTER I.--SYLVIA AND AUDREY. + + +It was a day of great excitement, and Audrey Wynford stood by her +schoolroom window and looked out. She was a tall girl of sixteen, with +her hair hanging in a long, fair plait down her back. She stood with her +hands folded behind her and an expectant expression on her face. + +Up the avenue a stream of people were coming. Some came in cabs, some on +bicycles; some walked. They all turned in the direction of the front +entrance, and Audrey heard their voices rising and falling as they +entered the house, walked down the hall, and disappeared into some +region at the other end. + +"It is all detestable," she muttered; "and just when Evelyn is coming, +too. How strange she will think it! I wish father would drop this horrid +custom. I do not approve of it at all." + +Just then her governess, a bright-looking girl about six years Audrey's +senior, came into the room. + +"Well," she cried, "and what are you doing here? I thought you were +going to ride this afternoon." + +"How can I?" said Audrey, shrugging her shoulders. "I shall be met at +every turn." + +"And why not?" said Miss Sinclair. "You are not ashamed of being seen." + +"It is quite detestable," said Audrey. + +She crossed the room, flung herself into a deep straw armchair in front +of a blazing log fire, and took up a magazine. + +"It is all horrid," she continued as she rapidly turned the pages; "you +know it, Miss Sinclair, as well as I do." + +"If I were you," said Miss Sinclair, "I should be proud--very proud--to +belong to an old family who had kept a custom like this in vogue." + +"If you belonged to the old family you would not," said Audrey. "Every +one laughs at us. I call it perfectly horrid. What possible good can it +do that all the people of the neighborhood, and the strangers who come +to stay in the town, should make free of Wynford Castle on New Year's +Day? It makes me cross anyhow. I am sorry to be cross to you, Miss +Sinclair; but I am, and that is a fact." + +Miss Sinclair sat down on another chair. + +"I like it," she said after a pause. + +"Why?" asked Audrey. + +"There were some quite hungry people passing through the hall as I came +to you just now." + +"Let them be hungry somewhere else, not here," said the angry girl. "It +was all very well when some ancestor of mine first started the custom; +but that father, a man of the present day, up-to-date in every sense of +the word, should carry it on--that he should keep open house for every +individual who chooses to come here on New Year's Day--is past endurance. +Last year between two and three hundred people dined or supped or had +tea at the Castle, and I believe, from the appearance of the avenue, +there will be still more to-day. The house gets so dirty, for one thing, +for half of them don't think of wiping their feet; and then we run a +chance of being robbed, for how do we know that there are not +adventurers in the throng? If I were the country-folk I would be too +proud to come; but they are not--not a bit." + +"I cannot agree with you," said Miss Sinclair. "It is a splendid old +custom, and I hope it will not be abolished." + +"Perhaps Evelyn will abolish it when she comes in for the property," +said Audrey in a low tone. Her face looked scarcely amiable as she said +the words. + +Miss Sinclair regarded her with a puzzled expression. + +"Audrey dear," she said after a pause, "I am very fond of you." + +"And I of you," said Audrey a little unwillingly. "You are more friend +than governess. I should like best to go to school, of course; but as +father says that that is quite impossible, I have to put up with the +next best; and you are a very good next best." + +"Then if I am, may I just as a friend, and one who loves you very +dearly, make a remark?" + +"It is going to be something odious," said Audrey--"that goes without +saying--but I suppose I'll listen." + +"Don't you think you are just a wee bit in danger of becoming selfish, +Audrey?" said her governess. + +"Am I? Perhaps so; I am afraid I don't care." + +"You would if you thought it over; and this is New Year's Day, and it is +a lovely afternoon, and you might come for a ride--I wish you would." + +"I will not run the chance of meeting those folks on any consideration +whatever," said Audrey; "but I will go for a walk with you, if you +like." + +"Done," said Miss Sinclair. "I have to go on a message for Lady Wynford +to the lodge; will you come by the shrubberies and meet me there?" + +"All right," replied Audrey; "I will go and get ready." + +She left the room. + +After her pupil had left her, Miss Sinclair sat for a time gazing into +the huge log fire. + +She was a very pretty girl, with a high-bred look about her. She had +received all the advantages which modern education could afford, and at +the age of three-and-twenty had left Girton with the assurance from all +her friends that she had a brilliant future before her. The first step +in that future seemed bright enough to the handsome, high-spirited girl. +Lady Wynford met her in town, took a fancy to her on the spot, and asked +her to conduct Audrey's education. Miss Sinclair received a liberal +salary and every comfort and consideration. Audrey fell quickly in love +with her, and a more delightful pupil governess never had. The girl was +brimming over with intelligence, was keenly alive to the +responsibilities of her own position, was absolutely original, and as a +rule quite unselfish. + +"Poor Audrey! she has her trials before her, all the same," thought the +young governess now. "Well, I am very happy here, and I hope nothing +will disturb our present arrangement for some time. As to Evelyn, we +have yet to discover what sort of girl she is. She comes this evening. +But there, I am forgetting all about Audrey, and she must be waiting for +me." + +It so happened that Audrey Wynford was doing nothing of the sort. She +had hastily put on her warm jacket and fur cap and gone out into the +grounds. The objectionable avenue, with its streams of people coming and +going, was to be religiously avoided, and Audrey went in the direction +of a copse of young trees, which led again through a long shrubbery in +the direction of the lodge gates. + +It was the custom from time immemorial in the Wynford family to keep +open house on New Year's Day. Any wayfarer, gentle or simple, man or +woman, boy or girl, could come up the avenue and ring the bell at the +great front-door, and be received and fed and refreshed, and sent again +on his or her way with words of cheer. The Squire himself as a rule +received his guests, but where that was impossible the steward of the +estate was present to conduct them to the huge hall which ran across the +back of the house, where unlimited refreshments were provided. No one +was sent away. No one was refused admission on this day of all days. The +period of the reception was from sunrise to sundown. At sundown the +hospitality came to an end; the doors of the house were shut and no more +visitors were allowed admission. An extra staff of servants was +generally secured for the occasion, and the one and only condition made +by the Squire was, that as much food as possible might be eaten, that +each male visitor might drink good wine or sound ale to his heart's +content, that each might warm himself thoroughly by the huge log fires, +but that no one should take any food away. This, in the case of so +promiscuous an assemblage, was necessary. To Audrey, however, the whole +thing was more or less a subject of dislike. She regarded the first day +of each year as a penance; she shrank from the subject of the guests, +and on this special New Year's Day was more aggrieved and put out than +usual. More guests had arrived than had ever come before, for the people +of the neighborhood enjoyed the good old custom, and there was not a +villager, not a trades-person, nor even a landed proprietor near who did +not make it a point of breaking bread at Wynford Castle on New Year's +Day. The fact that a man of position sat down side by side with a tramp +or a laborer made no difference; there was no distinction of rank +amongst the Squire's guests on this day. + +Audrey heard the voices now as she disappeared into the shelter of the +young trees. She heard also the rumble of wheels as the better class of +guests arrived or went away again. + +"It is horrid," she murmured for about the twentieth time to herself; +and then she began to run in order to get away from what she called the +disagreeable noise. + +Audrey could run with the speed and grace of a young fawn, but she had +not gone half-through the shrubbery before she stopped dead-short. A +girl of about her own age was coming hurriedly to meet her. She was a +very pretty girl, with black eyes and a quantity of black hair and a +richly colored dark face. The girl was dressed somewhat fantastically in +many colors. Peeping out from beneath her old-fashioned jacket was a +scarf of deep yellow; the skirt of her dress was crimson, and in her hat +she wore two long crimson feathers. Audrey regarded her with not only +wonder but also disfavor. Who was she? What a vulgar, forward, +insufferable young person! + +"I say," cried the girl, coming up eagerly; "I have lost my way, and it +is so important! Can you tell me how I can get to the front entrance of +the Castle?" + +"You ought not to have come by the shrubbery," said Audrey in a very +haughty tone. "The visitors who come to the Castle to-day are expected +to use the avenue. But now that you have come," she added, "if you will +take this short cut you will find yourself in the right direction. You +have then but to follow the stream of people and you will reach the hall +door." + +"Oh, thank you!" said the girl. "I am so awfully hungry! I do hope I +shall get in before sunset. Good-by, and thank you so much! My name is +Sylvia Leeson; who are you?" + +"I am Audrey Wynford," replied Audrey, speaking more icily than ever. + +"Then you are the young lady of the Castle?" + +"I am Audrey Wynford." + +"How strange! One would think to meet you here, and one would think to +see me here, that we both belonged to Shakespeare's old play _As You +Like It_. But I must not stay another minute. It is so sweet of your +father to invite us all, and if I am not quick I shall lose the fun." + +She nodded with a flash of bright eyes and white teeth at the amazed +Audrey, and the next moment was lost to view. + +"What a girl!" thought Audrey as she pursued her walk. "How dared she! +She did not treat me with one scrap of respect, and she seemed to +think--a girl of that sort!--that she was my equal; she absolutely spoke +of us in the same breath. It was almost insulting. Sylvia and Audrey! We +meet in a wood, and we might be characters out of _As You Like It_. +Well, she is awfully pretty, but---- Oh dear! what a creature she is when +all is said and done--that wild dress, and those dancing eyes, and that +free manner! And yet--and yet she was scarcely vulgar; she was only--only +different from anybody else. Who is she, and where does she come from? +Sylvia Leeson. Rather a pretty name; and certainly a pretty girl. But to +think of her partaking of hospitality--all alone, too--with the _canaille_ +of Wynford!" + + + + +CHAPTER II.--ARRIVAL OF EVELYN. + + +Audrey met her governess at the lodge gates, and the two plunged down a +side-path, and were soon making for the wonderful moors about a mile +away from Wynford Castle. + +"What are you thinking about, Audrey?" said Miss Sinclair. + +"Do you happen to know," said Audrey, "any people in the village or +neighborhood of the name of Leeson?" + +"No, dear, certainly not. I do not think any people of the name live +here. Why do you ask?" + +"For such a funny reason!" replied Audrey. "I met a girl who had come by +mistake through the shrubberies. She was on her way to the Castle to get +a good meal. She told me her name was Sylvia Leeson. She was pretty in +an _outr_ sort of style; she was also very free. She had the cheek to +compare herself with me, and said that as my name was Audrey and hers +Sylvia we ought to be two of Shakespeare's heroines. There was something +uncommon about her. Not that I liked her--very far from that. But I +wonder who she is." + +"I don't know," said Miss Sinclair. "I certainly have not the least idea +that there is any one of that name living in our neighborhood, but one +can never tell." + +"Oh, but you know everybody round here," said Audrey. "Perhaps she is a +stranger. I think on the whole I am glad." + +"I heard a week ago that some people had taken The Priory," said Miss +Sinclair. + +"The Priory!" cried Audrey. "It has been uninhabited ever since I can +remember." + +"I heard the rumor," continued Miss Sinclair, "but I know no +particulars, and it may not be true. It is just possible that this girl +belongs to them." + +"I should like to find out," replied Audrey. "She certainly interested +me although----Oh, well, don't let us talk of her any more. Jenny +dear"--Audrey in affectionate moments called her governess by her +Christian name--"are you not anxious to know what Evelyn is like?" + +"I suppose I am," replied Miss Sinclair. + +"I think of her so much!" continued Audrey. "It seems so odd that she, a +stranger, should be the heiress, and I, who have lived here all my days, +should inherit nothing. Oh, of course, I shall have plenty of money, for +mother had such a lot; but it does seem so unaccountable that all +father's property should go to Evelyn. And now she is to live here, and +of course take the precedence of me, I do not know that I quite like it. +Sometimes I feel that she will rub me the wrong way; if she is very +masterful, for instance. She can be--can't she, Jenny?" + +"But why should we suppose that she will be?" replied Miss Sinclair. +"There is no good in getting prejudiced beforehand." + +"I cannot help thinking about it," said Audrey. "You know I have never +had any close companions before, and although you make up for everybody +else, and I love you with all my heart and soul, yet it is somewhat +exciting to think of a girl just my own age coming to live with me." + +"Of course, dear; and I am so glad for your sake!" + +"But then," continued Audrey, "she does not come quite as an ordinary +guest; she comes to the home which is to be hers hereafter. I wonder +what her ideas are, and what she will feel about things. It is very +mysterious. I am excited; I own it. You may be quite sure, though, that +I shall not show any of my excitement when Evelyn does come. Jenny, have +you pictured her yet to yourself? Do you think she is tall or short, or +pretty or ugly, or what?" + +"I have thought of her, of course," replied Miss Sinclair; "but I have +not formed the least idea. You will soon know, Audrey; she is to arrive +in time for dinner." + +"Yes," said Audrey; "mother is going in the carriage to meet her, and +the train is due at six-thirty. She will arrive at the Castle a little +before seven. Mother says she will probably bring a maid, and perhaps a +French governess. Mother does not know herself what sort she is. It is +odd her having lived away from England all this time." + +Audrey chatted on with her governess a little longer, and presently they +turned and went back to the house. The sun had already set, and the big +front-door was shut; the family never used it except on this special day +or when a wedding or a funeral left Wynford Castle. The pretty +side-door, with its sheltered porch, was the mode of exit and ingress +for the inhabitants of Wynford Castle. Audrey and her governess now +entered, and Audrey stood for a few moments to warm her hands by the +huge log fire on the hearth. Miss Sinclair went slowly up-stairs to her +room; and Audrey, finding herself alone, gave a quick sigh. + +"I wonder--I do wonder," she said half-aloud. + +Her words were evidently heard, for some one stirred, and presently a +tall man with a slight stoop came forward and stood where the light of +the big fire fell all over him. + +"Why, dad!" cried Audrey as she put her hand inside her father's arm. +"Were you asleep?" she asked. "How was it that Miss Sinclair and I did +not see you when we came in?" + +"I was sound asleep in that big chair. I was somewhat tired. I had +received three hundred guests; don't forget that," replied Squire +Wynford. + +"And they have gone. What a comfort!" said Audrey. + +"My dear little Audrey, I have fed them and warmed them and sent them on +their way rejoicing, and I am a more popular Squire Wynford of Castle +Wynford than ever. Why should you grumble because your neighbors, every +mother's son of them, had as much to eat and drink as they could desire +on New Year's Day?" + +"I hate the custom," said Audrey. "It belongs to the Middle Ages; it +ought to be exploded." + +"What! and allow the people to go hungry?" + +"Those who are likely to go hungry," continued Audrey, "might have money +given to them. We do not want all the small squires everywhere round to +come and feed at the Castle." + +"But the small squires like it, and so do the poor people, and so do I," +said Squire Wynford; and now he frowned very slightly, and Audrey gave +another sigh. + +"We must agree to differ, dad," she said. + +"I am afraid so, my dear. Well, and how are you, my pet? I have not seen +you until now. Very happy at the thought of your cousin's arrival?" + +"No, dad, scarcely happy, but excited all the same. Are not you a +little, wee bit excited too, father? It seems so strange her coming all +the way from Tasmania to take possession of her estates. I wonder--I do +wonder--what she will be like." + +"She takes possession of no estates while I live," said the Squire, "but +she is the next heiress." + +"And you are sorry it is not I; are you not, father?" + +"I don't think of it," said the Squire. "No," he added thoughtfully a +moment later, "that is not the case. I do think of it. You are better +off without the responsibility; you would never be suited to a great +estate of this sort. Evelyn may be different. Anyhow, when the time +comes it is her appointed work. Now, my dear"--he took out his +watch--"your cousin will arrive in a moment. Your mother has gone to meet +her. Do you intend to welcome her here or in one of the sitting-rooms?" + +"I will stay in the hall, of course," said Audrey a little fretfully. + +"I will leave you, then, my love. I have neglected a sheaf of +correspondence, and would like to look through my letters before +dinner." + +The Squire moved away, walking slowly. He pushed aside some heavy +curtains and vanished. Audrey still stood by the fire. Presently a +restless fit seized her, and she too flitted up the winding white marble +stairs and disappeared down a long corridor. She entered a pretty room +daintily furnished in blue and silver. A large log fire burned in the +grate; electric light shed its soft gleams over the furniture; there was +a bouquet of flowers and a little pot of ivy on a small table, also a +bookcase full of gaily-bound story-books. Nothing had been neglected, +even to the big old Bible and the old-fashioned prayer-book. + +"I wonder how she will like it," thought Audrey. "This is one of the +prettiest rooms in the house. Mother said she must have it. I wonder if +she will like it, and if I shall like her. Oh, and here is her +dressing-room, and here is a little boudoir where she may sit and amuse +herself and shut us out if she chooses. Lucky Evelyn! How strange it all +seems! For the first time I begin to appreciate my darling, beloved +home. Why should it pass away from me to her? Oh, of course I am not +jealous; I would not be mean enough to entertain feelings of that sort, +and---- I hear the sound of wheels. She is coming; in a moment I shall see +her. Oh, I do wonder--I do wonder! I wish Jenny were with me; I feel +quite nervous." + +Audrey dashed out of the room, rushed down the winding stairs, and had +just entered the hall when a footman pushed aside the heavy curtains, +and Lady Frances Wynford, a handsome, stately-looking woman, entered, +accompanied by a small girl. + +The girl was dragging in a great pile of rugs and wraps. Her hat was +askew on her head, her jacket untidy. She flung the rugs down in the +center of a rich Turkey carpet; said, "There, that is a relief;" and +then looked full at Audrey. + +Audrey was a head and shoulders taller than the heiress, who had thin +and somewhat wispy flaxen hair, and a white face with insignificant +features. Her eyes, however, were steady, brown, large, and intelligent. +She came up to Audrey at once. + +"Don't introduce me, please, Aunt Frances," she said. "I know this is +Audrey.--I am Evelyn. You hate me, don't you?" + +"No, I am sure I do not," said Audrey. + +"Well, I should if I were you. It would be much more interesting to be +hated. So this is the place. It looks jolly, does it not? Aunt Frances, +do you know where my maid is? I must have her--I must have her at once. +Please tell Jasper to come here," continued the girl, turning to a +man-servant who lingered in the background. + +"Desire Miss Wynford's maid to come into the hall," said Lady Frances in +an imperious tone; "and bring tea, Davis. Be quick." + +The man withdrew, and Evelyn, lifting her hand, took off her ugly felt +hat and flung it on the pile of rugs and cushions. + +"Don't touch them, please," she said as Audrey advanced. "That is +Jasper's work.--By the way, Aunt Frances, may Jasper sleep in my room? I +have never slept alone, not since I was born, and I could not survive +it. I want a little bed just the ditto of my own for Jasper. I cannot +live without Jasper. May she sleep close to me, please, Aunt Frances? +And, oh! I do hope and trust this house is not haunted. It does look +eerie. I am terrified at the thought of ghosts. I know I shall not be a +very pleasant inmate, and I am sorry for you all--and for you in special, +Audrey. What a grand, keep-your-distance sort of air you have! But I am +not going to be afraid of you. I do not forget that the place will +belong to me some day. Hullo, Jasper!" + +Evelyn flitted in a curious, elf-like way across the hall, and went up +to a dark woman who stood just by the velvet curtain. + +"Don't be shy, Jasper," she said. "You have nothing to be afraid of +here. It is all very grand, I know; but then it is to be mine some day, +and you are never to leave me--never. I was speaking to my aunt, Lady +Frances, and you are to have your little bed near mine. See that it is +arranged for to-night. And now, please, pick up these rugs and cushions +and my old hat, and take them to my room. Don't stare so, Jasper; do +what I tell you." + +Jasper somewhat sullenly obeyed. She was as graceful and deft in all her +actions as Evelyn was the reverse. Evelyn stood and watched her. When +she went slowly up the marble stairs, the heiress turned with a laugh to +her two companions. + +"How you stare!" she said; and she looked full at Audrey. "Do you regard +me as barbarian, or a wild beast, or what?" + +"I am interested in you," said Audrey in her low voice. "You are +decidedly out of the common." + +"Come," said Lady Frances, "we have no time for analyzing character just +now. Audrey, take your cousin to her room, and then go yourself and get +dressed for dinner." + +"Will you come, Evelyn?" said Audrey. + +She crossed the hall, Evelyn following her slowly. Once or twice the +heiress stopped to examine a mailed figure in armor, or an old picture +on which the firelight cast a fitful gleam. She said, "How ugly! A queer +old thing, that!" to the figure in armor, and she scowled up at the +picture. + +"You are not going to frighten me, you old scarecrow," she said; and +then she ran up-stairs by Audrey's side. + +"So this is what they call English grandeur!" she remarked. "Is not this +house centuries old?" + +"Parts of the house are," answered Audrey. + +"Is this part?" + +"No; the hall and staircase were added about seventy years ago." + +"Is my room in the old part or the new part?" + +"Your room is in what is called the medium part. It is a lovely room; +you will be charmed with it." + +"I by no means know that I shall. But show it to me." + +Audrey walked a little quicker. She began to feel a curious sense of +irritation, and knew that there was something about Evelyn which might +under certain conditions try her temper very much. They reached the +lovely blue-and-silver room, and Audrey flung open the door, expecting a +cry of delight from Evelyn. But the heiress was not one to give herself +away; she cast cool and critical eyes round the chamber. + +"Dear, dear!" she said--"dear, dear! So this is your idea of an English +bedroom!" + +"It is an English bedroom; there is no idea about it," said Audrey. + +"You are cross, are you not, Audrey?" was Evelyn's remark. "It is very +trying for you my coming here. I know that, of course; Jasper has told +me. I should be ignorant and quite lost were it not for Jasper, but +Jasper puts me up to things. I do not think I could live without her. +She has often described you--often and often. It would make you scream to +listen to her. She has taken you off splendidly. Really, all things +considered, you are very like what she has pictured you. I say, Audrey, +would you like to come up here after your next meal, whatever you call +it, and watch Jasper as she takes you off? She is the most splendid +mimic in all the world. In a day or two she will be able to imitate Aunt +Frances and every one in the house. Oh, it is killing to watch her and +to listen to her! You would like to see yourself through Jasper's eyes, +would you not, Audrey?" + +"No, thank you," replied Audrey. + +"How you kill me with that 'No, thank you,' of yours! Why, they are the +very words Jasper said you would be certain to say. Oh dear! this is +quite amusing." Evelyn laughed long and loud, wiping her eyes with her +handkerchief as she did so. "Oh dear! oh dear!" she said. "Don't look +any crosser, Audrey, or I shall die with laughing! Why, you will make me +scream." + +"That would be bad for you after your journey," said Audrey. "I see you +have hot water, and your maid is in the dressing-room. I will leave you +now. That is the dressing-bell; the bell for dinner will ring in half an +hour. I must go and dress." + +Audrey rushed out of the room, very nearly, but not quite, banging the +door after her. + +"If I stayed another moment I should lose my temper. I should say +something terrible," thought the girl. Her heart was beating fast; she +pressed her hand to her side. "If it were not for Jenny I do not believe +I could endure the house with that girl," was her next ejaculation. "To +think that she is a Wynford, and that the Castle--the lovely, beautiful +Castle--is to belong to her some day. Oh, it is maddening! Our darling +knight in armor--Sir Galahad I have always called him--and our Rembrandt: +one is a scarecrow, and the other a queer old thing. Oh Evelyn, you are +almost past bearing!" + +Audrey ran away to her room, where her maid, Eleanor, was waiting to +attend on her. Audrey was never in the habit of confiding in her maid; +and the girl, who was brimful of importance, curiosity, and news, did +not dare to express any of her feelings to Miss Audrey in her present +mood. + +"Put on my very prettiest frock to-night, please, Eleanor," said the +young lady. "Dress my hair to the best advantage. My white dress, did +you say? No, not white, but that pale, very pale, rose-colored silk with +all the little trimmings and flounces." + +"But that is one of your gayest dresses, Miss Audrey." + +"Never mind; I choose to look gay and well dressed." + +The girl proceeded with her young mistress's toilet, and a minute or two +before the second bell rang Audrey was ready. She made a lovely and +graceful picture as she looked at herself for a moment in the long +mirror. Her figure was already beautifully formed; she was tall, +graceful, dignified. The set of her young head on her stately neck was +superb. Her white shoulders gleamed under the transparent folds of her +lovely frock. Her rounded arms were white as alabaster. She slipped a +small diamond ring on one of her fingers, looked for a moment longingly +at a pearl necklace, but finally decided not to wear any more adornment, +and ran lightly down-stairs. + +The big drawing-room was lit with the softest light. The Squire stood by +the hearth, on which a huge log blazed. Lady Frances, in full +evening-dress, was carelessly turning the leaves of a novel. + +"What a quiet evening we are likely to have!" she said, looking up at +the Squire as she spoke. "To-morrow there are numbers of guests coming; +we shall be a big party, and Audrey and Evelyn will, I trust, have a +pleasant time.--My dear Audrey, why that dress this evening?" + +"I took a fancy to wear it, mother," said Audrey in a light tone. + +There was more color than usual in her cheeks, and her eyes were +brighter than her mother had ever seen them. Lady Frances was not a +woman of any special discernment. She was an excellent mother and a +splendid hostess. She was good to look at, and was just the sort of +_grande dame_ to keep up all the dignity of Wynford Castle, but she +never even pretended to understand her only child. The Squire, a +sensitive man in many ways, was also more or less a stranger to Audrey's +real character. He looked at her, it is true, a little anxiously now, +and a slight curiosity stirred his breast as to the possible effect +Evelyn's presence in the house might have on his beautiful young +daughter. As to Evelyn herself, he had not seen her, and did not even +care to inquire of his wife what sort of girl she was. He was deeply +absorbed over the silver currency question, and was writing an +exhaustive paper on it for the _Nineteenth Century_; he had not time, +therefore, to worry about domestic matters. Just then the drawing-room +door was flung open, and the footman announced, as though she were a +stranger: + +"Miss Evelyn Wynford." + +If Audrey was, according to Lady Frances's ideas, slightly overdressed +for so small a party, she was quite outshone by Evelyn, whose dress was +altogether unsuitable for her age. She wore a very thick silk, bright +blue in color, with a quantity of colored embroidery thrown over it. Her +little fat neck was bare, and her sleeves were short. Her scanty fair +hair was arranged on the top of her head, two diamond pins supporting it +in position; a diamond necklace was clasped round her neck, and she had +bracelets on her arms. She was evidently intensely pleased with herself, +and looked with the utmost confidence from Lady Frances to her uncle. +With a couple of long strides the Squire advanced to meet her. He looked +into her queer little face and all his indifference vanished. She was +his only brother's only child. He had loved his brother better than any +one on earth, and, come what might, he would give that brother's child a +welcome. So he took both of Evelyn's tiny hands, and suddenly stooping, +he lifted her an inch or so from the ground and kissed her twice. +Something in his manner made the little girl give a sort of gasp. + +"Why, it is just as if you were father come to life," she said. "I am +glad to see you, Uncle Ned." + +Still holding her hand, the Squire walked up to the hearth and stood +there facing Audrey and his wife. + +"You have been introduced to Audrey, have you not, Evelyn?" he said. + +"I did not need to be introduced. I saw a girl in the hall, and I +guessed it must be Audrey. 'Cute of me, was it not? Do you know, Uncle +Ned, I don't much like this place, but I like you. Yes, I am right-down +smitten with you, but I don't think I like anything else. You don't mind +if I am frank, Uncle Ned; it always was my way. We are brought up like +that in Tasmania--Audrey, don't frown at me; you don't look pretty when +you frown. But, oh! I say, the bell has gone, has it not?" + +"Yes, my dear," said Lady Frances. + +"And it means dinner, does it not?" + +"Certainly, Evelyn," said her uncle, bending towards her with the most +polished and stately grace. "Allow me, my niece, to conduct you to the +dining-room." + +"How droll you are, uncle!" said Evelyn. "But I like you all the same. +You are a right-down good old sort. I am awfully peckish; I shall be +glad of a round meal." + + + + +CHAPTER III.--THE CRADLE LIFE OF WILD EVE. + + +Eighteen years before the date of this story, two brothers had parted +with angry words. They were both in love with the same woman, and the +younger brother had won. The elder brother, only one year his senior, +could not stand defeat. + +"I cannot stay in the old place," he said. "You can occupy the Castle +during my absence." + +To this arrangement Edward Wynford agreed. + +"Where are you going?" he said to his brother Frank. + +"To the other side of the world--Australia probably. I don't know when I +shall return. It does not much matter. I shall never marry. The estate +will be yours. If Lady Frances has a son, it will belong to him." + +"You must not think of that," said Edward. "I will live at the Castle +for a few years in order to keep it warm for you, but you will come +back; you will get over this. If she had loved you, old man, do you +think I would have taken her from you? But she chose me from the very +first." + +"I don't blame you, Ned," said Frank. "You are as innocent of any +intention of harm to me as the unborn babe, but I love her too well to +stay in the old country. I am off. I don't want her ever to know. You +will promise me, won't you, that you will never tell her why I have +skulked off and dropped my responsibilities on to your shoulders? +Promise me that, at least, will you not?" + +Edward Wynford promised his brother, and the brother went away. + +In the former generation father and son had agreed to break off the +entail, and although there was no intention of carrying this action into +effect, and Frank, as eldest son, inherited the great estates of Wynford +Castle, yet at his father's death he was in the position of one who +could leave the estates to any one he pleased. + +During his last interview with his brother he said to him distinctly: + +"Remember, if Lady Frances has a son I wish him to be, after yourself, +the next heir to the property." + +"But if she has not a son?" said Edward. + +"In that case I have nothing to say. It is most unlikely that I shall +marry. The property will come to you in the ordinary way, and as the +entail is out off, you can leave it to whom you please." + +"Do not forget that at present you can leave the estate and the Castle +to whomever you please, even to an utter stranger," said Edward, with a +slight smile. + +To this remark Frank made no answer. The next day the brothers parted--as +it turned out, for life. Edward married Lady Frances, and they went to +live at Wynford Castle. Edward heard once from Frank during the voyage, +and then not at all, until he received a letter which must have been +written a couple of months before his brother's death. It was forwarded +to him in a strange hand, and was full of extraordinary and painful +tidings. Frank Wynford had died suddenly of acute fever, but before his +death he had arranged all his affairs. His letter ran as follows: + + "My dear Edward,--If I live you will never get this letter; if I die + it reaches you all in good time. When last we parted I told you I + should never marry. So much for man's proposals. When I got to + Tasmania I went on a ranch, and now I am the husband of the farmer's + daughter. Her name is Isabel. She is a handsome woman, and the + mother of a daughter. Why I married her I can not tell you, except + that I can honestly say it was not with any sense of affection. But + she is my wife, and the mother of a little baby girl. Edward, when I + last heard from you, you told me that you also had a daughter. If a + son follows all in due course, what I have to say will not much + signify; but if you have no son I should wish the estates eventually + to come to my little girl. I do not believe in a woman's + administration of large and important estates like mine, but what I + say to myself now is, as well my girl as your girl. Therefore, + Edward, my dear brother, I leave all my estates to you for your + lifetime, and at your death all the property which came to me by my + father's will goes to my little girl, to be hers when you are no + longer there. I want you to receive my daughter, and to ask your + wife to bring her up. I want her to have all the advantages that a + home with Lady Frances must confer on her. I want my child and your + child to be friends. I do no injustice to your daughter, Edward, + when I make my will, for she inherits money on her mother's side. I + will acquaint my wife with particulars of this letter, and in case I + catch the fever which is raging here now she will know how to act. + My lawyer in Hobart Town will forward this, and see that my will is + carried into effect. There is a provision in it for the maintenance + of my daughter until she joins you at Castle Wynford. Whenever that + event takes place she is your care. I have only one thing to add. + The child might go to you at once (I have a premonition that I am + about to die very soon), and thus never know that she had an + Australian mother, but the difficulty lies in the fact that the + mother loves the child and will scarcely be induced to part with + her. You must not receive my poor wife unless indeed a radical + change takes place in her; and although I have begged of her to give + up the child, I doubt if she will do it. I cannot add any more, for + time presses. My will is legal in every respect, and there will be + no difficulty in carrying it into effect." + +This strange letter was discovered by Frank Wynford's widow a month +after his death. It was sealed and directed to his brother in England. +She longed to read it, but restrained herself. She sent it on to her +husband's lawyer in Hobart Town, and in due course it arrived at Castle +Wynford, causing a great deal of consternation and distress both in the +minds of the Squire and Lady Frances. + +Edward immediately went out to Tasmania. He saw the little baby who was +all that was left of his brother, and he also saw that brother's wife. +The coarse, loud-voiced woman received him with almost abuse. What was +to be done? The mother refused to part with the child, and Edward +Wynford, for his own wife's sake and his own baby daughter's sake, could +not urge her to come to Castle Wynford. + +"I do not care twopence," she remarked, "whether the child has grand +relations or not. I loved her father, and I love her. She is my child, +and so she has got to put up with me. As long as I live she stays with +me here. I am accustomed to ranch life, and she will get accustomed to +it too. I will not spare money on her, for there is plenty, and she will +be a very rich woman some day. But while I live she stays with me; the +only way out of it is, that you ask me to your fine place in England. +Even if you do, I don't think I should be bothered to go to you, but you +might have the civility to ask me." + +Squire Wynford went away, however, without giving this invitation. He +spoke to his wife on the subject. In that conversation he was careful to +adhere to his brother's wish not to reveal to her that that brother's +deep affection for herself had been the cause of his banishment. Lady +Frances was an intensely just and upright woman. She had gone through a +very bad quarter of an hour when she was told that her little girl was +to be supplanted by the strange child of an objectionable mother, but +she quickly recovered herself. + +"I will not allow jealousy to enter into my life," she said; and she +even went the length of writing herself to Mrs. Wynford in Tasmania, and +invited her with the baby to come and stay at Wynford Castle. Mrs. +Wynford in Tasmania, however, much to the relief of the good folks at +home, declined the invitation. + +"I have no taste for English grandeur," she said. "I was brought up in a +wild state, and I would rather stay as I was reared. The child is well; +you can have her when she is grown up or when I am dead." + +Years passed after this letter and there was no communication between +little Evelyn Wynford, in the wilds of Tasmania, and her rich and +stately relatives at Castle Wynford. Lady Frances fervently hoped that +God would give her a son, but this hope was not to be realized. Audrey +was her only child, and soon it seemed almost like a dim, forgotten fact +that the real heiress was in Tasmania, and that Audrey had no more to do +in the future with the stately home of her ancestors than she would have +had had she possessed a brother. But when she was sixteen there suddenly +came a change. Mrs. Wynford died suddenly. There was now no reason why +Evelyn should not come home, and accordingly, untutored, uncared for, a +passionate child with a curious, wilful strain in her, she arrived on +New Year's Day at Castle Wynford. + +Evelyn Wynford's nature was very complex. She loved very few people, but +those she did love she loved forever. No change, no absence, no +circumstances could alter her regard. In her ranch life and during her +baby days she had clung to her mother. Mrs. Wynford was fierce and +passionate and wilful. Little Evelyn admired her, whatever she did. She +trotted round the farm after her; she learnt to ride almost as soon as +she could walk, and she followed her mother barebacked on the wildest +horses on the ranch. She was fearless and stubborn, and gave way to +terrible fits of passion, but with her mother she was gentle as a lamb. +Mrs. Wynford was fond of the child in the careless, selfish, and yet +fierce way which belonged to her nature. Mrs. Wynford's sole idea of +affection was that her child should be with her morning, noon, and +night; that for no education, for no advantages, should she be parted +from her mother for a moment. Night after night the two slept in each +other's arms; day after day they were together. The farmer's daughter +was a very strong woman, and as her father died a year or two after her +husband, she managed the ranch herself, keeping everything in order, and +not allowing the slightest insubordination on the part of her servants. +Little Evelyn, too, learnt her mother's masterful ways. She could +reprimand; she could insist upon obedience; she could shake her tiny +fists in the faces of those who dared to oppose her; and when she was +disporting herself so Mrs. Wynford stood by and laughed. + +"Hullo!" she used to cry. "See the spirit in the young un. She takes +after me. A nice time her English relatives will have with her! But she +will never go to them--never while I live." + +Although Mrs. Wynford had long ago made up her mind that Evelyn was to +have none of the immediate advantages of her birth and future prospects, +she was fond of talking to the child about the grandeur which lay before +her. + +"If I die, Eve," she said, "you will have to go across the sea in a big +ship to England. You would have a rough time of it, perhaps, on board, +but you won't mind that, my beauty." + +"I am not a beauty, mother," answered Evelyn. "You know I am not. You +know I am a very plain girl." + +"Hark to the child!" shrieked Mrs. Wynford. "It is as good as a play to +hear her. If you are not beautiful in body, my darling, you are +beautiful in your spirit. Yes, you have inherited from your proud +English father lots of gold and a lovely castle, and all your relations +will have to eat humble-pie to you; but you have got your spirit from +me, Eve--don't forget that." + +"Tell me about the Castle, mother, and about my father," said Evelyn, +nestling up close to her parent, as they sat by the roaring fire in the +winter evenings. + +Mrs. Wynford knew very little, and what she did know she exaggerated. +She gave Evelyn vivid pictures, however, in each and all of which the +principal figure was Evelyn herself--Evelyn claiming her rights, +mastering her relations, letting her unknown cousin know that she, +Evelyn, was the heiress, and that the cousin was nobody. Only one person +in the group of Evelyn's future relations did Mrs. Wynford counsel her +to be civil to. + +"The worst of it all is this, Eve," she said--"while your uncle lives you +do not own a pennypiece of the estate; and he may hold out for many a +long day, so you had best be agreeable to him. Besides, he is like your +father. Your father was a very handsome man and a very fine man, and I +loved him, child. I took a fancy to him from the day he arrived at the +ranch, and when he asked me to marry him I thought myself in rare good +luck. But he died soon after you were born. Had he lived I'd have been +the lady of the Castle, but I'd not go there without him, and you shall +never go while I live." + +"I don't want to, mother. You are more to me than twenty castles," said +the enthusiastic little girl. + +Mrs. Wynford had one friend whom Evelyn tolerated and presently loved. +That friend was a woman, partly of French extraction, who had come to +stay at the ranch once during a severe illness of its owner. Her name +was Jasper--Amelia Jasper; but she was known on the ranch by the title of +Jasper alone. She was not a lady in any sense of the word, and did not +pretend that she was one; but she was possessed of a certain strange +fascination which she could exercise at will over those with whom she +came in contact, and she made herself so useful to Mrs. Wynford and so +necessary to Evelyn that she was never allowed to leave the ranch again. +She soon obtained a great power over the curious, uneducated woman who +was Evelyn's mother; and when at last Mrs. Wynford found that she was +smitten with an incurable disease, and that at any moment death would +come to fetch her, she asked her dear friend Jasper to take the child to +England. + +"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Jasper. "I'll take Evelyn to England, +and stay with her there." + +Mrs. Wynford laughed. + +"You are clever enough, Jasper," she said; "but what a figure of fun you +would look in the grand sort of imperial residence that my dear late +husband has described to me! You are not a lady, you know, although you +are smart and clever enough to beat half the ladies out of existence." + +"I shall know how to manage," said Jasper. "I, too, have heard of the +ways of English grandees. I'll be Evelyn's maid. She cannot do without a +maid, can she? I'll take Evelyn back, and I will stay with her as her +maid." + +Mrs. Wynford hailed this idea as a splendid one, and she even wrote a +very badly spelt letter to Lady Frances, which Jasper was to convey and +deliver herself, if possible, to her proud ladyship, as the widow called +her sister-in-law. In this letter Mrs. Wynford demanded that Jasper was +to stay with Evelyn as long as Evelyn wished for her, and she finally +added: + +"I dare you, Lady Frances, fine lady as you are, to part the child from +her maid." + +When Mrs. Wynford died Evelyn gave way to the most terrible grief. She +refused to eat; she refused to leave her mother's dead body. She +shrieked herself into hysterics on the day of the funeral, and then the +poor little girl was prostrated with nervous fever. Finally, she became +so unwell that it was impossible for her to travel to England for some +months. And so it happened that nearly a year elapsed between the death +of the mother and the arrival of the child at Castle Wynford. + + + + +CHAPTER IV.--"I DRAW THE LINE AT UNCLE NED." + + +"Well, Jasper," said Evelyn in a very eager voice to her maid that first +night, "and how do you like it all?" + +"How do you like it, Evelyn?" was the response. + +"That is so like you, Jasper!" replied the spoilt little girl. "When all +is said and done, you are not a scrap original. You make me like you--I +cannot help myself--but in some ways you are too cautious to please me. +You don't want to say what you think of the place until you know my +opinion. Well, I don't care; I'll tell you out plump what I think of +everything. The place is horrid, and so are the people. I wish--oh! I +wish I was back again on the ranch with mother." + +Jasper looked down rather scornfully at the small girl, who, in a rich +and elaborately embroidered dressing-gown, was kneeling by the fire. +Evelyn's handsome eyes, the only really good feature she possessed, were +fixed full upon her maid's face. + +"The Castle is too stiff for me," she said, "and too--too airified and +high and mighty. Mother was quite right when she spoke of Castle +Wynford. I don't care for anybody in the place except Uncle Ned. I don't +know how I shall live here. Oh Jasper, don't you remember the evenings +at home? Cannot you recall that night when Whitefoot was ill, and you +and mothery and I had to sit up all through the long hours nursing her, +and how we thought the dear old moo-cow would die! Don't you remember +the mulled cider and the gingerbread and the doughnuts and the +apple-rings? How we toasted the apple-rings by the fire, and how they +spluttered, and how good the hot cider was? And don't you remember how +mothery sang, and how you and I caught each other's hands and danced, +and dear old Whitefoot looked up at us with her big, sorrowful eyes? It +is true that she died in the morning, but we had a jolly night. We'll +never have such times any more. Oh, I do wish my own mothery had not +died and gone to heaven! Oh, I do wish it--I do!" + +Evelyn crossed her arms tightly on her breast and began to sway herself +backwards and forwards. Tears streamed from her eyes; she did not +attempt to wipe them away. + +"Now then, it is my turn to speak," said Jasper. "I tell you what it is, +Eve; you are about the biggest goose that was ever born in this world. +Who would compare that stupid, rough old ranch with this lovely, +magnificent house? And it is your own, Eve--or rather it will be your +own. I took a good stare at the Squire, and I do not believe he will +live to be very old; and whenever he dies you are to take possession--you +and I together, Eve love--and out will go her ladyship, and out will go +proud Miss Audrey. That will be a fine day, darling--a day worth living +for." + +"Yes," said Evelyn slowly; "and then we'll alter things. We'll make the +Castle something like the ranch. We'll get over some of our friends, and +they shall live in the house. Mr. and Mrs. Petrie, who keep the egg-farm +not a mile from the ranch, and Mr. Thomas Longchamp and Pete and Dick +and Tom and Michael. I told them all when I was going away that when I +was mistress of the Castle they should come, and we'll go on much as we +went on at the ranch. If mothery up in heaven can see me she will be +glad. But, Jasper, why do you speak in that scornful way of my cousin +Audrey? I think she is very beautiful. I think she is quite the most +beautiful girl I have ever looked at. As to her being stately, she +cannot help being stately. I wish I could walk like her, and talk like +her, and speak like her; I do, Jasper--I do really." + +"Let me see," said Jasper in a contemplative tone. "You are learning to +love her, ain't you?" + +"I don't love easily. I love my own darling mothery, who is not dead at +all, for she is in heaven with father; and I love you, Jasper, and my +uncle Edward." + +"My word! and why him?" + +"I cannot help it; I love him already, and I'll love him more and more +the longer I see him and the more I know him. My father must have been +like that--a gentleman--a perfect gentleman. Oh! I was happy at the ranch, +and mothery was like no one else on the wide earth, but it gave me a +sort of quiver down my spine when Uncle Edward took my hand, and when he +kissed me. He is like what father was. Had father lived I'd have spent +all my days here, and I'd have been perhaps quite as graceful as Audrey, +and nearly as beautiful." + +"You will never be like her, so you need not think it. You are squat +like your mother, and you ain't got a decent feature in your face except +your eyes, and even they are only big, not dark; and your hair is skimpy +and your face white. You are a sort of mix'um-gather'um--a sort of +betwixt-and-between--neither very fair nor very dark, neither very short +nor very tall. You are thick-set, just the very image of your mother, +and you will always be thick-set and always mix'um-gather'um as long as +you live. There! I have spoken. I ain't going to be afraid of you. You +had better get into bed now, for it is late. You want your beauty-sleep, +and you won't get it unless you are quick. Now march! Put on your +night-dress and step into bed." + +"I have got to say my prayers first," said Evelyn, "and----" She paused +and looked full at her maid. "I have got to say something else. If you +talk like that I won't love you any more. You are not to do it. I won't +have it." + +"Won't she, then?" said Jasper. Her whole manner changed. "And have I +hurt her--have I--the little dear? Come to me, my darling. Why, you are +all trembling! Did you think I meant a word I said? Don't you know that +you are the jewel of my eyes and the core of my heart and all the rest? +Did your mother leave you to me for nothing, and would I ever leave you, +sweetest and best? And if it is squat you are, there is no one like you +for determination and fire of spirit. Eh, now, come to my arms and I'll +rock the bitterness out of you, for it is puzzled you are, and fretted +you are, and you shall not be--no, you shall not be either one or the +other ever again while old Jasper lives." + +Evelyn's eyes, which had flashed an almost ugly fire, now softened. She +looked at Jasper as if she meant to resist her. Then she wavered, and +came almost totteringly across the room, and the next moment the strange +woman had clasped the girl to her embrace and was rocking her backwards +and forwards, Evelyn's head lying on her breast just as if she were a +baby. + +"Now then, that's better," said Jasper. "I'll undress you as though we +were back again on the ranch, and when you are snug and safe in your +little white bed we'll have a bit of fun." + +"Fun!" said Evelyn. "What?" + +"Don't you know how you like a stolen supper? I have got chocolate here, +and a little pot, and a jug of cream, and a saucepan, and I'll make a +rich cup for you and another for myself; and here's a box of cakes, all +sorts and very good. While you are sipping your chocolate I'll take off +Miss Audrey and Lady Frances for you. The door is locked; no one can see +us. We'll be as snug as snug can be, and we'll have our fun just as if +we were back at the ranch." + +Evelyn was now all laughter and high spirits. She had no idea of +restraining herself. She called Jasper her honey and her honey-pot, and +kissed the good woman several times. She superintended the making of the +chocolate with eager words and many directions. Finally, a cup of the +rich beverage was handed to her, and she sipped it, luxuriously curled +up against her snowy pillows, and ate the sweet cakes, and watched +Jasper with happy eyes. + +"So it is Miss Audrey you'd like to take after?" said Jasper. "You think +you are not a patch on her. To be sure not--wait and we'll see." + +In an instant Jasper had transformed her features to a comical +resemblance of Audrey's. She spoke in mincing tones, with just +sufficient likeness to Audrey to cause Evelyn to scream with mirth. She +took light, quick steps across the room, and imitated Audrey's very +words. All of a sudden she changed her manner. She now resembled Miss +Sinclair, putting on the slightly precise language of the governess, +adjusting her shoulders and arranging her hands as she had seen Miss +Sinclair do for a brief moment that evening. Her personation of Miss +Sinclair was as good as her personation of Audrey, and Evelyn became so +excited that she very nearly spilt her chocolate. But her crowning +delight came when all of a sudden, without the slightest warning, Jasper +became Lady Frances herself. She now sailed rather than walked across +the apartment; her tones were stately and slow; her manner was the sort +which might inspire awe; her very words were those of Lady Frances. But +the delighted maid believed that she had a further triumph in store, +for, with a quick change of mien, she now had the audacity to personate +the Squire himself; but in one instant, like a flash, Evelyn was out of +bed. She put down her chocolate-cup and rushed towards Jasper. + +"The others as much as you like," she said, "but not Uncle Ned. You dare +not. You sha'n't. I'll turn you away if you do. I'll hate you if you do. +The others over and over again--they are lovely, splendid, grand--it puts +heart in me to see you--but not Uncle Ned." + +Jasper looked in astonishment at the little girl. + +"So you love him as much as that already?" she said. "Well, as you +please, of course." + +"Don't be cross, Jasper," said Evelyn. "I can stand all the others; I +can even like them. I told Audrey to-night how splendidly you can mimic, +and you shall mimic her to her face when I know her better. Oh, it is +killing--it is killing! But I draw the line at Uncle Ned." + + + + +CHAPTER V.--FRANK'S EYES. + + +Evelyn did not get up to breakfast the following morning. Breakfast at +the Castle was a rather stately affair. A loud, musical gong sounded to +assemble the family at a quarter to nine; then all those who were not +really ill were expected to appear in the small chapel, where the Squire +read prayers morning after morning before the assembled household. After +prayers, visitors and family alike trooped into the comfortable +breakfast-room, where a merry and hearty meal ensued. To be absent from +breakfast was to insure Lady Frances's displeasure; she had no patience +with lazy people. And as to lazy girls, her horror of them was so great +that Audrey would rather bear the worst cold possible than announce to +her mother that she was too ill to appear. Evelyn's absence, therefore, +was commented on with a very grave expression of face by both the Squire +and his wife. + +"I must speak to her," said Lady Frances. "It is the first morning, and +she does not understand our ways, but it must not occur again." + +"You will not be too hard on the child, dear," said her husband. +"Remember she has never had the advantage of your training." + +"Poor little creature!" said Lady Frances. "That, indeed, my dear +Edward, is plain to be seen." + +She bridled very slightly. Lady Frances knew that there was not a more +correct trainer of youth in the length and breadth of the county than +herself. Audrey, who looked very bright and handsome that morning, +ventured to glance at her mother. + +"Perhaps Evelyn is dressed and does not know that we are at breakfast," +she said. "May I go to her room and find out?" + +"No, Audrey, not this morning. I shall go to see Evelyn presently. By +the way, I hope you are ready for your visitors?" + +"I suppose so, mother. I don't really quite know who are coming." + +"The Jervices, of course--Henrietta, Juliet, and their brothers; there +are also the Claverings, Mary and Sophie. I think those are the only +young people, but with six in addition to you and Evelyn, you will have +your hands full, Audrey." + +"Oh, I don't mind," replied Audrey. "It will be fun.--You will help me +all you can, won't you, Jenny?" + +"Certainly, dear," replied Miss Sinclair. + +"It is the greatest possible comfort to me to have you in the house, +Miss Sinclair," said Lady Frances, now turning to the pretty young +governess. "You have not yet had an interview with Evelyn, have you?" + +"I talked to her a little last night," replied Miss Sinclair. "She seems +to me to be a child with a good deal of character." + +"She is like no child I ever met before," said Lady Frances, with a +shudder. "I must frankly say I never looked forward with any pleasure to +her arrival, but my worst fears did not picture so thoroughly +objectionable a little girl." + +"Oh, come, Frances--come!" said her husband. + +"My dear Edward, I do not give myself away as a rule; but it is just as +well that Miss Sinclair should see how much depends on her guidance of +the poor little girl, and that Audrey should know how objectionable she +is, and how necessary it is for us all to do what we can to alter her +ways. The first step, of course, is to get rid of that terrible woman +whom she calls Jasper." + +"But, mother," said Audrey, "that would hurt Evelyn's feelings very +much--she is so devoted to Jasper." + +"You must leave the matter to me, Audrey," said Lady Frances, rising. +"You may be sure that I will do nothing really cruel or unkind. But, my +dear, it is as well that you should learn sooner or later that spoiling +a person is never true kindness." + +Lady Frances left the room as she spoke; and Audrey, turning to her +governess, said a few words to her, and they also went slowly in the +direction of the conservatory. + +"What do you think of her, Jenny?" asked the girl. + +"Just what I said, dear. The child is full of originality and strong +feelings, but of course, brought up as she has been, she will be a trial +to your mother." + +"That is just it. Mother has never seen any one in the least like +Evelyn. She won't understand her; and if she does not there will be +mischief." + +"Evelyn must learn to subdue her will to that of Lady Frances," said +Miss Sinclair. "You and I, Audrey, will try to be very patient with her; +we will put up with her small impertinences, knowing that she scarcely +means them; and we will try to make things as happy for her as we can." + +"I don't know about that," said Audrey. "I cannot see why she should be +rude and chuff and disagreeable. I don't altogether dislike her. She +certainly amuses me. But she will not have a very happy time at the +Castle until she knows her place." + +"That is it," said Miss Sinclair. "She has evidently been spoken to most +injudiciously--told that she is practically mistress of the place, and +that she may do as she likes here. Hence the result. But at the worst, +Audrey, I am certain of one thing." + +"What is that, Jenny? How wise you look, and how kind!" + +"I believe your father will be able to manage her, whoever else fails. +Did you not notice how her eyes followed him round the room last night, +and how, whenever he spoke to her, her voice softened and she always +replied in a gentle tone?" + +"No, I did not," answered Audrey. "Oh dear! it is very puzzling, and I +feel rather cross myself. I cannot imagine why that horrid little girl +should ever own this lovely place. It is not that I am jealous of her--I +assure you I am anything but that--but it hurts me to think that one who +can appreciate things so little should come in for our lovely property." + +"Well, darling, let us hope she will be quite a middle-aged woman before +she possesses Castle Wynford," said the governess. "And now, what about +your young friends?" + +Audrey slipped her hand inside Miss Sinclair's arm, and the two paced +the conservatory, talking long and earnestly. + +Meanwhile Evelyn, having partaken of a rich and unwholesome breakfast of +pastry, game-pie, and chocolate, condescended slowly to rise. Jasper +waited on her hand and foot. A large fire burned in the grate; no +servant had been allowed into the apartment since Evelyn had taken +possession of it the night before, and it already presented an untidy +and run-to-seed appearance. White ashes were piled high in the untidy +grate; dust had collected on the polished steel of the fire-irons; dust +had also mounted to the white marble mantelpiece covered with velvet of +turquoise-blue, but neither Evelyn nor Jasper minded these things in the +least. + +"And now, pet," said the maid, "what dress will you wear?" + +"I had better assert myself as soon as possible," said Evelyn. "Mothery +told me I must. So I had better put on something striking. I saw that +horrid Audrey walking past just now with her governess; she had on a +plain, dark-blue serge. Why, any dairymaid might dress like that. Don't +you agree with me, Jasper?" + +"There is your crimson velvet," said Jasper. "I bought it for you in +Paris. You look very handsome in it." + +"Oh, come, Jasper," said her little mistress, "you said I was squat last +night." + +"The rich velvet shows up your complexion," persisted Jasper. "Put it +on, dear; you must make a good impression." + +Accordingly Evelyn allowed herself to be arrayed in a dress of a curious +shade between red and crimson. Jasper encircled her waist with a red +silk sash; and being further decked with numerous rows of colored beads, +varying in hue from the palest green to the deepest rose, the heiress +pronounced herself ready to descend. + +"And where will you go first, dear?" said Jasper. + +"I am going straight to find my Uncle Edward. I have a good deal to say +to him. And there is mother's note; I think it is all about you. I will +give it to Uncle Edward to give to my Aunt Frances. I don't like my Aunt +Frances at all, so I will see Uncle Edward first." + +Accordingly Evelyn, in her heavy red dress, her feet encased in black +shoes and white stockings, ran down-stairs, and having inquired in very +haughty tones of a footman where the Squire was likely to be found, +presently opened the door of his private sanctum and peeped in. + +Even Lady Frances seldom cared to disturb the Squire when he was in his +den, as he called it. When he raised his eyes, therefore, and saw +Evelyn's pale face, her light flaxen hair falling in thin strands about +her ears, her big, somewhat light-brown eyes staring at him, he could +not help giving a start of annoyance. + +"Oh, Uncle Ned, you are not going to be cross too?" said the little +girl. She skipped gaily into the room, ran up to him, put one arm round +his neck, and kissed him. + +The Squire looked in a puzzled way at the queer little figure. Like most +men, he knew little or nothing of the details of dress; he was only +aware that his own wife always looked perfect, that Audrey was the soul +of grace, and that Miss Sinclair presented a very pretty appearance. He +was now, therefore, only uncomfortable in Evelyn's presence, not in the +least aware of what was wrong with her, but being quite certain that +Lady Frances would not approve of her at all. + +"I have come first to you, Uncle Edward," said Evelyn, "because we must +transact some business together." + +"Transact some business!" repeated her uncle. "What long words you use, +little girl!" + +"I have heard my dear mothery talk about transacting business, so I have +picked up the phrase," replied Evelyn in thoughtful tones. "Well, Uncle +Edward, shall we transact? It is best to have things on a business +footing; don't you think so--eh?" + +"I think that you are a very strange little person," said her uncle. +"You are too young to know anything of business matters; you must leave +those things to your aunt and to me." + +"But I am your heiress, don't forget. This room will be mine, and all +that big estate outside, and the whole of this gloomy old house when you +die. Is not that so?" + +"It is so, my child." The Squire could not help wincing when Evelyn +pronounced his house gloomy. "But at the same time, my dear Evelyn, +things of that sort are not spoken about--at least not in England." + +"Mothery and I spoke a lot about it; we used to sit for whole evenings +by the fireside and discuss the time when I should come in for my +property. I mean to make changes when my time comes. You don't mind my +saying so, do you?" + +"I object to the subject altogether, Evelyn." The Squire rose and faced +his small heiress. "In England we don't talk of these things, and now +that you have come to England you must do as an English girl and a lady +would. On your father's side you are a lady, and you must allow your +aunt and me to train you in the observances which constitute true +ladyhood in England." + +Evelyn's brown eyes flashed a very angry fire. + +"I don't wish to be different from my mother," she said. "My mother was +one of the most splendid women on earth. I wish to be exactly like her. +I will not be a fine lady--not for anybody." + +"Well, dear, I respect you for being fond of your mother." + +"Fond of her!" said Evelyn; and a strange and intensely tragic look +crossed the queer little face. + +She was quite silent for nearly a minute, and Edward Wynford watched her +with curiosity and pain mingled in his face. Her eyes reminded him of +the brother whom he had so truly loved; in every other respect Evelyn +was her mother over again. + +"I suppose," she said after a pause, "although I may not speak about +what lies before me in the future, and you must die some time, Uncle +Edward, that I may at least ask you to supply me with the needful?" + +"The what, dear?" + +"The needful. Chink, you know--chink." + +Squire Wynford sank slowly back again into his chair. + +"You might ask me to sit down," said Evelyn, "seeing that the room and +all it contains will be----" Here she broke off abruptly. "I beg your +pardon," she continued. "I really and truly do not want you to die a +minute before your rightful hour. We all have our hour--at least mothery +said so--and then go we must, whether we like it or not; so, as you must +go some day, and I must----Oh dear! I am always being drawn up now by that +horrid wish of yours that I should try to be an English girl. I will try +to be when I am in your presence, for I happen to like you; but as for +the others, well, we shall see. But, Uncle Ned, what about the chink? +Perhaps you call it money; anyhow, it means money. How much may I have +out of what is to be all my own some day to spend now exactly as I +like?" + +"You can have a fair sum, Evelyn. But, first of all, tell me what you +want it for and how you mean to spend it." + +"I have all kinds of wants," began Evelyn. "Jasper had plenty of money +to spend on me until I came here. She manages very well indeed, does +Jasper. We bought lots of things in Paris--this dress, for instance. How +do you like my dress, Uncle Ned?" + +"I am not capable of giving an opinion." + +"Aren't you really? I expect you are about stunned. You never thought a +girl like me could dress with such taste. Do you mind my speaking to +Audrey, Uncle Ned, about her dress? It does not seem to me to be +correct." + +"What is wrong with it?" asked the Squire. + +"It is so awfully dowdy; it is not what a lady ought to wear. Ladies +ought to dress in silks and satins and brocades and rich embroidered +robes. Mothery always said so, and mothery surely knew. But there, I am +idling you, and I suppose you are busy directing the management of your +estates, which are to be----Oh, there! I am pulled up again. I want my +money for Jasper, for one thing. Jasper has got some poor relations, and +she and I between us support them." + +"She and you between you," said the Squire, "support your maid's +relations!" + +"Oh dear me, Uncle Ned, how stiffly you speak! But surely it does not +matter; I can do what I like with my own." + +"Listen to me, Evelyn," said her uncle. "You are only a very young girl; +your mind may in some ways be older than your body, but you are nothing +more than a child." + +"I am not such a child as I look. I was sixteen a month ago. I am +sixteen, and that is not very young." + +"We must agree to differ," said her uncle. "You are young and you are +not wise; and although there is some money which is absolutely your own +coming from the ranch in Tasmania, yet I have the charge of it until you +come of age." + +"When I come of age I suppose I shall be very, very rich?" + +"Not at all. You will be my care, and I will allow you what is proper, +but as long as I live you will only have the small sum which will come +to you yearly from the rent of the ranch. As the ranch may possibly be +sold some day, we may be able to realize a nice little capital for you; +but you are too young to know much of these things at present. The +matter in hand, therefore, is all-sufficient. I will allow you as +pocket-money five pounds a quarter. I give precisely the same sum to +Audrey. Your aunt will buy your clothes, and you will live here and be +treated in all respects as my daughter. Now, that is my side of the +bargain." + +Evelyn's face turned white. + +"Five pounds a quarter!" she said. "Why, that is downright penury!" + +"No, dear; for the use you require it for it is downright riches. But, +be it riches or be it penury, you get no more." + +Evelyn looked full at her uncle; her uncle looked back at her. + +"Come here, little girl," he said. + +Her heart was beating with furious anger, but there was something in his +tone which subdued her. She went slowly to him, and he put his arm round +her waist. + +"Your eyes are like--very like--one whom I loved best on earth." + +"You mean my father," said the girl. + +"Your father. He left you to me to care for, and to love and to train--to +train for a high position eventually." + +"He left me to mothery; you are quite mistaken there. Mothery has +trained me; father left me to her. She often and often and often told me +so." + +"That is true, dear. While your mother lived she had the prior claim +over you, but now you belong to me." + +"Yes," said Evelyn. She felt fascinated. She snuggled comfortably inside +her uncle's arm; her strange brown eyes were fixed on his face. + +"I give you," he continued, "the love and care of a father, but I expect +a return." + +"What? I don't mind. I have two diamonds--beauties. You shall have them +to make into studs; you shall, because I--yes, I love you." + +"I don't want your diamonds, my little girl, but I want other +things--your love and your obedience. I want you, if you like me, and if +you like your Aunt Frances, and if you like your cousin, to follow in +our steps, for we have been brought up to approve of courteous manners +and quiet dress and gentle speech; and I want that brain of yours, +Evelyn, to be educated to high and lofty thoughts. I want you to be a +grand woman, worthy of your father, and I expect this return from you +for all that I am going to do for you." + +"Are you going to teach me your own self?" asked Evelyn. + +"You can come to me sometimes for a talk, but it is impossible for me to +be your instructor. You will have a suitable governess." + +"Jasper knows a lot of things. Perhaps she could teach both Audrey and +me. She might if you paid her well. She has got some awfully poor +relations; she must have lots of money, poor Jasper must." + +"Well, dear, leave me now. We will talk of your education and who is to +instruct you, and all about Jasper too, within a few days. You have got +to see the place and to make Audrey's acquaintance; and there are some +young friends coming to the Castle for a week. Altogether, you have +arrived at a gay time. Now run away, find your cousin, and make yourself +happy." + +Squire Wynford rose as he spoke, and taking Evelyn's hand, he led her to +the door. He opened the door wide for her, and saw her go out, and then +he kissed his hand to her and closed the door again. + +"Poor little mite!" he said to himself. "As strange a child as I ever +saw, but with Frank's eyes." + + + + +CHAPTER VI.--THE HUNGRY GIRL. + + +Now, the Squire had produced a decidedly softening effect upon Evelyn, +and if she had not had the misfortune to meet Lady Frances just as she +left his room, much that followed need never taken place. But Lady +Frances, who had never in the very least returned poor Frank Wynford's +affection for her, and who had no sentimental feelings with regard to +Evelyn--Lady Frances, who simply regarded the little girl as a +troublesome and very tiresome member of the family--was not disposed to +be too soothing in her manner. + +"Come here, my dear," she said. "Come over here to the light. What have +you got on?" + +"My pretty red velvet dress," replied Evelyn, tossing her head. "A +suitable dress for an heiress like myself." + +"Come, this is quite beyond enduring. I want to speak to you, Evelyn. I +have several things to say. Come into my boudoir." + +"But, if you please," said Evelyn, "I have nothing to say to you, and I +have a great deal to do in other directions. I am going back to Jasper; +she wants me." + +"Oh, that reminds me," began Lady Frances. "Come in here this moment, my +dear." + +She took Evelyn's hand and dragged the unwilling child into her private +apartment. A bright fire burned in the grate. The room looked cozy, +cheerful, orderly. Lady Frances was a woman of method. She had piles of +papers lying neatly docketed on her writing-table; a sheaf of unanswered +letters lay on one side. A Remington typewriter stood on a table near, +and a slim-looking girl was standing by the typewriter. + +"You will leave me for the present, Miss Andrews," she said, turning to +her amanuensis. "I shall require you here again in a quarter of an +hour." + +Miss Andrews, with a low bow, instantly left the room. + +"You see, Evelyn," said her aunt, "you are taking up the time of a very +busy woman. I manage the financial part of several charities--in short, +we are very busy people in this house--and in the morning I, as a rule, +allow no one to interrupt me. When the afternoon comes I am ready and +willing to be agreeable to my guests." + +"But I am not your guest. The house belongs to me--or at least it will be +mine," said Evelyn. + +"You are quite right in saying you are not my guest. You are my +husband's niece, and in the future you will inherit his property; but if +I hear you speaking in that rude way again I shall be forced to punish +you. I can see for myself that you are an ill-bred girl and will require +a vast lot of breaking-in." + +"And you think you can do it?" said Evelyn, her eyes flashing. + +"I intend to do it. I am going to talk to you for a few minutes this +morning, and after I have spoken I wish you to clearly understand that +you are to do as I tell you. You will not be unhappy here; on the +contrary, you will be happy. At first you may find the necessary rules +of a house like this somewhat irksome, but you will get into the way of +them before long. You need discipline, and you will have it here. I will +not say much more on that subject this morning. You can find Audrey, and +she and Miss Sinclair will take you round the grounds and amuse you, and +you must be very much obliged to them for their attentions. Audrey is my +daughter, and I think I may say without undue flattery that you will +find her a most estimable companion. She is well brought up, and is a +charming girl in every sense of the word. Miss Sinclair is her +governess; she will also instruct you, but time enough for that in the +future. Now, when you leave here go straight to your room and desire +your servant--Jasper, I think, you call her--to dress you in a plain and +suitable frock." + +"A frock!" said Evelyn. "I wear dresses--long dresses. I am not a child; +mothery said I had the sense of several grown-up people." + +"The garment you are now in you are not to wear again; it is unsuitable, +and I forbid you to be even seen in it. Do you understand?" + +"I hear you," said Evelyn. + +"Go up-stairs and do what I tell you, and then you can go into the +grounds. Audrey is having holidays at present; you will find her with +her governess in the shrubbery. Now go; the time I can devote to you for +the present is up." + +"I had better give you this first," said Evelyn. + +She thrust her hand into her pocket and took out the ill-spelt and now +exceedingly dirty note which poor Mrs. Wynford in Tasmania had written +to Lady Frances before her death. + +"This is from mothery, who is dead," continued the child. "It is for +you. She wrote it to you. I expect she is watching you now; she told me +that she would come back if she could and see how people treated me. I +am going. Don't lose the note; it was written by mothery, and she is +dead." + +Evelyn laid the dirty letter on the blotting-pad on Lady Frances's +table. It looked strangely out of keeping with the rest of her +correspondence. The little girl left the room, banging the door behind +her. + +"A dreadful child!" thought Lady Frances. "How are we to endure her? My +poor, sweet Audrey! I must get Edward to allow me to send Evelyn to +school; she really is not a fit companion for my young daughter." + +Miss Andrews came back. + +"Please direct these envelopes, and answer some of these letters +according to the notes which I have put down for you," said Lady +Frances; and her secretary began to work. But Lady Frances did not ask +Miss Andrews to read or reply to the dirty little note. She took it up +very much as though she would like to drop it into the fire, but finally +she opened it and read the contents. The letter was rude and curt, and +Lady Frances's fine black eyes flashed as she read the words. Finally, +she locked the letter up in a private bureau, and sitting down, calmly +proceeded with her morning's work. + +Meanwhile Evelyn, choking with rage and utterly determined to disobey +Lady Frances, left the room. She stood still for a moment in the long +corridor and looked disconsolately to right and to left of her. + +"How ugly it all is!" she said to herself. "How I hate it! Mothery, why +did you die? Why did I ever leave my darling, darling ranch in +Tasmania?" + +She turned and very slowly walked up the white marble staircase. +Presently she reached her own luxurious room. It was in the hands of a +maid, however, who was removing the dust and putting the chamber in +order. + +"Where is Jasper?" asked the little girl. + +"Miss Jasper has gone out of doors, miss." + +"Do you know how long she has been out?" asked Evelyn in a tone of keen +interest. + +"About half an hour, miss." + +"Then I'll follow her." + +Evelyn went to her wardrobe. Jasper had already unpacked her young +lady's things and laid them higgledy-piggledy in the spacious wardrobe. +It took the little girl a long time to find a tall velvet hat trimmed +with plumes of crimson feathers. This she put on before the glass, +arranging her hair to look as thick as possible, and smirking at her +face while she arrayed herself. + +"I would not wear this hat, for I got it quite for Sunday best, but I +want her to see that she cannot master me," thought the child. She then +wrapped a crimson silk scarf round her neck and shoulders, and so +attired looked very much like a little lady of the time of Vandyck. Once +more she went down-stairs. + +Audrey she did not wish to meet; Miss Sinclair she intended to be +hideously rude to; but Jasper--where was Jasper? + +Evelyn looked all round. Suddenly she saw a figure on the other side of +a small lake which adorned part of the grounds. The figure was too far +off for her to see it distinctly. It must be Jasper, for it surely was +not in the least like the tall, fair, and stately Aubrey, not like Miss +Sinclair. + +Picking up her skirts, which were too long for her to run comfortably, +the small figure now skidded across the grass. She soon reached the side +of the lake, and shouted: + +"Jasper! Oh Jasper! Jasper, I have news for you! You never knew anything +like the----" + +The next instant she had rushed into the arms of Sylvia Leeson. Sylvia +cried out eagerly: + +"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" + +Evelyn stared for a moment at the strange girl, then burst into a hearty +laugh. + +"Do tell me--quick, quick!--are you one of the Wynfords?" she asked. + +"I a Wynford!" cried Sylvia. "I only wish I were. Are you a Wynford? Do +you live at the Castle?" + +"Do I live at the Castle!" cried Evelyn. "Why, the Castle is mine--I mean +it will be when Uncle Ned dies. I came here yesterday; and, oh! I am +miserable, and I want Jasper?" + +"Who is Jasper?" + +"My maid. Such a darling!--the only person here who cares in the least +for me. Oh, please, please tell me your name! If you do not live at the +Castle, and if you can assure me from the bottom of your heart that you +do not love any one--any one who lives in the Castle--why, I will love +you. You are sweetly pretty! What is your name?" + +"Sylvia Leeson. I live three miles from here, but I adore the Castle. I +should like to come here often." + +"You adore it! Then that is because you know nothing about it. Do you +adore Audrey?" + +"Is Audrey the young lady of the Castle?" + +"She is not the young lady of the Castle. _I_ am the young lady of the +Castle. But have you ever seen her?" + +"Once; and then she was rude to me." + +"Ah! I thought so. I don't think she could be very polite to anybody. +Now, suppose you and I become friends? The Castle belongs to me--or will +when Uncle Ned dies. I can order people to come or people to go; and I +order you to come. You shall come up to the house with me. You shall +have lunch with me; you shall really. I have got a lovely suite of +rooms--a bedroom of blue-and-silver and a little sitting-room for my own +use; and you shall come there, and Jasper shall serve us both. Do you +know that you are sweetly pretty?--just like a gipsy. You are lovely! +Will you come with me now? Do! come at once." + +Sylvia laughed. She looked full at Evelyn; then she said abruptly: + +"May I ask you a very straight question?" + +"I love straight questions," replied Evelyn. + +"Can you give me a right, good, big lunch? Do you know that I am very +hungry? Were you ever very hungry?" + +"Oh, sometimes," replied Evelyn, staring very hard at her. "I lived on a +ranch, you know--or perhaps you don't know." + +"I don't know what a ranch is." + +"How funny! I thought everybody knew. You see, I am not English; I am +Tasmanian. My father was an Englishman, but he died when I was a little +baby, and I lived with mothery--the sweetest, the dearest, the darlingest +woman on earth--on a ranch in Tasmania. Mothery is dead, and I have come +here, and all the place will belong to me--not to Audrey--some day. Yes, I +was hungry when we went on long expeditions, which we used to do in fine +weather, but there was always something handy to eat. I have heard of +people who are hungry and there is nothing handy to eat. Do you belong +to that sort?" + +"Yes, to that sort," said Sylvia, nodding. "I will tell you about myself +presently. Yes, take me to the house, please. I know _he_ will be angry +when he knows it, but I am going all the same." + +"Who is he?" + +"I will tell you about him when you know the rest. Take me to the house, +quick. I was there once before, on New Year's Day, when every one--every +one has a right to come. I hope you will keep up that splendid custom +when you get the property. I ate a lot then. I longed to take some for +him, but it was the rule that I must not do that. I told him about it +afterwards: game-pie, two helpings; venison pasty, two ditto." + +"Oh, that is dull!" interrupted Evelyn. "Have you not forgotten yet +about a lunch you had some days ago?" + +"You would not if you were in my shoes," said Sylvia. "But come; if we +stay talking much longer some one will see us and prevent me from going +to the house with you." + +"I should like to find the person who could prevent me from doing what I +like to do!" replied Evelyn. "Come, Sylvia, come." + +Evelyn took the tall, dark girl's hand, and they both set to running, +and entered the house by the side entrance. They had the coast clear, as +Evelyn expressed it, and ran up at once to her suite of rooms. Jasper +was not in; the rooms were empty. They ran through the bedroom and found +themselves in the beautifully furnished boudoir. A fire was blazing on +the hearth; the windows were slightly open; the air, quite mild and +fresh--for the day was like a spring one--came in at the open casement. +Evelyn ran and shut it, and then turned and faced her companion. + +"There!" she said. She came close up to Sylvia, and almost whispered, +"Suppose Jasper brings lunch for both of us up here? She will if I +command her. I will ring the bell and she'll come. Would you not like +that?" + +"Yes, I'd like it much--much the best," said Sylvia. "I am afraid of Lady +Frances. And Miss Audrey can be very rude. She was very chuff with me on +New Year's Day." + +"She won't be chuff with you in my presence," said Evelyn. "Ah! here +comes Jasper." + +Jasper, looking slightly excited, now appeared on the scene. + +"Well, my darling!" she said. She rushed up to Evelyn and clasped her in +her arms. "Oh, my own sweet Eve, and how are you getting on?" she +exclaimed. "I am thinking this is not the place for you." + +"We will talk of that another time, please, Jasper," said Evelyn, with +unwonted dignity. "I have brought a friend to lunch with me. This young +lady is called Miss Sylvia Leeson, and she is awfully hungry, and we'd +both like a big lunch in this room. Can you smuggle things up, Jasper?" + +"Her ladyship will be mad," exclaimed Jasper. "I was told in the +servants' hall that she was downright annoyed at your not going to +breakfast; if you are not at lunch she will move heaven and earth." + +"Let her; it will be fun," said Evelyn. "I am going to lunch here with +my friend Sylvia Leeson. Bring a lot of things up, Jasper--good things, +rich things, tempting things; you know what sort I like." + +"I'll try if there is a bit of pork and some mincepies and plum-pudding +and cream and such-like down-stairs. And you'd fancy your chocolate, +would you not?" + +"Rather! Get all you can, and be as quick as ever you can." + +Jasper accordingly withdrew, and in a short time appeared with a laden +tray in her hands. + +"I had to run the gauntlet of the footman and the butler too; and what +they will tell Lady Frances goodness knows, but I do not," answered +Jasper. "But there, if things have to come to a crisis, why, they must. +You will not forget me when the storm breaks, will you, Evelyn?" + +"I'll never forget you," said Evelyn, with enthusiasm. "You are the +dearest and darlingest thing left now that mothery is in heaven; and +Sylvia will love you too. I have been telling her all about you.--Now, +Sylvia, you will not be hungry long." + + + + +CHAPTER VII.--STAYING TO DINNER. + + +Again at luncheon that day Evelyn was missing. Lady Frances looked +round: Audrey was in her place; Miss Sinclair was seated not far away; +the Squire took the foot of the table; the servants handed round the +different dishes; but still no Evelyn had put in an appearance. + +"I wonder where she can be," said the Squire. "She looked a little wild +and upset when she left me. Poor little girl! Do you know, Frances, I +feel very sorry for her." + +"More than I do," said Lady Frances, who at the same time had an +uncomfortable remembrance of the look Evelyn had given her when she had +left her presence. "Don't let us talk any more about her now, Edward," +she said to her husband. "There is only one thing to be done for the +child, and that I will tell you by and by." + +The Squire was accustomed to attend to his wife's wishes on all +occasions, and he said nothing further. Audrey felt constrained and +uncomfortable. After a slight hesitation she said: + +"Do let me find Evelyn, mother. I have been expecting her to join me the +whole morning. She does not, of course, know about our rules yet." + +"No, Audrey," said her mother; "I prefer that you should not leave the +table.--Miss Sinclair, perhaps you will oblige me. Will you go to +Evelyn's room and tell her that we are at lunch?" + +Miss Sinclair rose at once. She was absent for about five minutes. When +she came back there was a distressed look on her face. + +"Well, Jenny, well?" said Audrey in a voice of suppressed excitement. +"Is she coming?" + +"I think not," said Miss Sinclair.--"I will explain matters to you, Lady +Frances, afterwards." + +"Dear, dear!" said the Squire. "What a lot of explanations seem to be +necessary with regard to the conduct of one small girl!" + +"But she is a very important small girl, is she not, father?" said +Audrey. + +"Well, yes, dear; and I should like to say now that I take an interest +in her--in fact," he added, looking round him, for the servants had +withdrawn, "I am prepared to love little Eve very much indeed." + +Lady Frances's eyes flashed a somewhat indignant fire. Then she said +slowly: + +"As you speak so frankly, Edward, I must do likewise. I never saw a more +hopeless child. There seems to be nothing whatever for it but to send +her to school for a couple of years." + +"No," said the Squire, "I will not allow that. We never sent Audrey to +school, and I will have no difference made with regard to Evelyn's +education. All that money can secure must be provided for her, but I do +not care for school-life for girls." + +Lady Frances said nothing further. She was a woman with tact, and would +not on any consideration oppose her husband in public. All the same, she +secretly made up her mind that if Evelyn proved unmanageable she was not +to stay at Wynford Castle. + +"And there is another thing," continued the Squire. "This is her first +day in her future home. I do not wish her to be punished whatever she +may have done. I should like her to have absolute freedom until +to-morrow morning." + +"It shall be exactly as you wish, Edward," said Lady Frances. "I did +intend to seek Evelyn out; I did intend further to question Miss +Sinclair as to the reason why Evelyn did not appear at lunch; but I will +defer these things. It happens to be somewhat convenient, as I want to +pay some calls this afternoon; and really, with that child on my brain, +I should not enjoy my visits. You, Audrey dear, will see to your +cousin's comforts, and when she is inclined to give you her society you +will be ready to welcome her. Your young friends will not arrive until +just before dinner. Please, at least use your influence, Audrey, to +prevent Evelyn making a too extraordinary appearance to-night. Now I +think that is all, and I must run off if I am to be in time to receive +my guests." + +Lady Frances left the room, and Audrey went to her governess's side. + +"What is it?" she said. "You did look strange, Jenny, when you came into +the room just now. Where is Evelyn? Why did she not come to lunch?" + +"It is the greatest possible mercy," said Miss Sinclair, "that Evelyn is +allowed to have one free day, for perhaps--although I feel by no means +sure--you and I may influence her for her own good to-night. But what do +you think has happened? I went to her room and knocked at the door of +the boudoir. I heard voices within. The door was immediately opened by +the maid Jasper, and I saw Evelyn seated at a table, eating a most +extraordinary kind of lunch, in the company of a girl whom I have never +seen before." + +"Oh Jenny," cried Audrey, "how frightfully exciting! A strange girl! +Surely Evelyn did not bring a stranger with her and hide her somewhere +last night?" + +"No, dear, no," said Miss Sinclair, laughing; "she did nothing of that +sort. I fancy the girl must live in the neighborhood, although her face +is unfamiliar to me. She is rather a pretty girl, but by no means the +sort that your mother would approve of as a companion for your cousin." + +"What is she like?" asked Audrey in a grave voice. + +Miss Sinclair proceeded to describe Sylvia's appearance. She was +interrupted in the middle of her description by a cry from Audrey. + +"Oh dear!" she exclaimed, "you must have seen that curious girl, Sylvia +Leeson. Your description is exactly like her. Well, as this is a free +day, and we can do pretty much what we like, I will run straight up to +Evelyn's room and look for myself." + +"Do Audrey; I think on the whole it would be the best plan." + +So Audrey ran up-stairs, and soon her tap was heard on Evelyn's door; +the next moment she found herself in the presence of a very untidy, +disheveled-looking cousin, and also in that of handsome Sylvia Leeson. + +Sylvia dropped a sort of mock courtesy when she saw Audrey. + +"My Shakespearian contemporary!" was her remark. "Well, Audrey, and how +goes the Forest of Arden? And have you yet met Touchstone?" + +Audrey colored very high at what she considered a direct impertinence. + +"What are you doing here?" she said. "My mother does not know your +mother." + +Sylvia gave a ringing laugh. + +"I met this lady," she said--and she pointed in Evelyn's direction--"and +she invited me here. I have had lunch with her, and I am no longer +hungry. This is her room, is it not?" + +"I should just think it is," said Evelyn; "and I only invite those +people whom I care about to come into it." She said the words in a very +pointed way, but Audrey had now recovered both her dignity and +good-nature. + +She laughed. + +"Really we three are too silly," she said. "Evelyn, you cannot mean the +ridiculous words you say! As if any room in my father's house is not +free to me when I choose to go there! Now, whether you like it or not, I +am determined to be friends with you. I do not want to scold you or +lecture you, for it is not my place, but I intend to sit down although +you have not the civility to offer me a chair; and I intend to ask again +why Miss Leeson is here." + +"I came because Evelyn asked me," said Sylvia; and then, all of a +sudden, an unexpected change came over her face. Her pretty, bright +eyes, with a sort of robin-redbreast look in them, softened and melted, +and then grew brighter than ever through tears. She went up to Audrey +and knelt at her feet. + +"Why should not I come? Why should not I be happy?" she said. "I am a +very lonely girl; why should you grudge me a little happiness?" + +Audrey looked at her in amazement; then a change came over her own face. +She allowed her hand just for an instant to touch the hand of Sylvia, +and her eyes looked into the wild eyes of the shabby girl who was +kneeling before her. + +"Get up," she said. "You have no right to take that attitude to me. As +you are here, sit down. I do not want to be rude to you; far from that. +I should like to make you happy." + +"Should you really?" answered Sylvia. "You can do it, you know." + +"Sylvia," interrupted Evelyn, "what does this mean? You and I have been +talking in a very frank way about Audrey. We have neither of us been +expressing any enthusiastic opinions with regard to her; and yet now--and +yet now----" + +"Oh, let me be, Eve," replied Sylvia. "I like Audrey. I liked her the +other day. It is true I was afraid of her, and I was crushed by her, but +I liked her; and I like her better now, and if she will be my friend I +am quite determined to be hers." + +"Then you do not care for me?" said Evelyn, getting up and strutting +across the room. + +Sylvia looked at Audrey, whose eyes, however, would not smile, and whose +face was once more cold and haughty. + +"Evelyn," she said, "I must ask you to try and remember that you are a +lady, and not to talk in this way before anybody but me. I am your +cousin, and when you are alone with me I give you leave to talk as you +please. But now the question is this: I do not in the least care what +Sylvia said of me behind my back. I hope I know better than to wish to +find out what I was never meant to hear. This is a free country, and any +girl in England can talk of me as she pleases--I am not afraid--that is, +she can talk of me as she pleases when I am absent. But what I want to +do now is to answer Sylvia's question. She is unhappy, and she has +thrown herself on me.--What can I do, Sylvia, to make you happy?" + +Sylvia was standing huddled up against the wall. Her pretty shoulders +were hitched to her ears; her hair was disheveled and fell partly over +her forehead; her eyes gleamed out under their thick thatch of black +hair like wild birds in a nest; her coral lips trembled, there was just +a gleam of snowy teeth, and then she said impulsively: + +"You are a darling, and you can do one thing. Let me for to-day forget +that I am poor and hungry and very lonely and very sad. Let me share +your love and Evelyn's love for just one whole day." + +"But there are people coming to-night, Sylvia," said Evelyn. "I heard +Jasper speak of it. Lots of people--grandees, you know." + +Sylvia shuddered slightly. + +"We never say that sort of word now in England," she remarked; and she +added: "I am well-born too. There was a time when I should not have been +at all shy of Audrey Wynford." + +"You are very queer," said Evelyn. "I do not know that I particularly +want you for a friend." + +"Well, never mind; I think I can get you to love me," said Sylvia. "But +now the question is this: Will Audrey let me stay or will she not? Will +you, Audrey--will you--just because my name is Sylvia and we have met in +the Forest of Arden?" + +"Oh dear," said Audrey, "what a difficult question you ask! And how can +I answer it? I dare not give you leave all by myself, but I will go and +inquire." + +Audrey ran immediately out of the room. + +"What a wonderful change has come into my life!" she said to herself as +she flew down-stairs and looked into different rooms, but all in vain, +for Miss Sinclair. + +Her mother was out; it was hopeless to think of appealing to her. +Without the permission of some one older than herself she could not +possibly ask Sylvia to stay. Sylvia could be more or less lost in the +crowd of children who would be at the Castle that evening, but her +mother's eyes would quickly seek out the unfamiliar face, inquiries +would be made, and--in short, Audrey did not dare to take this +responsibility on herself. She was rushing up-stairs again, prepared to +tell Sylvia that she could not grant her request, when she came plump up +against her father. + +"My dear girl, what a hurry you are in!" he exclaimed. + +"Oh yes, father," replied Audrey. "I am excited. The house is full of +life and almost mystery." + +"Then you like your cousin to be here?" said the Squire, and his face +brightened. + +"Yes and no," answered Audrey truthfully. "But, father, I have a great +request to make. You know you said that Evelyn was to have a free day +to-day in which she could do as she pleased. She has a guest up-stairs +whom she would like to ask to stay. May she ask her, father? She is a +girl, and lonely and pretty, and, I think, on the whole, a lady. May we +both ask her to dinner and to spend the evening? And will you, father, +take the responsibility?" + +"Of course--of course," said the Squire. + +"Will you explain to mother when she returns?" + +"Yes, my dear--certainly. Ask anybody you please; I never restrain you +with regard to your friends. Now do not keep me, my love; I am going out +immediately." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII.--EVENING-DRESS. + + +When Audrey re-entered Evelyn's pretty boudoir she found the two girls +standing close together and talking earnestly. Jasper also was joining +in the conversation. Audrey felt her heart sink. + +"How can Evelyn make free with Jasper as she does? And why does Sylvia +talk to Evelyn as though they were having secrets together? Why, they +only met to-day!" was the girl's thought. Her tone, therefore, was cold. + +"I met father, and he says you may stay," she remarked in a careless +voice. "And now, as doubtless you will be quite happy, I will run away +and leave you, for I have much to do." + +"No, no; not until I have thanked you and kissed you first," said +Sylvia. + +Audrey did not wish Sylvia to kiss her, but she could not make any open +objection. She scarcely returned the girl's warm embrace, and the next +moment had left the room. + +"Is she not a horror?" said Evelyn. "I began by liking her--I mean I +rather liked her. She had a grand sort of manner, and her eyes are +handsome, but I hate her now. She is not half, nor quarter, as pretty as +you are, Sylvia. And, oh, Sylvia, you will be my friend--my true, true +friend--for I am so lonely now that mothery is dead!" + +Sylvia was standing by the fire. There was a bright color in both her +cheeks, and her eyes shone vividly. + +"My mother died too," she said. "I was happy while she lived. Yes, Eve, +I will be your friend if you like." + +"It will be all the better for you," said Evelyn, who could never long +forget her own importance. "If I take to you there is no saying what may +happen, for, whatever lies before me in the future, I am my Uncle +Edward's heiress; and Audrey, for all her pride, is nobody." + +"Audrey looks much more suitable," said Sylvia, and then she stopped, +partly amused and partly frightened by the look in Evelyn's light-brown +eyes. + +"How dare you!" she cried. "How horrid--how horrid of you! After all, I +do not know that I want to see too much of you. You had better be +careful what sort of things you say to me. And first of all, if I am to +see any more of you, you must tell me why Audrey would make a better +heiress than I shall." + +"Oh, never mind," said Sylvia; but then she added: "Why should I not +tell you? She is tall and graceful and very, very lovely, and she has +the manners of a _grande dame_ although she is such a young girl. Any +one in all the world can see that Audrey is to the manner born, whereas +you----" + +Evelyn looked almost frightened while Sylvia was talking. + +"Is that really so?" she answered. "I ought to be just mad with you, but +I'm not. Before the year is out no one will compare Audrey and me. I +shall be much, much the finest lady--much, much the grandest. I vow it; I +declare it; I will do it; and you, Sylvia, shall help me." + +"Oh, I have no objection," said Sylvia. "I am very glad indeed that you +will want my help, and I am sure you are heartily welcome." + +Evelyn looked full up at Sylvia. Jasper had left the two girls together. +The only light in the room now was the firelight, for the short winter +day was drawing to an end. + +"You, I suppose," said Evelyn, "are a lady although you do wear such a +shabby dress and you suffer so terribly from hunger?" + +"How do you know?" asked Sylvia. + +"First, because you are not afraid of anything; and second, because you +are graceful and, although you are so very queer, your voice has a +gentle sound. You are a lady by birth, are you not?" + +"Yes," said Sylvia simply. She neither added to the word not took from +it. She became very silent and thoughtful. + +"Why do you live in such a funny way? Why are you not educated like +other girls? And why will you tell me nothing about your home?" + +"I have nothing to tell. My father and I came to live at The Priory +three months ago. He does not care for society, and he does not wish me +to leave him." + +"And you are poor?" + +"No," said Sylvia. + +"Not poor! And yet, why are you almost in rags? And you did eat up your +lunch so greedily!" + +"I will answer nothing more, Evelyn. If you do not like me as I am, let +me go now, and I will try to forget the beautiful, comfortable Castle, +and the lovely meals, and you and your queer maid Jasper, and the +beautiful girl Audrey; for if you do not want me as I am, you can never +get me any other way. I am a lady, and we are not poor. Now are you +satisfied?" + +"I burn with curiosity," said Evelyn; "and if mothery were alive, would +she not get it out of you! But if you wish it--and your eyes do look as +if they were daggers--I will change the subject. What shall we do for the +rest of the day? Shall we go out and take a walk in the dark?" + +"Yes; that would be lovely," cried Sylvia. + +Evelyn shouted in an imperious way to Jasper. + +"Bring my fur cloak," she said, "and my goloshes. I won't wear anything +over my head. I am going out with Miss Sylvia Leeson." + +Jasper brought Evelyn's cloak, which was lined with the most lovely +squirrel inside and covered with bright crimson outside, and put it over +her shoulders. Sylvia in her very shabby black cloth jacket, much too +short in the waist and in the arms, accompanied her. They ran +down-stairs and went out into the grounds. + +Now, if there was one thing more than another which would hopelessly +displease Lady Frances, it was the idea of any of her relations +wandering about after dusk. But luckily for Evelyn, and luckily also for +poor Sylvia, Lady Frances was some miles from Wynford Castle at that +moment. The girls rushed about, and soon Evelyn forgot all her +restraints and shouted noisily. They played hide-and-seek amongst the +trees in the plantation. Sylvia echoed Evelyn's shouts; and the Squire, +who was returning to the house in time to meet his guests, paused and +listened in much amazement to these unusual sounds of girlish laughter. +There came a shrill shriek, and then the cry, "Here I am--seek and find," +and then another ringing peal of girlish merriment. + +"Surely that cannot be Audrey!" he said to himself. "What extraordinary +noises!" + +He went into the house. From his study window he saw the flash of a +lantern, which lit up a red cloak, and for an instant he observed the +very light hair and white face of his niece. But who was the girl with +her--a tall, shabby-looking girl--about the height of his Audrey, too? It +could not be Audrey! He sank down into a chair, and a look of perplexity +crossed his face. + +"What am I to do with that poor child?" he said to himself. "What +extraordinary, unpardonable conduct! Well, I will not tell Lady Frances. +I determined that the child should have one day of liberty, but I am +glad I did not make it more than one." + +After Evelyn and Sylvia had quite exhausted themselves they returned to +the house. + +Jasper was ready for them. She had laid out several dresses for Evelyn +to select from. + +"I have just had a message from her ladyship," she said when the girls +came in with their cheeks glowing and eyes full of laughter. "All the +young people are to dine with the family to-night. As a rule, when there +is company the younger members of the house dine in the schoolroom, but +to-night you are all to be together. I got the message from that +stuck-up footman Scott. I hate the fellow; he had the impudence to say +that he did not think I was suited to my post." + +"He had better not say it again," cried Evelyn, "or he will catch it +from me. I mean to have a talk with each of the servants in turn, and +tell them quite openly that at any moment I may be mistress, and that +they had better look sharp before they incur my displeasure." + +"But, Eve, could you?" exclaimed Sylvia. "Why, that would mean----" + +"Uncle Ned's death. I know that," said Evelyn. "I love Uncle Ned. I +shall be awfully sorry when he does die. But however sorry I am, he will +die when his turn comes; and then I shall be mistress. I was frightfully +sorry when mothery died; but however broken-hearted I was, she did die +just the same. It is so with every one. It is the height of folly to +shirk subjects of that sort; one has to face them. I have no one now to +take my part except dear old Jasper, and so I shall have to take my own +part, and the servants had better know.--You can tell them too, Jasper; I +give you leave." + +"Not I!" said Jasper. "I declare, Miss Evelyn, you are no end of a goose +for all that you are the darling of my heart. But now, miss, what dress +will you wear to-night? I should say the white satin embroidered with +the seed pearls. It has a long train, and you will look like a bride in +it, miss. It is cut low in the neck, and has those sleeves which open +above the elbow, and a watteau back. It is a very elegant robe indeed; +and I have a wreath of white stephanotis for your hair, miss. You will +look regal in this dress, and like an heiress, I do assure you, Miss +Eve." + +"It is perfectly exquisite!" said Evelyn. "Come, Sylvia; come and look. +Oh, those dear little bunches of chiffon, and white stephanotis in the +middle of each bunch! And, oh, the lace! It is real lace, is it not, +Jasper?" + +"Brussels lace, and of the best quality; not too much, and yet enough. +It cost a small fortune." + +"Oh, here are the dear little shoes to match, and this petticoat with +heaps of lace and embroidery! Well, when I wear this dress Audrey will +have to respect me." + +"That is why I bought it, miss. I thought you should have the best." + +"Oh, you are a darling! What would not mothery say if she could look at +me to-night!" + +"Well, Miss Evelyn, I hope I do my duty. But you and Miss Sylvia have +been very late out, so you must hurry, miss, if I am to do you justice." + +"But, oh, I say!" cried Evelyn, looking for the first time at her +friend. "What is Sylvia to wear?" + +"I don't know, miss. None of your dresses will fit her; she is so much +taller." + +"I will not go down-stairs a fright," said Sylvia. "Audrey asked me, and +she must lend me something. Please, Jasper, do go to Miss Wynford's room +and ask her if she has a white dress she will lend me to wear to-night. +Even a washing muslin will do. Anything that is long enough in the skirt +and not too short in the waist. I will take it away and have it washed +fresh for her. Do, please, please, ask her, Jasper!" + +"I am very sorry, miss," answered Jasper. "I would do anything in reason +to oblige, but to go to a young lady whom I don't know and to make a +request of that sort is more than I can do, miss. Besides, she is +occupied now. A whole lot of visitors have just arrived--fine young +ladies and tall young gentlemen--and they are all chittering-chattering +as though their lungs would burst. They are all in the hall, miss, +chatting as hard as they can chat. No, I cannot ask her; I cannot +really." + +"Then I must stop up-stairs and lose all, all the fun," said Sylvia. + +The gaiety left her face. She sat down on a chair. + +"You will get me something to eat, at any rate, Jasper?" she said. + +"Yes, of course, miss; you and I can have a cozy meal together." + +"No, thank you," said Sylvia proudly. "I don't eat with servants." + +Jasper's face turned an ugly green color. She looked at Evelyn, but +Evelyn only laughed. + +"You want to be put in your place, Jas," was her remark. "You are a +little uppish, you know. I am quite pleased with Sylvia. I think she can +teach me one or two things." + +"Well," exclaimed Jasper, "if it is to be cruel and nasty to your own +old Jasper, I wish you joy of your future, Miss Evelyn; that I do.--And I +am sure, miss," she added, flashing angry eyes at the unconscious +Sylvia, "I do not want to eat with you--not one bit. I am sure your dress +ain't fit for any lady to wear." + +Sylvia got up slowly. + +"I am going to look for Audrey," she said; and before Evelyn could +prevent her, she left the room. + +"Ain't she a spiteful, nasty thing!" said the maid the moment Sylvia's +back was turned. "Ain't she just the very sort that your mother would be +mad at your knowing! And I willing to be kind to her and all, and to +have a dull evening for her sake, and she ups and cries, 'I don't eat +with servants.' Forsooth! I like her ways! I hope, Miss Evelyn, you +won't have nothing more to do with her." + +"Oh dear!" said Evelyn, lying back in her chair and going off into one +peal of laughter after another. "You really kill me, Jas, with your +silly ways. It was fun to see Sylvia when she spoke like that. And +didn't she take a rise out of you! And was not your pecker up! Oh, it +was killing--killing!" + +"I am surprised to hear you talk, Miss Evelyn, as you do. You have +already forgotten your poor mother and what she said I was to be to +you." + +"I have not forgotten her, Jas; but I mean to have great fun with +Sylvia, and whether you like it or not you will have to lump it. Oh, I +say, she has come back!--Well, Sylvia? Why, you have got a lovely dress +hanging over your arm!" + +"It is the best I could get," said Sylvia. "I went to Audrey's wardrobe +and took it out. I did not ask her leave; she was not in the room. There +were numbers of dresses, all hanging on pegs, and I took this one. See, +it is only India muslin, and it can be washed and done up beautifully. I +am determined to have my one happy evening without being docked of any +of it, and I could not come down in my own frock. See, Evelyn; do you +think it will do?" + +"It looks rather raggy," said Evelyn, gazing at the white India muslin, +with its lovely lace and chiffon and numerous little tucks, with small +favor; "but I suppose it is better than nothing." + +"I borrowed this white sash too," said Sylvia, "and those shoes and +stockings. I am certain to be found out. I am certain never to be +allowed to come to the Castle again; but I mean to have one really great +evening of grand fun." + +"And I won't help you to dress," said Jasper. + +"But you will, Jasper, because I order it," cried the imperious little +Evelyn. "Only," she added, "you must dress me first; and then, while you +are helping Sylvia to look as smart as she can in that old rag, I will +strut up and down before the glass and try to imagine myself a bride and +the owner of Wynford Castle." + +Jasper was, after all, too much afraid of Evelyn not to yield to her +will, and the dressing of the extraordinary girl began. She was very +particular about the arranging of her hair, and insisted on having a +dash of powder on her face; finally, she found herself in the satin robe +with its magnificent adornings. Her hair was once again piled on the top +of her head, a wreath of stephanotis surrounding it, and she stood in +silent ecstasy gazing at her image in the glass. + +It was now Sylvia's turn to be appareled for the festive occasion, and +Jasper at first felt cross and discontented as she took down the girl's +masses of raven-black hair and began to brush them out; but soon the +magnificence of the locks, which were tawny in places, and brightened +here and there with threads of almost gold, interested her so completely +that she could not rest until she had made what she called the best of +Sylvia's head. + +With all her faults, Jasper could on occasions have taste enough, and +she soon made Sylvia look as she had seldom looked before. Her thick +hair was piled high on her small and classical head; the white muslin +dress fitted close to her slim young figure; and when she stood close to +Evelyn, and they prepared to go down-stairs together, Sylvia, even in +her borrowed plumes, even in the dress which was practically a stolen +dress, looked fifty times more the heiress than the overdressed and +awkward little real heiress. + +When the girls reached the large central hall they both stopped. Audrey +was standing near the log fire, and a group of bright and beautifully +dressed children clustered round her. Two of the girls wore muslin +frocks; their hair, bright in color and very thick in quantity, hung +down below their waists. There were a couple of boys in the proverbial +Eton jackets; and another pair of girls of ordinary appearance, but with +intelligent faces and graceful figures. Audrey gave a perceptible start +when she saw her cousin and Sylvia coming to meet her. Just for an +instant Sylvia looked awkward. Audrey's eyes slightly dilated; then she +came slowly forward. + +"Evelyn," she said, "may I introduce my special friends? This is +Henrietta Jervice, and this is Juliet; and here is Arthur, and here +Robert. Can you remember so many names all at once? Oh, here are Mary +Clavering and Sophie.--Now, my dears," she added, turning and laughing +back at the group, "you have all heard of Evelyn, have you not? This +young lady is Miss Sylvia----" + +"Sylvia Leeson," said Sylvia. A vivid color came into her cheeks; she +drew herself up tall and erect; her black eyes flashed an angry fire. + +Audrey looked at her with a slow and puzzled expression. She certainly +was very handsome; but where had she got that dress? Sylvia seemed to +read the thoughts in Audrey's heart. She bent towards her. + +"I will send it back next week. You were not in your room. It was time +to dress for dinner. I ran in and took it. If you cannot forgive me I +will make an excuse to go up-stairs, and I will take it off and put it +back again in your wardrobe, and I will slip home and no one will be the +wiser. I know you meant to lend me a dress, for I could not come down in +my old rags; but if I have offended you past forgiveness I will go +quietly away and no one will miss me." + +"Stay," said Audrey coldly. She turned round and began to talk to +Henrietta Jervice. + +Henrietta laughed and chatted incessantly. She was a merry girl, and +very good-looking; she was tall for her age, which was between sixteen +and seventeen. Both she and her sister were quite schoolgirls, however, +and had frank, fresh manners, which made Sylvia's heart go out to them. + +"How nice people in my own class of life really are!" she thought. "How +dreadful--oh, how dreadful it is to have to live as I do! And I see by +Audrey's face that she thinks that I have not the slightest idea how a +lady ought to act. Oh, it is terrible! But there, I will enjoy myself +for the nonce; I will--I vow it. Poor little Evelyn, however _gauche_ she +is, and however ridiculous, has small chance against Audrey. Even if she +is fifty times the heiress, Audrey has the manners of one born to rule. +Oh, how I could love her! How happy she could make me!" + +"Do you skate?" suddenly asked Arthur Jervice. + +"Yes," replied Sylvia bluntly. She turned and looked at him. He looked +back at her, and his eyes laughed. + +"I wonder what you are thinking about?" he said. "You look as if----" + +"As if what?" said Sylvia. She drew back a little, and Arthur did the +same. + +"As if you meant to run swords into us all. But, all the same, I like +your look. Are you staying here?" + +"No," said Sylvia. "I live not far away. I have come here just for the +day." + +"Well, we shall see you to-morrow, of course. Mr. Wynford says we can +skate on the pond to-morrow, for the ice will be quite certain to bear. +I hope you will come. I love good skating." + +"And so do I," said Sylvia. + +"Then will you come?" + +"Probably not." + +Arthur was silent for a moment. He was a tall boy for his age, and was a +good half-head above Sylvia, tall as she also was. + +"May I ask you about things?" he said. "Who is that very, very funny +little girl?" + +"Do you mean Eve Wynford?" + +"Perhaps that is her name. I mean the girl in white satin--the girl who +wears a grown-up dress." + +"She is Audrey Wynford's cousin." + +"What! the Tasmanian? The one who is to----" + +"Yes. Hush! she will hear us," said Sylvia. + +The rustle of silk was heard on the stairs. Sylvia turned her head, and +instinctively hid just behind Arthur; and Lady Frances, accompanied by +several other ladies, all looking very stately and beautiful, joined the +group of young people. A great deal of chattering and laughter followed. +Evelyn was in her element. She was not a scrap shy, and going up to her +aunt, said in a confident way: + +"I hope you like this dress, Aunt Frances. Jasper chose it for me in +Paris. It is quite Parisian, is it not? Don't you think it stylish?" + +"Hush, Evelyn!" said Lady Frances in a peremptory whisper. "We do not +talk of dress except in our rooms." + +Evelyn pouted and bit her lip. Then she saw Sylvia, whose eyes were +watching Lady Frances. Lady Frances also looked up and saw the tall and +beautiful girl at the same moment. + +"Who is that girl?" she said, turning to Evelyn. "I don't know her +face." + +"Her name is Sylvia Leeson." + +"Sylvia Leeson! Still I don't understand. Who is she?" + +"A friend of mine," said Evelyn. + +"My dear, how can you possibly have any friends in this place?" + +"She is my friend, Aunt Frances. I found her wandering about out of +doors, and I brought her in; and Audrey asked her to stay for the rest +of the day, and she is happy. She is very nice, Aunt Frances," said +Evelyn, looking up full in her aunt's face. + +"That will do, dear." + +Lady Frances went up to her daughter. + +"Audrey," she said, "introduce me to Miss Leeson." + +The introduction was made. Lady Frances held out her hand. + +"I am glad to see you, Miss Leeson," she said. + +A few minutes later the whole party found themselves clustered round the +dinner-table. The children, by special request, sat all together. They +chattered and laughed heartily, and seemed to have a world of things to +say each to the other. Audrey, surrounded by her own special friends, +looked her very best; she had a great deal of tact, and had long ago +been trained in the observances of society. She managed now, helped by a +warning glance from her mother, to divide Sylvia and Evelyn. She put +Sylvia next to Arthur, who continued to chat to her, and to try to draw +information from her. Evelyn sat between Robert and Sophie Clavering. +Sophie was downright and blunt, and she made Evelyn laugh many times. +Sylvia, too, was now quite at her ease. She contrived to fascinate +Arthur, who thought her quite the most lovely girl he had ever met. + +"I wish you would come and skate to-morrow," he said, as the dinner was +coming to an end and the signal for the ladies to withdraw might be +expected at any moment. "I wish you would, Sylvia. I cannot see why you +should refuse. One has so little chance of skating in England that no +one ought to be off the ice who knows how to skate when the weather is +suitable. Cannot you come? Shall I ask Lady Frances if you may?" + +"No, thank you," said Sylvia; then she added: "I long to skate just as +much as you do, and I probably shall skate, although not on your pond; +but there is a long reach of water just where the pond narrows and +beyond where the stream rushes away towards the river. I may skate +there. The water is nearly a mile in extent." + +"Then I will meet you," said Arthur. "I will get Robert and Hennie to +come with me; Juliet will never stir from Audrey's side when she comes +to Castle Wynford; but I'll make up a party and we can meet at the +narrow stretch. What do you call it?" + +"The Yellow Danger," said Sylvia promptly. + +"What a curious name! What does it mean?" + +"I don't know; I have not been long enough in this neighborhood. Oh, +there is Lady Frances rising from the table; I must go. If you do happen +to come to the Yellow Danger to-morrow I shall probably be there." + +She nodded to him, and followed the rest of the ladies and the girls to +one of the drawing-rooms. + +Soon afterwards games of all sorts were started, and the children, and +their elders as well, had a right merry time. There was no one smarter +at guessing conundrums and proposing vigorous games of chance than +Sylvia. The party was sufficiently large to divide itself into two +groups, and "clumps," amongst other games, was played with much laughter +and vigor. Finally, the whole party wandered into the hall, where an +impromptu dance was struck up, and in this also Sylvia managed to excel +herself. + +"Who is that remarkably graceful and handsome girl?" said Mrs. Jervice +to Lady Frances. + +"My dear Agnes," was the answer, "I have not the slightest idea. She is +a girl from the neighborhood; that terrible aborigine Evelyn picked her +up. She certainly is handsome, and clever too; and she is well dressed. +That dress she has on reminds me of one which I bought for Audrey in +Paris last year. I suppose the girl's people are very well off, for that +special kind of muslin, with its quantities of real lace, would not be +in the possession of a poor girl. On the whole, I like the girl, but the +way in which Evelyn has brought her into the house is beyond enduring." + +"My Arthur has quite lost his heart to her," said Mrs. Jervice, with a +laugh. "He said something to me about asking her to join our skating +party to-morrow." + +"Well, dear, I will make inquiries, and if she belongs to any nice +people I will call on her mother if she happens to have one; but I make +it a rule to be very particular what girls Audrey becomes acquainted +with." + +"And you are quite right," said Mrs. Jervice. "Any one can see how very +carefully your Audrey has been brought up." + +"She is a sweet girl," said the mother, "and repays me for all the +trouble I have taken with her; but what I shall do with Evelyn is a +problem, for her uncle has put down his foot and declares that go to +school she shall not." + +The ladies moved away, chatting as they did so. The music kept up its +merry sounds; the young feet tripped happily over the polished floor; +all went on gaily, and Sylvia felt herself in paradise. Warmed and fed, +petted and surrounded by luxury, she looked a totally different creature +from the wild, defiant girl who had pushed past Audrey in order to have +a hearty meal on New Year's Day. + +But by and by the happy evening came to an end, and Sylvia ran up to +Evelyn. + +"It is time for me to go," she said. "I must say good night to Lady +Frances; and then will you take me to your room just to change my dress, +Evelyn?" + +"Oh, what a nuisance you are!" said Evelyn. "I am not thinking of going +to bed yet." + +"Yes; but you are at home, remember. I have to go to my home." + +"Well, I do not see why I should go to bed an hour before I wish to. Do +go if you wish, Sylvia; I will see you another time. You will find +Jasper up-stairs, and she will do anything for you you want." + +Sylvia said nothing more. She stood silent for a minute; then noticing +Lady Frances in the distance, she ran up to her. + +"Good night, Lady Frances," she said; "and thank you very much." + +"I am glad you have enjoyed yourself, Miss Leeson," said the lady. She +looked full into the sparkling eyes, and suddenly felt a curious drawing +towards the girl. "Tell me where you live," she said, "and who your +mother is; I should like to have the pleasure of calling on her." + +Sylvia's face suddenly became white. Her eyes took on a wild and +startled glance. + +"I have no mother," she said slowly; "and please do not call, Lady +Frances--please don't." + +"As you please, of course," said Lady Frances in a very stiff tone. "I +only thought----" + +"I cannot explain. I cannot help what you think of me. I know I shall +not see you, perhaps, ever again--I mean, ever again like this," said +Sylvia; "but thank you all the same." + +She made a low courtesy, but did not even see the hand which Lady +Frances was prepared to hold out. The next instant she was skimming +lightly up-stairs. + +"Audrey," said Lady Frances, turning to her daughter, "who is that +girl?" + +"I cannot tell you, mother. Her name is Sylvia Leeson. She lives +somewhere near, I suppose." + +"She is fairly well-bred, and undoubtedly handsome," said Lady Frances. +"I was attracted by her appearance, but when I asked her if I might call +on her mother she seemed distressed. She said her mother was dead, and +that I was not to call." + +"Poor girl!" said Audrey. "You upset her by talking about her mother, +perhaps." + +"I do not think that was it. Do you know anything at all about her, +Audrey?" + +"Nothing at all, mother, except that I suppose she lives in the +neighborhood, and I am sure she is desperately poor." + +"Poor, with that dress!" said Lady Frances. "My dear, you talk rubbish." + +Audrey opened her lips as if to speak; then she shut them again. + +"I think she is poor notwithstanding the dress," she said in a low +voice. "But where is she? Has she gone?" + +"She bade me good-night a minute ago and ran up-stairs." + +"But Evelyn has not gone up-stairs. Has she let her go alone?" + +"Just what I should expect of your cousin," said Lady Frances. + +Audrey crossed the hall and went up to Evelyn's side. + +"Do you notice that Sylvia has gone up-stairs?" she said. "Have you let +her go alone?" + +"Yes. Don't bother," said Evelyn.--"What are you saying, Bob?--that you +can cut the figure eight in----" + +Audrey turned away with an expression of disgust. A moment later she +said something to her friend Juliet and ran up-stairs herself. + +"What are we to do with Evelyn?" was her thought. + +The same thought was passing through the minds of almost all the matrons +present; but Evelyn herself imagined that she was most fascinating. + +Audrey went to Evelyn's bedroom. There she saw Sylvia already arrayed in +her ugly, tattered, and untidy dress. She looked like a different girl. +She was pinning her battered sailor-hat on her head; the color had left +her cheeks, and her eyes were no longer bright. When she saw Audrey she +pointed to the muslin dress, which was lying neatly folded on a chair. + +"I am going to take it home; it shall be washed, and you shall have it +back again." + +"Never mind about that," answered Audrey; "I would rather you did not +trouble." + +"Very well--as you like; and thank you, Miss Wynford, a hundred times. I +have had a heavenly evening--something to live for. I shall live on the +thoughts of it for many and many a day. Good night, Miss Wynford." + +"But stay!" cried Audrey--"stay! It is nearly midnight. How are you going +to get home?" + +"I shall get home all right," said Sylvia. + +"You cannot go alone." + +"Nonsense! Don't keep me, please." + +Before Audrey had time to say a word Sylvia had rushed down-stairs. A +side-door was open, she ran out into the night. Audrey stood still for a +moment; then she saw Jasper, who had come silently into the room. + +"Follow that young lady immediately," she said. "Or, stay! Send one of +the servants. The servant must find her and go home with her. I do not +know where she lives, but she cannot be allowed to go out by herself at +this hour of night." + +Jasper ran down-stairs, and Audrey waited in Evelyn's pretty bedroom. +Already there were symptoms all over the room of its new owner's +presence; a marked disarrangement of the furniture had already taken +place. The room, from being the very soul of order, seemed now to +represent the very spirit of unrest. Jasper came back, panting slightly. + +"I sent a man after the young lady, miss, but she is nowhere to be seen. +I suppose she knows how to find her way home." + +Audrey was silent for a minute or two; then taking up the dress which +Sylvia had worn, she hung it over her arm. + +"Shall I take that back to your room, miss?" + +"No, thank you; I will take it myself," replied the girl. + +She walked slowly down the passage, descended some steps, and entered +her own pretty room in a distant wing. She opened her wardrobe and hung +up the dress. + +"I do hope one thing," thought Audrey. "Yes, I earnestly hope that +mother will never, never discover that poor Sylvia wore my dress. Poor +Sylvia! Who is she? Where does she live? What is she?" + +Meanwhile Sylvia Leeson was walking fast through the dark and silent +night. She was not at all afraid; nor did she choose the frequented +paths. On the contrary, after plunging through the shrubbery, she +mounted a stile, got into a field, crossed it, squeezed through a hedge +at the farther end, and so, by devious paths and many unexpected +windings, found herself at the entrance of a curious, old-fashioned +house. The house was surrounded by thick yew-trees, which grew up almost +to the windows. There was a wall round it, and the enclosed space within +was evidently very confined. In the gleam of light which came now and +then through wintry, driving clouds, a stray flower-bed or a thick +holly-bush was visible, but the entire aspect of the place was gloomy, +neglected, and disagreeable in the extreme. Sylvia pushed a certain +spring in the gate; it immediately opened, and she let herself in. She +closed the gate softly and silently behind her, and then, looking +eagerly around, began to approach the house. The house stood not thirty +yards from the gate. Sylvia now for the first time showed symptoms of +fear. Suddenly a big dog in a kennel near uttered a bay. She called his +name. + +"Pilot, it is I," she said. + +The dog ambled towards her; she put her hand on his neck, bent down, and +kissed him on the forehead. He wagged his tail, and thrust his cold nose +into her hand. She then stood in a listening attitude, her head thrown +back; presently, still holding the dog by the collar, she went +softly--very softly--round the house. She came to a low window, which was +protected by some iron bars. + +"Good night, Pilot," she said then. "Good night, darling; go back and +guard the house." + +The dog trotted swiftly and silently away. When he was quite out of +sight Sylvia put up her hand and removed one bar from the six which +stood in front of the window. A moment later the window had been opened +and the girl had crept within. When inside she pushed the bar which had +been previously loosened back into its place, shut the window softly, +and crossing the room into which she had entered, stole up-stairs, +trembling as she did so. Suddenly a door from above was opened, a light +streamed across the passage, and a man's voice said: + +"Who goes there?" + +There was an instant's silence on the part of Sylvia. The voice repeated +the question in a louder key. + +"It is I, father," she answered. "I am going to bed. It is all right." + +"You impertinent girl!" said the man. "Where have you been all this +time? I missed you at dinner; I missed you at supper. Where have you +been?" + +"Doing no harm, father. It is all right; it is really. Good night, +father." + +The light, however, did not recede from the passage. A man stood in the +entrance to a room. Sylvia had to pass this man to get to her own +bedroom. She was thoroughly frightened now. She was shaking all over. As +she approached, the man took up the candle he held and let its light +fall full on her face. + +"Where have you been?" he said roughly. + +"Out, father--out; doing no harm." + +"What, my daughter--at this time of night! You know I cannot afford a +servant; you know all about me, and yet you desert me for hours and +hours. Aren't you ashamed of yourself? You have been out of doors all +this long time and supper ready for you on the table! Oatmeal and +skimmed milk--an excellent meal; a princess could not desire better. I am +keeping it for your breakfast. You shall have no supper now; you deserve +to go to bed supper-less, and you shall. What a disgraceful mess your +dress is in!" + +"There has been snow, and it is wintry and cold outside," replied +Sylvia; "and I am not hungry. Good night, father." + +"You think to get over me like that! You have no pity for me; you are a +most heartless girl. You shall not stir from here until you tell me +where you have been." + +"Then I will tell you, father. I know you'll be angry, but I cannot help +it. There is such a thing as dying for want of--oh, not for want of food, +and not for want of clothes--for want of pleasure, fun, life, the joy of +being alive. I did go, and I am not ashamed." + +"Where?" asked the man. + +"I went to Wynford Castle. I have spent the evening there. Now, you may +be as angry as you please, but you shall not scold me; no, not a word +until the morning." + +With a sudden movement the girl flitted past the angry man. The next +instant she had reached her room. She opened the door, shut it behind +her, and locked herself in. When she was quite alone she pulled off her +hat, and got with frantic speed out of her wet jacket; then she clasped +her hands high above her head. + +"How am I to bear it! What have I done that I should be so miserable?" +she thought. + +She flung herself across the bare, uninviting bed, and lay there for +some time sobbing heavily. All the joy and animation had left her young +frame; all the gaiety had departed from her. But presently her +passionate sobs came to an end; she undressed and got into bed. + +She was bitterly--most bitterly--cold, and it was a long time before the +meager clothes which covered her brought any degree of warmth to her +frame. But by-and-by she did doze off into a troubled slumber. In her +sleep she dreamt of her mother--her mother who was dead. + +She awoke presently, and opening her eyes in the midst of the darkness, +the thought of her dream came back to her. She remembered a certain +night in her life when she had been awakened suddenly to say good-by to +her mother. The mother had asked the father to leave the child alone +with her. + +"You will be always good to him, Sylvia?" she said then. "You will humor +him and be patient. I hand my work on to you. It was too much for me, +and God is taking me away, but I pass it on to you. If you promise to +take the burden and carry it, and not to fail, I shall die happy. Will +you, Sylvia--will you?" + +"What am I to do, mother?" asked the child. She was a girl of fourteen +then. + +"This," said the mother: "do not leave him whatever happens." + +"Do you mean it, mother? He may go away from here; he may go into the +country; he may--do anything. He may become worse--not better. Am I never +to be educated? Am I never to be happy? Do you mean it?" + +The dying woman looked solemnly at the eager child. + +"I mean it," she said; "and you must promise me that you will not leave +him whatever happens." + +"Then I promise you, mother," Sylvia had said. + + + + +CHAPTER IX.--BREAKFAST IN BED. + + +The day of Evelyn's freedom came to an end. No remark had been made with +regard to her extraordinary dress; no comments when she declined to +accompany her own special guest to her bedroom. She was allowed to have +her own sweet will. She went up-stairs very late, and, on the whole, not +discontented. She had enjoyed her chat with some of the strange children +who had arrived that afternoon. Lady Frances had scarcely looked at her. +That fact did not worry her in the least. She had said good-night in +quite a patronizing tone to both her aunt and uncle, she did not trouble +even to seek for Audrey, and went up to her room singing gaily to +herself. She had a fine, strong contralto voice, and she had not the +slightest idea of keeping it in suppression. She sang the chorus of a +common-place song which had been popular on the ranch. Lady Frances +quite shuddered as she heard her. Presently Evelyn reached her own room, +where Jasper was awaiting her. Jasper knew her young mistress +thoroughly. She had not the slightest idea of putting herself out too +much with regard to Evelyn, but at the same time she knew that Evelyn +would be very cross and disagreeable if she had not her comforts; +accordingly, the fire burned clear and bright, and there were +preparations for the young girl's favorite meal of chocolate and +biscuits already going on. + +"Oh dear!" said Evelyn, "I am tired; but we have had quite a good time. +Of course when the Castle belongs to me I shall always keep it packed +with company. There is no fun in a big place like this unless you have +heaps of guests. Aunt Frances was quite harmless to-night." + +"Harmless!" cried Jasper. + +"Yes; that is the word. She took no notice of me at all. I do not mind +that. Of course she is jealous, poor thing! And perhaps I can scarcely +wonder. But if she leaves me alone I will leave her alone." + +"You are conceited, Evelyn," said Jasper. "How could that grand and +stately lady be jealous of a little girl like yourself?" + +"I think she is, all the same," replied Evelyn. "And, by the way, +Jasper, I do not care for that tone of yours. Why do you call me a +little girl and speak as though you had no respect for me?" + +"I love you too well to respect you, darling," replied Jasper. + +"Love me too well! But I thought people never loved others unless they +respected them." + +"Yes, but they do," answered Jasper, with a short laugh. "How should I +love you if that was not the case?" + +Evelyn grew red and a puzzled expression flitted across her face. + +"I should like my chocolate," she said, sinking into a chair by the +fire. "Make it for me, please." + +Jasper did so without any comment. It was long past midnight; the little +clock on the mantelpiece pointed with its jeweled hands to twenty +minutes to one. + +"I shall not get up early," said Evelyn. "Aunt Frances was annoyed at my +not being down this morning, but she will have to bear it. You will get +me a very nice breakfast, won't you, dear old Jasper? When I wake you +will have things very cozy, won't you, Jas?" + +"Yes, darling; I'll do what I can. By the way, Evelyn, you ought not to +have let that poor Miss Sylvia come up here and go off by herself." + +Evelyn pouted. + +"I won't be scolded," she said. "You forget your place, Jasper. If you +go on like this it might really be best for you to go." + +"Oh, I meant nothing," said Jasper, in some alarm; "only it did seem--you +will forgive my saying it--not too kind." + +"I like Sylvia," said Evelyn; "she is handsome and she says funny +things. I mean to see a good deal more of her. Now I am sleepy, so you +may help me to get into bed." + +The spoilt child slept in unconscious bliss, and the next morning, +awaking late, desired Jasper to fetch her breakfast. Jasper rang the +bell. After a time a servant appeared. + +"Will you send Miss Wynford's breakfast up immediately?" said Jasper. + +The girl, a neat-looking housemaid, withdrew. She tapped at the door +again in a few minutes. + +"If you please, Miss Jasper," she said, "Lady Frances's orders are that +Miss Evelyn is to get up to breakfast." + +Jasper, with a slight smirk on her face, went into Evelyn's bedroom to +retail this message. Evelyn's face turned the color of chalk with +intense anger. + +"Impertinent woman!" she murmured. "Go down immediately yourself, +Jasper, and bring me up some breakfast. Go--do you hear? I will not be +ruled by Lady Frances." + +Jasper very unwillingly went down-stairs. She returned in about ten +minutes to inform Evelyn that it was quite useless, that Lady Frances +had given most positive orders, and that there was not a servant in the +house who would dare to disobey her. + +"But you would dare," said the angry child. "Why did you not go into the +larder and fetch the things yourself?" + +"The cook took care of that, Miss Evelyn; the larder door was locked." + +"Oh, dear me!" said Evelyn; "and I am so hungry." She began to cry. + +"Had you not better get up, Evelyn?" said the maid. "The servants told +me down-stairs that breakfast would be served in the breakfast-room +to-day up to ten o'clock." + +"Do you think I am going to let her have the victory over me?" said +Evelyn. "No; I shall not stir. I won't go to meals at all if this sort +of thing goes on. Oh, I am cruelly treated! I am--I am! And I am so +desperately hungry! Is not there even any chocolate left, Jasper?" + +"I am sorry to say there is not, dear--you finished it all, to the last +drop, last night; and the tin with the biscuits is empty also. There is +nothing to eat in this room. I am afraid you will have to hurry and +dress yourself--that is, if you want breakfast." + +"I won't stir," said Evelyn--"not if she comes to drag me out of bed with +cart-ropes." + +Jasper stood and stared at her young charge. + +"You are very silly, Miss Evelyn," she said. "You will have to submit to +her ladyship. You are only a very young girl, and you will find that you +cannot fight against her." + +Evelyn now covered her face with her handkerchief, and her sobs became +distressful. + +"Come, dear, come!" said Jasper not unkindly; "let me help you to get +into your clothes." + +But Evelyn pushed her devoted maid away with vigorous hands. + +"Don't touch me. I hate you!" she said.--"Oh mothery, mothery, why did +you die and leave me? Oh, your own little Evelyn is so wretched!" + +"Now, really, Miss Evelyn, I am angry with you. You are a silly child! +You can dress and go down-stairs and have as nice a breakfast as you +please. I heard them talking in the breakfast-room as I went by. They +were such a merry party!" + +"Much they care for me!" said Evelyn. + +"Well, they don't naturally unless you go and make yourself pleasant. +But there, Miss Evelyn! if you don't get up, I cannot do without my +breakfast, so I am going down to the servants' hall." + +"Oh! could not you bring me up a little bit of something, Jasper--even +bread--even dry bread? I don't mind how stale it is, for I am quite +desperately hungry." + +"Well, I'll try if I can smuggle something," said Jasper; "but I do not +believe I can, all the same." + +The woman departed, anxious for her meal. + +She came back in a little over half an hour, to find Evelyn sitting up +in bed, her eyes red from all the tears she had shed, and her face pale. + +"Well," she said, "have you brought up anything?" + +"Only hot water for your bath, my dear. I was not allowed to go off even +with a biscuit." + +"Oh dear! then I'll die--I really shall. You don't know how weak I am! +Aunt Frances will have killed me! Oh, this is too awful!" + +"You had better get up now, Miss Evelyn. You are very fat and stout, my +dear, and missing one meal will not kill you, so don't think it." + +"I know what I do think, Jasper, and that is that you are horrid!" said +Evelyn. + +But she had scarcely uttered the words before there came a low but very +distinct knock on the door. Jasper went to open it. Evelyn's heart began +to beat with a mixture of alarm and triumph. Of course this was some one +coming with her breakfast. Or could it be, possibly---- But no; even Lady +Frances would not go so far as to come to gloat over her victim's +miseries. + +Nevertheless, it was Lady Frances. She walked boldly into the room. + +"You can go, Jasper," she said. "I have something I wish to say to Miss +Wynford." + +Jasper, in considerable annoyance, withdrew, but returned after a minute +and placed her ear to the keyhole. Lady Frances did not greatly mind, +however, whether she was overheard or not. + +"Get up, Evelyn," she said. "Get up at once and dress yourself." + +"I--I don't want to get up," murmured Evelyn. + +"Come! I am waiting." + +Lady Frances sat down on a chair. Her eyes traveled slowly round the +disorderly room; displeasure grew greater in her face. + +"Get up, my dear--get up," she said. "I am waiting." + +"But I don't want to." + +"I am afraid your wanting to or not wanting to makes little or no +difference, Evelyn. I stay here until you get up. You need not hurry +yourself; I will give you until lunch-time if necessary, but until you +get up I stay here." + +"And if," said Evelyn in a tremulous voice, "I don't get up until after +lunch?" + +"Then you do without food; you have nothing to eat until you get up. +Now, do not let us discuss this point any longer; I want to be busy over +my accounts." + +Lady Frances drew a small table towards her, took a note-book and a +Letts's Diary from a bag at her side, and became absorbed in the +irritating task of counting up petty expenses. Lady Frances no more +looked at Evelyn than if she had not existed. The angry little girl in +the bed even ventured to make faces in the direction of the tyrannical +lady; but the tyrannical lady saw nothing. Jasper outside the door found +it no longer interesting to press her ear to the keyhole. She retired in +some trepidation, and presently made herself busy in Evelyn's boudoir. +For half an hour the conflict went on; then, as might be expected, +Evelyn gingerly and with intense dislike put one foot out of bed. + +Lady Frances saw nothing. She was now murmuring softly to herself. She +had long--very long--accounts to add up. + +Evelyn drew the foot back again. + +"Nasty, horrid, horrid thing!" she said to herself. "She shall not have +the victory. But, oh, I am so hungry!" was her next thought; "and she +does mean to conquer me. Oh, if only mothery were alive!" + +At the thought of her mother Evelyn burst into loud sobs. Surely these +would draw pity from that heart of stone! Not at all. Lady Frances went +calmly on with her occupation. + +Finally, Evelyn did get up. She was not accustomed to dressing herself, +and she did so very badly. Lady Frances did not take the slightest +notice. In about half an hour the untidy toilet was complete. Evelyn had +once more donned her crimson velvet dress. + +"I am ready," she said then, and she came up to Lady Frances's side. + +Lady Frances dropped her pencil, raised her eyes, and fixed them on +Evelyn's face. + +"Where do you keep your dresses?" she said. + +"I don't know. Jasper knows." + +"Is Jasper in the next room?" + +"Yes." + +"Go and fetch her." + +Evelyn obeyed. She imagined her head was giddy and that her legs were +too weak to enable her to walk steadily. + +"Jasper, come," she said in a tremulous voice. + +"Poor darling! Poor pet!" muttered Jasper in an injudicious undertone to +her afflicted charge. + +Lady Frances was now standing up. + +"Come here, Jasper," she said. "In which wardrobe do you keep Miss +Wynford's dresses?" + +"In this one, madam." + +"Open it and let me see." + +The maid obeyed. Lady Frances went to the wardrobe and felt amongst +skirts of different colors, different materials, and different degrees +of respectability. Without exception they were all unsuitable; but +presently she chose the least objectionable, an ugly drab frieze, and +lifting it herself from its hook, laid it on the bed. + +"Is there a bodice for this dress?" she asked of the maid. + +"Yes, madam. Miss Evelyn used to wear that on the ranch. She has +outgrown it rather." + +"Put it on your young mistress and let me see her." + +"I won't wear that horrid thing!" said Evelyn. + +"You will wear what I choose." + +Again Evelyn submitted. The dress was put on. It was not becoming, but +was at least quiet in appearance. + +"You will wear that to-day," said her aunt. "I will myself take you into +town this afternoon to get some suitable clothes.--Jasper, I wish Miss +Evelyn's present wardrobe to be neatly packed in her trunks." + +"Yes, madam." + +"No, no, Aunt Frances; you cannot mean it," said Evelyn. + +"My dear, I do.--Before you go, Jasper, I have one thing to say. I am +sorry, but I cannot help myself. Your late mistress wished you to remain +with Miss Wynford. I grieve to say that you are not the kind of person I +should wish to have the charge of her. I will myself get a suitable maid +to look after the young lady, and you can go this afternoon. I will pay +you well. I am sorry for this; it sounds cruel, but it is really cruel +to be kind.--Now, Evelyn, what is the matter?" + +"Only I hate you! Oh, how I hate you!" said Evelyn. "I wish mothery were +alive that she might fight you! Oh, you are a horrid woman! How I hate +you!" + +"When you come to yourself, Evelyn, and you are inclined to apologize +for your intemperate words, you can come down-stairs, where your belated +breakfast awaits you." + + + + +CHAPTER X.--JASPER WAS TO GO. + + +What will not hunger--real, healthy hunger--effect? Lady Frances, after +her last words, swept out of the room; and Jasper, her bosom heaving, +her black eyes flashing angry fire, looked full at her little charge. +What would Evelyn do now? The spoilt child, who could scarcely brook the +smallest contradiction, who had declined to get up even to breakfast, to +do without Jasper! To allow her friend Jasper to be torn from her +arms--Jasper, who had been her mother's dearest companion, who had sworn +to that mother that she would not leave Evelyn come what might, that she +would protect her against the tyrant aunt and the tyrant uncle, that if +necessary she would fight for her with the power which the law bestows! +Oh, what an awful moment had arrived! Jasper was to go. What would +Evelyn do now? + +Evelyn's first impulse had been all that was satisfactory. Her fury had +burst forth in wild, indignant words. But now, when the child and the +maid found themselves alone, Jasper waited in expectancy which was +almost certainty. Evelyn would not submit to this? She and her charge +would leave Castle Wynford together that very day. If they were +eventually parted, the law should part them. + +Still Evelyn was silent. + +"Oh Eve--my dear Miss Evelyn--my treasure!" said the afflicted woman. + +"Yes, Jasper?" said Evelyn then. "It is an awful nuisance." + +"A nuisance! Is that all you have got to say?" + +Evelyn rubbed her eyes. + +"I won't submit, of course," she said. "No, I won't submit for a minute. +But, Jasper, I must have some breakfast; I am too hungry for anything. +Perhaps you had better take all my darling, lovely clothes; and if you +have to go, Jasper, I'll--I'll never forget you; but I'll talk to you +more about it when I have had something to eat." + +Evelyn turned and left the room. She was in an ugly dress, beyond doubt, +but in her neat black shoes and stockings, and with her fair hair tied +back according to Lady Frances's directions, she looked rather more +presentable than she had done the previous day. She entered the +breakfast-room. The remains of a meal still lay upon the table. Evelyn +looked impatiently round. Surely some one ought to appear--a servant at +the very least! Hot tea she required, hot coffee, dishes nicely cooked +and tempting and fresh. The little girl went to the bell and rang it. A +footman appeared. + +"Get my breakfast immediately," said Evelyn. + +The man withdrew, endeavoring to hide a smile. Evelyn's conduct in +daring to defy Lady Frances had been the amusement of the servants' hall +that morning. The man went to the kitchen premises now with the +announcement that "miss" had come to her senses. + +"She is as white as a sheet, and looks as mad as a hatter," said the +man; "but her spirit ain't broke. My word! she 'ave got a will of her +own. 'My breakfast, immediate,' says she, as though she were the lady of +the manor." + +"Which she will be some day," said cook; "and I 'ates to think of it. +Our beautiful Miss Audrey supplanted by the like of her. There, Johnson! +my missus said that Miss Wynford was to have quite a plain breakfast, so +take it up--do." + +Toast, fresh tea, and one solitary new-laid egg were placed on a tray +and brought up to the breakfast-room. + +Evelyn sat down without a word, poured herself out some tea, ate every +crumb of toast, finished her egg, and felt refreshed. She had just +concluded her meal when Audrey, accompanied by Arthur Jervice, ran into +the room. + +"Oh, I say, Evelyn," cried Audrey, "you are the very person that we +want. We are getting up charades for to-night; will you join us?" + +"Yes, do, please," said Arthur. "And we are most anxious that Sylvia +should join too." + +"I wish I knew her address," said Audrey. "She is such a mystery! Mother +is rather disturbed about her. I am afraid, Arthur, we cannot have her +to-night; we must manage without.--But will you join us, Evelyn? Do you +know anything about acting?" + +"I have never acted, but I have seen plays," said Evelyn. "I am sure I +can manage all right. I'll do my best if you will give me a big part. I +won't take a little part, for it would not be suitable." + +Audrey colored and laughed. + +"Well, come, anyway, and we will do our best for you," she said. "Have +you finished your breakfast? The rest of us are in my schoolroom. You +have not been introduced to it yet. Come if you are ready; we are all +waiting." + +After her miserable morning, Evelyn considered this an agreeable change. +She had intended to go up-stairs to comfort Jasper, but really and truly +Jasper must wait. She accordingly went with her cousin, and was welcomed +by all the children, who pitied her and wanted to make her as much at +home as possible. A couple of charades were discussed, and Evelyn was +thoroughly satisfied with the _rle_ assigned her. She was a clever +child enough, and had some powers of mimicry. As the different +arrangements were being made she suddenly remembered something, and +uttered a cry. + +"Oh dear!" she said--"oh dear! What a pity!" + +"What is it now, Evelyn?" asked her cousin. + +"Why, your mother is so--I suppose I ought not to say it--your +mother--I---- There! I must not say that either. Your mother----" + +"Oh, for goodness' sake speak out!" said Audrey. "What has poor, dear +mother done?" + +"She is sending Jasper away; she is--she is. Oh, can I bear it? Don't you +think it is awful of her?" + +"I am sorry for you," said Audrey. + +"Jasper would be so useful," continued Evelyn. "She is such a splendid +actress; she could help me tremendously. I do wish she could stay even +till to-morrow. Cannot you ask Aunt Frances--cannot you, Audrey? I wish +you would." + +"I must not, Evelyn; mother cannot brook interference. She would not +dream of altering her plans just for a play.--Well," she added, looking +round at the rest of her guests, "I think we have arranged everything +now; we must meet here not later than three o'clock for rehearsal. Who +would like to go out?" she added. "The morning is lovely." + +The boys and girls picked up hats and cloaks and ran out immediately +into the grounds. Evelyn took the first covering she could find, and +joined the others. + +"They ought to consult me more," she said to herself. "I see there is no +help for it; I must live here for a bit and put Audrey down--that at +least is due to me. But when next there are people here I shall be +arranging the charades, and I shall invite them to go out into the +grounds. It is a great bother about Jasper; but there! she must bear it, +poor dear. She will be all right when I tell her that I will get her +back when the Castle belongs to me." + +Meanwhile Arthur, remembering his promise to Sylvia, ran away from where +the others were standing. The boy ran fast, hoping to see Sylvia. He had +taken a great fancy to her bright, dark eyes and her vivacious ways. + +"She promised to meet me," he said to himself. "She is certain to keep +her word." + +By and by he uttered a loud "Hullo!" and a slim young figure, in a +shabby crimson cloak, turned and came towards him. + +"Oh, it is you, Arthur!" said Sylvia. "Well, and how are they all?" + +"Quite well," replied the boy. "We are going to have charades to-night, +and I am to be the doctor in one. It is rather a difficult part, and I +hope I shall do it right. I never played in a charade before. That +little monkey Evelyn is to be the patient. I do hope she will behave +properly and not spoil everything. She is such an extraordinary child! +And of course she ought to have had quite one of the most unimportant +parts, but she would not hear of it. I wish you were going to play in +the charade, Sylvia." + +"I have often played in charades," said Sylvia, with a quick sigh. + +"Have you? How strange! You seem to have done everything." + +"I have done most things that girls of my age have done." + +Arthur looked at her with curiosity. There was--he could not help +noticing it, and he blushed very vividly as he did see--a very roughly +executed patch on the side of her shoe. On the other shoe, too, the toes +were worn white. They were shabby shoes, although the little feet they +encased were neat enough, with high insteps and narrow, tapering toes. +Sylvia knew quite well what was passing in Arthur's mind. After a moment +she spoke. + +"You wonder why I look poor," she said. "Sometimes, Arthur, appearances +deceive. I am not poor. It is my pleasure to wear very simple clothes, +and to eat very plain food, and----" + +"Not pleasure!" said Arthur. "You don't look as if it were your +pleasure. Why, Sylvia, I do believe you are hungry now!" + +Poor Sylvia was groaning inwardly, so keen was her hunger. + +"And I am as peckish as I can be," said the boy, a rapid thought +flashing through his mind. "The village is only a quarter of a mile from +here, and I know there are tuck-shops. Why should we not go and have a +lark all by ourselves? Who's to know, and who's to care? Will you come, +Sylvia?" + +"No, I cannot," replied Sylvia; "it is impossible. Thank you very much +indeed, Arthur. I am so glad to have seen you! I must go home, however, +in a minute or two. I was out all day yesterday, and there is a great +deal to be done." + +"But may I not come with you? Cannot I help you?" + +"No, thank you; indeed I could not possibly have you. It is very good of +you to offer, but I cannot have you, and I must not tell you why." + +"You do look so sad! Are you sure you cannot join the charades +to-night?" + +"Sure--certain," said Sylvia, with a little gasp. "And I am not sad," she +added; "there never was any one more merry. Listen to me now; I am going +to laugh the echoes up." + +They were standing where a defile of rocks stretched away to their left. +The stream ran straight between the narrow opening. The girl slightly +changed her position, raised her hand, and called out a clear "Hullo!" +It was echoed back from many points, growing fainter and fainter as it +died away. + +"And now you say I am not merry!" she exclaimed. "Listen." + +She laughed a ringing laugh. There never was anything more musical than +the way that laughter was taken up, as if there were a thousand sprites +laughing too. Sylvia turned her white face and looked full at Arthur. + +"Oh, I am such a merry girl!" she said, "and such a glad one! and such a +thankful one! And I am rich--not poor--but I like simple things. Good-by, +Arthur, for the present." + +"I will come and see you again. You are quite wonderful!" he said. "I +wish mother knew you. And I wish my sister Moss were here; I wish she +knew you." + +"Moss! What a curious name!" said Sylvia. + +"We have always called her that. She is just like moss, so soft and yet +so springy; so comfortable, and yet you dare not take too much liberty +with her. She is fragile, too, and mother had to take great care of her. +I should like you to see her; she would----" + +"What would she do?" asked Sylvia. + +"She would understand you; she would draw part at least of the trouble +away." + +"Oh! don't, Arthur--don't, don't read me like that," said the girl. + +The tears just dimmed her eyes. She dashed them away, laughed again +merrily, and the next moment had turned the corner and was lost to view. + + + + +CHAPTER XI.--"I CANNOT ALTER MY PLANS." + + +Immediately after lunch Lady Frances beckoned Evelyn to her side. + +"Go up-stairs and ask Jasper to dress you," she said. "The carriage will +be round in a few minutes." + +Evelyn wanted to expostulate. She looked full at Audrey. Surely Audrey +would protect her from the terrible infliction of a long drive alone +with Lady Frances! Audrey did catch Evelyn's beseeching glance; she took +a step forward. + +"Do you particularly want Evelyn this afternoon, mother?" she asked. + +"Yes, dear; if I did not want her I should not ask her to come with me." + +Lady Frances's words were very impressive; Audrey stood silent. + +"Please tell her--please tell her!" interrupted Evelyn in a voice +tremulous with passion. + +"We are going to have charades to-night, mother, and Evelyn's part is +somewhat important; we are all to rehearse in the schoolroom at three +o'clock." + +"And my part is very important," interrupted Evelyn again. + +"I am sorry," said Lady Frances, "but Evelyn must come with me. Is there +no one else to take the part, Audrey?" + +"Yes, mother; Sophie could do it. She has a very small part, and she is +a good actress, and Evelyn could easily do Sophie's part; but, all the +same, it will disappoint Eve." + +"I am sorry for that," said Lady Frances; "but I cannot alter my plans. +Give Sophie the part that Evelyn would have taken; Evelyn can take her +part.--You will have plenty of time, Evelyn, when you return to coach for +the small part." + +"Yes, you will, Evelyn; but I am sorry, all the same," said Audrey, and +she turned away. + +Evelyn's lips trembled. She stood motionless; then she slowly revolved +round, intending to fire some very angry words into Lady Frances's face; +but, lo and behold! there was no Lady Frances there. She had gone +up-stairs while Evelyn was lost in thought. + +Very quietly the little girl went up to her own room. Jasper, her eyes +almost swollen out of her head with crying, was there to wait on her. + +"I have been packing up, Miss Evelyn," she said. "I am to go this +afternoon. Her ladyship has made all arrangements, and a cab is to come +from the 'Green Man' in the village to fetch me and my luggage at +half-past three. It is almost past belief, Miss Eve, that you and me +should be parted like this." + +"You look horrid, Jasper, when you cry so hard!" said Evelyn. "Oh, of +course I am awfully sorry; I do not know how I shall live without you." + +"You will miss me a good bit," said the woman. "I am surprised, though, +that you should take it as you do. If you raised your voice and started +the whole place in an uproar you would be bound to have your own way. +But as it is, you are mum as you please; never a word out of you either +of sorrow or anything else, but off you go larking with those children +and forgetting the one who has made you, mended you, and done everything +on earth for you since long before your mother died." + +"Don't remind me of mothery now," said the girl, and her lips trembled; +then she added in a changed voice: "I cannot help it, Jasper. I have +been fighting ever since I came here, and I want to fight--oh, most +badly, most desperately!--but somehow the courage has gone out of me. I +am ever so sorry for you, Jasper, but I cannot help myself; I really +cannot." + +Jasper was silent. After a time she said slowly: + +"And your mother wrote a letter on her deathbed asking Lady Frances to +let me stay with you whatever happened." + +"I know," said Evelyn. "It is awful of her; it really is." + +"And do you think," continued the woman, "I am going to submit?" + +"Why, you must, Jasper. You cannot stay if they do not wish for you. And +you have got all your wages, have you not?" + +"I have, my dear; I have. Yes," continued the woman; "she thinks, of +course, that I am satisfied, and that I am going as mum as a mouse and +as quiet as the grave, but she is fine and mistook; I ain't doing +nothing of the sort. Go I must, but not far. I have a plan in my head. +It may come to nothing; but if it does come to something, as I hope to +goodness it will, then you will hear of me again, my pet, and I won't be +far off to protect you if the time should come that you need me. And +now, what do you want of me, my little lamb, for your face is piteous to +see?" + +"I am a miserable girl," said Evelyn. "I could cry for hours, but there +is no time. Dress me, then, for the last time, Jasper. Oh, Jasper +darling, I am fond of you!" + +Evelyn's stoical, hard sort of nature seemed to give way at this +juncture; she flung her arms round her maid's neck and kissed her many +times passionately. The woman kissed her, too, in a hungry sort of way. + +"You are really not going far away, Jasper?" said Evelyn when, dressed +in her coat and hat, she was ready to start. + +"My plans are laid but not made yet," said the woman. "You will hear +from me likely to-morrow, my love. And now, good-by. I have packed all +your things in the trunks they came in, and the wardrobe is empty. Oh, +my pet, my pet, good-by! Who will look after you to-night, and who will +sleep in the little white bed alongside of you? Oh, my darling, the +spirit of your Jasper is broke, that it is!" + +"Evelyn!" called her aunt, who was passing her room at that moment, "the +carriage is at the door. Come at once." + +Evelyn ran down-stairs. She wore a showy, unsuitable hat and a showy, +unsuitable jacket. She got quickly into the carriage, and flopped down +by the side of the stately Lady Frances. + +Lady Frances was a very judicious woman in her way. She reprimanded +whenever in her opinion it was necessary to reprimand, but she never +nagged. It needed but a glance to show her that Evelyn required to be +educated in every form of good-breeding, and that education the good +woman fully intended to take in hand without a moment's delay, but she +did not intend to find fault moment by moment. She said nothing, +therefore, either in praise or blame to the small, awkward, conceited +little girl by her side; but she gave orders to stop at Simpson's in the +High Street, and the carriage started briskly forward. Wynford Castle +was within half a mile of the village which was called after it, and +five miles away from a large and very important cathedral town--the +cathedral town of Easterly. During the drive Lady Frances chatted in the +sort of tone she would use to a small girl, and Evelyn gave short and +sulky replies. Finding that her conversation was not interesting to her +small guest, the good lady became silent and wrapped up in her own +thoughts. Presently they arrived at Simpson's, and there the lady and +the child got out and entered the shop. Evelyn was absolutely bewildered +by the amount of things which her aunt ordered for her. It is true that +she had had, as Jasper expressed it, quite a small trousseau when in +Paris; but during her mother's lifetime her dresses had come to her +slowly and with long intervals between. Mrs. Wynford had been a showy +but by no means a good dresser; she loved the gayest, most bizarre +colors, and she delighted in adorning her child with bits of feathers, +scraps of shabby lace, beads, and such-like decorations. After her +mother's death, when Evelyn, considered herself rich, she and Jasper +purchased the same sort of things, only using better materials. Thus the +thin silk was exchanged for thick silk, cotton-back satin for the real +article, velveteen for velvet, cheap lace for real lace, and the gaily +colored beads for gold chains and strings of pearls. Nothing in Evelyn's +opinion and nothing in Jasper's opinion could be more exquisitely +beautiful than the toilet which Evelyn brought to Castle Wynford; but +Lady Frances evidently thought otherwise. She ordered a dark-blue serge, +with a jacket to match, to be put in hand immediately for the little +girl; she bought a dark-gray dress, ready made, which was to be sent +home that same evening. She got a neat black hat to wear with the dress, +and a thick black pilot-cloth jacket to cover the small person of the +heiress. As to her evening-dresses, she chose them of fine, soft white +silk and fine, soft muslin; and then, having added a large store of +underclothing, all of the best quality, and one or two pale-pink and +pale-blue evening-frocks, all severely plain, she got once more into her +carriage, and, accompanied by Evelyn, drove home. On the seat in front +of the pair reposed a box which contained a very simple white muslin +frock for Evelyn to wear that evening. + +"I suppose Jasper will have gone when I get back?" said the little girl +to Lady Frances. + +"Certainly," said Lady Frances. "I ordered her to be out of the house by +half-past three; it is now past five o'clock." + +"What am I to do for a maid?" + +"My servant Read shall wait on you to-night and every evening and +morning until our guests have gone; then Audrey's maid Louisa will +attend on you." + +"But I want a maid all to myself." + +"You cannot have one. Louisa will give you what assistance is necessary. +I presume you do not want to be absolutely dependent; you would like to +be able to do things for yourself." + +"In mother's time I did everything for myself, but now it is different. +I am a very, very rich girl now." + +Lady Frances was silent when Evelyn made this remark. + +"I am rich, am I not, Aunt Frances?" said the little heiress almost +timidly. + +"I cannot see where the riches come in, Evelyn. At the present moment +you depend on your uncle for every penny that is spent upon you." + +"But I am the heiress!" + +"Let the future take care of itself. You are a little girl--small, +insignificant, and ignorant. You require to be trained and looked after, +and to have your character moulded, and for all these things you depend +on the kindness of your relations. The fact is this, Evelyn: at present +you have not the slightest idea of your true position. When you find +your level I shall have hopes of you--not before." + +Evelyn leant back hopelessly in the carriage and began to sob. After a +time she said: + +"I wish you would let me keep Jasper." + +Lady Frances was silent. + +"Why won't you let me keep Jasper?" + +"I do not consider it good for you." + +"But mothery asked you to." + +"It gives me pain, Evelyn, under the circumstances to refuse your +mother's request; but I have consulted your uncle, and we both feel that +the steps I have taken are the only ones to take." + +"Who will sleep in my room to-night?" + +"Are you such a baby as to need anybody?" + +"I never slept alone in my life. I am quite terrified. I suppose your +big, ancient house is haunted?" + +"Oh, what a silly child you are! Very well, for a night or two I will +humor you, and Read shall sleep in the room; but now clearly understand +I allow no bedroom suppers and no gossip--but Read will see to that. Now, +make up your mind to be happy and contented--in short, to submit to the +life which Providence has ordered for you. Think first of others and +last of yourself and you may be happy. Consult Audrey and Miss Sinclair +and you will gain wisdom. Obey me whether you like it or not, or you +will certainly be a very wretched girl. Ah! and here we are. You would +like to go to the schoolroom; they are having tea there, I believe. Run +off, dear; that will do for the present." + +When Evelyn reached the schoolroom she found a busy and animated group +all seated about in different parts of it. They were eagerly discussing +the charade, and when Evelyn arrived she was welcomed. + +"I am ever so sorry, Evelyn," said Audrey, "that you cannot have the +part you wanted; but we mean to get up some other charades later on in +the week, and then you shall help us and have a very good part. You do +not mind our arrangement for to-night, do you?" + +Evelyn replied somewhat sulkily. Audrey determined to take no notice. +She sat down by her little cousin, told Sophie to fetch some hot tea, +and soon coaxed Evelyn into a fairly good-humor. The small part she was +to undertake was read over to her, and she was obliged to get certain +words by heart. She had little or no idea of acting, but there was a +certain calm assurance about her which would carry her through many +difficulties. The children, incited by Audrey's example, were determined +to pet her and make the best of her; and when she did leave the +schoolroom she felt almost as happy and important as she thought she +ought to be. + +"What a horrid girl she is!" said Sophie as soon as the door had closed +behind Evelyn. + +"I wish you would not say that," remarked Audrey; and a look of distress +visited her pretty face. + +"Oh, we do not mind for ourselves," remarked Juliet; "it is on your +account, Audrey. You know what great friends we have always been, and +now to have you associated every day, and all day long with a girl of +that sort--it really seems almost past bearing." + +"I shall get used to it," said Audrey. "And remember that I pity her, +and am sorry--very sorry--for her. I dare say we shall win her over by +being kind." + +"Well," said Henrietta, rising as she spoke and slowly crossing the +room, "I have promised to be civil to her for your sake for a day or +two, but I vow it will not last long if she gives herself such +ridiculous airs. The idea of her ever having a place like this!" + +She said the last words below her breath, and Audrey did not hear them. +Presently her mother called her, and the young girl ran off. The others +looked at each other. + +"Well, Arthur, and what is filling your mind?" said his sister +Henrietta, looking into the face of the handsome boy. + +"I am thinking of Sylvia," he answered. "I wish she were here instead of +Evelyn. Don't you like her very much, Hennie? Don't you think she is a +very handsome and very interesting girl?" + +"I hardly spoke to her," replied Henrietta. "I saw you were taken with +her." + +"She was mysterious; that is one reason why I like her," he replied. +Then he added abruptly: "I wish you would make friends with her, +Henrietta. I wish you, and Juliet too, could be specially kind to her; +she looks so very sad." + +"I never saw a merrier girl," was Juliet's reply. "But then, I don't see +people with your eyes; you are always a good one at guessing people's +secrets." + +"I take after Moss in that," he replied. + +"There never was any one like her," said Juliet. "Well, I am going to +dress now. I hope the charade will go off well. What a blessing Lady +Frances came to the rescue and delivered us from Evelyn's spoiling +everything by taking a good part!" + +Meanwhile Evelyn had gone up to her room. It was neat and in perfect +order once more. Jasper's brief reign had passed and left no sign. The +fire burned brightly on the carefully swept-up hearth; the electric +light made the room bright as day. A neat, grave-looking woman was +standing by the fire, and when Evelyn appeared she came forward to meet +her. + +"My name is Mrs. Read," she said. "I am my mistress's own special maid, +but she has asked me to see to your toilet this evening, Miss Wynford; +and this, I understand, is the dress her ladyship wishes you to wear." + +Evelyn pouted; then she tossed off her hat and looked full up at Read. +Her lips quivered, and a troubled, pathetic light for the first time +filled her brown eyes. + +"Where is Jasper?" she asked abruptly. + +"Miss Jasper has left, my dear young lady." + +"Then I hate you, and I don't want you to dress me. You can go away," +said Evelyn. + +"I am sorry, Miss Wynford, but her ladyship's orders are that I am to +attend to your wardrobe. Perhaps you will allow me to do your hair and +put on your dress at once, as her ladyship wants me to go to her a +little later." + +"You will do nothing of the kind. I will dress myself now that Jasper +has gone." + +"And a good thing too, miss. Young ladies ought always to make +themselves useful. The more you know, the better off you will be; that +is my opinion." + +Evelyn looked full up at Read. Read had a kindly face, calm blue eyes, a +firm, imperturbable sort of mouth. She wore her hair very neatly banded +on each side of her head. Her dress was perfectly immaculate. There was +nothing out of place; she looked, in short, like the very soul of order. + +"Do you know who I am?" was Evelyn's remark. + +"Certainly I do, Miss Wynford." + +"Please tell me." + +The glimmer of a smile flitted across Read's calm mouth. + +"You are a young lady from Tasmania, niece to the Squire, and you have +come over here to be educated with Miss Audrey--bless her!" + +"Is that all you know!" said Evelyn. "Then I will tell you more. There +will come a day when your Miss Audrey will have nothing to do with the +Castle, and when I shall have everything to do with it. I am to be +mistress here any day, whenever my uncle dies." + +"My dear Miss Wynford, don't speak like that! The Squire is safe to +live, Providence permitting, for many a long year." + +Evelyn sat down again. + +"I think my aunt, Lady Frances, one of the cruellest women in the +world," she continued. "Now you know what I think, and you can tell her, +you nasty cross-patch. You can go away and tell her at once. I longed to +say so to her face when I was out driving to-day, but she has got the +upper hand of me, although she is not going to keep it. I don't want you +to help me; I hate you nearly as much as I hate her!" + +Read looked as though she did not hear a single remark that Evelyn made. +She crossed the room, and presently returned with a can of hot water and +poured some into a basin. + +"Now, miss," she said, "if you will wash your face and hands, I will +arrange your hair." + +There was something in her tone which reduced Evelyn to silence. + +"Did you not hear what I said?" she remarked after a minute. + +"No, miss; it may be more truthful to say I did not. When young ladies +talk silly, naughty words I have a 'abit of shutting up my ears; so it +ain't no manner of use to talk on to me, miss, for I don't hear, and I +won't hear, and that is flat. If you will come now, like a good little +lady, and allow yourself to be dressed, I have a bit of a surprise for +you; but you will not know about it before your toilet is complete." + +"A bit of a surprise!" said Evelyn, who was intensely curious. "What in +the world can it be?" + +"I will tell you when you are dressed, miss; and I must ask you to +hurry, for my mistress is waiting for me." + +If Evelyn had one overweening failing more than another, it was +inordinate curiosity. She rose, therefore, and submitted with a very bad +grace to Read's manipulations. Her face and hands were washed, and Read +proceeded to brush out the scanty flaxen locks. + +"Are you not going to pile my hair on the top of my head?" asked the +little girl. + +"Oh dear, no, Miss Wynford; that ain't at all the way little ladies of +your age wear their hair." + +"I always wore it like that when I was in Tasmania with mothery!" + +"Tasmania is not England, miss. It would not suit her ladyship for you +to wear your hair so." + +"Then I won't wear it any other way." + +"As you please, miss. I can put on your dress, and you can arrange your +hair yourself, but I won't give you what will be a bit of a surprise to +you." + +"Oh, do it as you please," said Evelyn. + +Her hair, very pretty in itself, although far too thin to make much +show, was accordingly arranged in childish fashion; and when Evelyn +presently found herself arrayed in her high-bodied and long-sleeved +white muslin dress, with white silk stockings and little silk shoes to +match, and a white sash round her waist, she gazed at herself in the +glass in puzzled wonder. + +Read stood for a moment watching her face. + +"I am pretty, am I not?" said Evelyn, turning and looking full at her +maid. + +"It is best not to think of looks, and it is downright sinful to talk of +them," was Read's somewhat severe answer. + +Evelyn's eyes twinkled. + +"I feel like a very good, pretty little girl," she said. "Last night I +was a charming grown-up young lady. Very soon again I shall be a +charming grown-up young lady, and whether Aunt Frances likes it or not, +I shall be much, much better-looking than Audrey. Now, please, I have +been good, and I want what you said you had for me." + +"It is a letter from Jasper," replied Read. "She told me I was to give +it to you. Now, please, miss, don't make yourself untidy. You look very +nice and suitable. When the gong rings you can go down-stairs, or sooner +if your fancy takes you. I am going off now to attend to my mistress." + +When alone, Evelyn tore open the letter which Jasper had left for her. +It was short, and ran as follows: + + My darling, precious Lamb,--The best friends must part, but, oh, it + is a black, black heart that makes it necessary! My heart is + bleeding to think that you won't have me to make your chocolate, and + to lie down in the little white bed by your side this evening. Yes, + it is bleeding, and bleeding badly, and there will be no blessing on + her who has tried to part us. But, Miss Evelyn, my dear, don't you + fret, for though I am away I do not mean to be far away, and when + you want me I will still be there. I have a plan in my head, and I + will let you know about it when it is properly laid. No more at + present, but if you think of me every minute to-night, so will I + think of you, my dear little white Eve; and don't forget, darling, + that whatever they may do to you, the time will come when they will + all, the Squire excepted, be under your thumb. + --Your loving + "Jasper." + +The morsel of content and satisfaction which Evelyn had felt when she +saw herself looking like a nice, ordinary little girl, and when she had +sat in the schoolroom surrounded by all the gay young folks of her +cousin's station in life, vanished completely as she read Jasper's +injudicious words. Tears flowed from her eyes; she clenched her hands. +She danced passionately about the room. She longed to tear from her +locks the white ribbons which Read had arranged there; she longed to get +into the white satin dress which she had worn on the previous occasion; +she longed to do anything on earth to defy Lady Frances; but, alack and +alas! what good were longings when the means of yielding to them were +denied?--for all that precious and fascinating wardrobe had been put into +Evelyn's traveling-trunks, and those trunks had been conveyed from the +blue-and-silver bedroom. The little girl found that she had to submit. + +"Well, I do--I do," she thought--"but only outwardly. Oh, she will never +break me in! Mothery darling, she will never break me in. I am going to +be naughty always, always, because she is so cruel, and because I hate +her, and because she has parted me from Jasper--your friend, my darling +mothery, your friend!" + + + + +CHAPTER XII.--HUNGER. + + +When Jasper was conveyed from Wynford Castle she drove to the "Green +Man" in the village. There she asked the landlady if she could give her +a small bedroom for the night. The landlady, a certain Mrs. Simpson, was +quite willing to oblige Miss Jasper. She was accommodated with a +bedroom, and having seen her boxes deposited there, wandered about the +village. She took the bearings of the place, which was small and +unimportant, and altogether devoted to the interests of the great folks +at Castle Wynford. Wynford village lived, indeed, for the Castle; +without the big house, as they called it, the villagers would have +little or no existence. The village received its patronage from the +Squire and his family. Every house in the village belonged to Squire +Wynford. The inhabitants regarded him as if he were their feudal lord. +He was kindly to all, sympathetic in sorrow, ready to rejoice when +bright moments visited each or any of his tenants. Lady Frances was an +admirable almoner of the different charities which came from the great +house. There was not a poor woman in the length and breadth of Wynford +village who was not perfectly well aware that her ladyship knew all +about her, even to her little sins and her small transgressions; all +about her struggles as well as her falls, her temptations as well as her +moments of victory. Lady Frances was loved and feared; the Squire was +loved and respected; Audrey was loved in the sort of passionate way in +which people will regard the girl who always has been to them more or +less a little princess. Therefore now, as Jasper walked slowly through +the village with the fading light falling all over her, she knew she was +a person of interest. Beyond doubt that was the case; but although the +villagers were interested in her, and peeped outside their houses to +watch her (even the grocer, who did a roaring trade, and took the tenor +solo on Sunday in the church choir, peered round his doorstep with the +others), she knew that she was favored with no admiring looks, and that +the villagers one and all were prepared to fight her. That was indeed +the case, for secrets are no secrets where a great family are concerned, +and the villagers knew that Jasper had come over from the other side of +the world with the real heiress. + +"A dowdy, ill-favored girl," they said one to the other; "but +nevertheless, when the Squire--bless him!--is gathered to his fathers, she +will reign in his stead, and sweet, darling, beautiful Miss Audrey will +be nowhere." + +They said this, repeating the disagreeable news one to the other, and +vowing each and all that they would never care for the Australian girl, +and never give her a welcome. + +As Jasper slowly walked she was conscious of the feeling of hostility +which surrounded her. + +"It won't do," she said to herself. "I meant to take up my abode at the +'Green Man,' and I meant that no one in the place should turn me out, +but I do not believe I shall be able to continue there; and yet, to go +far away from my sweet little Eve is not to be thought of. I have money +of my own. Her mother was a wise woman when she said to me, 'Jasper, the +time may come when you will need it; and although it belongs to Eve, you +must spend it as you think best in her service.' + +"It ain't much," thought Jasper to herself, "but it is sixty pounds, and +I have it in gold sovereigns, scattered here and there in my big black +trunk, and I mean to spend it in watching over the dear angel lamb. Mrs. +Simpson of the 'Green Man' would be the better of it, but she sha'n't +have much of it--of that I am resolved." + +So Jasper presently left the village and began strolling in the +direction where the river Earn flows between dark rocks until it loses +itself in a narrow stream among the peaceful hills. In that direction +lay The Priory, with its thick yew hedge and its shut-in appearance. + +As Jasper continued her walk she knew nothing of the near neighborhood +of The Priory, and no one in all the world was farther from her thoughts +than the pretty, tall slip of a girl who lived there. + +Now, it so happened that Sylvia was taking her walks abroad also in the +hour of dusk. It was one of her peculiarities never to spend an hour +that she could help indoors. She had to sleep indoors, and she had to +take what food she could manage to secure also under the roof which she +so hated; but, come rain or shine, storm or calm, every scrap of the +rest of her time was spent wandering about. To the amount of fresh air +which she breathed she owed her health and a good deal of her beauty. +She was out now as usual, her big mastiff, Pilot, bearing her company. +She was never afraid where she wandered with this protection, for Pilot +was a dog of sagacity, and would soon make matters too hot for any one +who meant harm to his young mistress. + +Sylvia walked slowly. She was thinking hard. "What a delightful time she +was having twenty-four hours ago! What a good dinner she was about to +eat! How pleasant it was to wear Audrey's pretty dress! How delightful +to dance in the hall and talk to Arthur Jervice! She wondered what his +sister with the curious name was like. How beautiful his face looked +when he spoke of her! + +"She must be lovely too," thought Sylvia. "And so restful! There is +nothing so cool and comfortable and peaceful as a mossy bank. I suppose +she is called Moss because she comforts people." + +Sylvia hurried a little. Presently she stood and looked around her to be +sure that no one was by. She then deliberately tightened her belt. + +"It makes me feel the pangs less," she thought. "Oh dear, how +delightful, how happy those must be who are never, never hungry! +Sometimes I can scarcely bear it; I almost feel that I could steal +something to have a big, big meal. What a lot I ate last night, and how +I longed to pocket even that great hunch of bread which was placed near +my plate! But I did not dare. I thought my big meal would keep off my +hunger to-day, but I believe it has made it worse than ever. I must have +a straight talk with father to-night. I must tell him plainly that, +however coarse the food, I must at least have enough of it. Oh dear, I +ache--I _ache_ for a good meal!" + +The poor girl stood still. Footsteps were heard approaching. They were +now close by. Pilot pricked up his ears and listened. A moment later +Jasper appeared on the scene. + +When she saw Sylvia she stopped, dropped a little courtesy, and said in +a semi-familiar tone: + +"And how are you this evening, Miss Leeson?" + +Sylvia had not seen her as she approached. The girl started now and +turned quickly round. + +"You are Jasper?" she said. "What are you doing here?" + +"Taking the air, miss. Have you any objection?" + +"None, of course," replied Sylvia. + +Had there been light enough to see, Jasper would have noticed that the +girl's face took on a cheerful expression. She laid her hand on Pilot's +forehead. Pilot growled. Sylvia said to him: + +"Be quiet; this is a friend." + +Pilot evidently understood the words. He wagged his bushy tail and +looked in Jasper's direction. Jasper came boldly up and laid her hand +beside Sylvia's on the dog's forehead. The tail wagged more +demonstratively. + +"You have won him," said Sylvia in a tone of delight. "Do you know, I am +glad, although I cannot tell why I should be." + +"He looks as if he could be very formidable," said Jasper.--"Ah, good +dog--good dog! Noble creature! So I am your friend? Good dog!" + +"But it must be rather unpleasant for visitors to come to call on you, +Miss Sylvia, with such a dog as that loose about the place. Now, I, for +instance----" + +"If you had a message from Evelyn for me," said Sylvia, "you could call +now with impunity. Strangers cannot; that is why father keeps Pilot. He +is trained never to touch any one, but he is also trained to keep every +one out. He does that in the best manner possible. He stands right in +the person's path and shows his big fangs and growls. Nobody would dream +of going past him; but you would be safe." + +Jasper stood silent. + +"It may be useful," she repeated. + +"You have not come now with a message from Evelyn?" said Sylvia, a +pathetic tone in her voice. + +"No, miss, I have not; but do you know, miss--do you know what has +happened to me?" + +"How should I?" replied Sylvia. + +"I am turned out, miss--turned out by her ladyship--I who had a letter +from Mrs. Wynford in Tasmania asking her ladyship to keep me always as +my little Evelyn's friend and nurse and guardian. Yes, Miss Sylvia, I am +turned away as though I were dirt. I am turned away, miss, although it +was only yesterday that her ladyship got the letter which the dying +mother wrote. It is hard, is it not, Miss Leeson? It is cruel, is it +not?" + +"Hard and cruel!" echoed Sylvia. "It is worse. It is a horrible sin. I +wonder you stand it!" + +"Now, miss, for such a pretty young lady I wonder you have not more +sense. Do you think I'd go if I could help it?" + +"What does Evelyn say?" asked Sylvia, intensely excited. + +"What does she say? Nothing. She is stunned, I take it; but she will +wake up and know what it means. No chocolate, and no one to sleep in the +little white bed by her side." + +"Oh, how she must enjoy her chocolate!" said poor Sylvia, a sigh of +longing in her voice. + +"I am grand at making it," said Jasper. "I have spent my life in many +out-of-the-way places. It was in Madrid I learnt to make chocolate; no +one can excel me with it. I'd like well to make a cup for you." + +"And I'd like to drink it," said Sylvia. + +"As well as I can see you in this light," continued Jasper, "you look as +if a cup of my chocolate would do you good. Chocolate made all of milk, +with plenty of bread and butter, is a meal which no one need despise. I +say, miss, shall we go back to the "Green Man," and shall you and me +have a bit of supper together? You would not be too proud to take it +with me although I am only my young lady's maid?" + +"I wish I could," said Sylvia. There was a wild desire in her heart, a +sort of passion of hunger. "But," she continued, "I cannot; I must go +home now." + +"Is your home near, miss?" + +"Oh yes; it is just at the other side of that wall. But please do not +talk of it--father hates people knowing. He likes us to live quite +solitary." + +"And it is a big house. Yes, I can see that," continued Jasper, peering +through the trees. + +Just then a young crescent moon showed its face, a bank of clouds swept +away to the left, and Jasper could distinctly see the square outline of +an ugly house. She saw something else also--the very white face of the +hungry Sylvia, the look which was almost starvation in her eyes. Jasper +was clever; she might not be highly educated in the ordinary sense, but +she had been taught to use her brains, and she had excellent brains to +use. Now, as she looked at the girl, an idea flashed through her mind. + +"For some extraordinary reason that child is downright hungry," she said +to herself. "Now, nothing would suit my purpose better." + +She came close to Sylvia and laid her hand on her arm. + +"I have taken a great fancy to you, miss," she said. + +"Have you?" answered Sylvia. + +"Yes, miss; and I am very lonely, and I don't mean to stay far away from +my dear young lady." + +"Are you going to live in the village?" asked Sylvia. + +"I have a room now at the 'Green Man,' Miss Leeson, but I don't mean to +stay there; I don't care for the landlady. And I don't want to be, so to +speak, under her ladyship's nose. Her ladyship has took a mortal hatred +to me, and as the village, so to speak, belongs to the Castle, if the +Castle was to inform the 'Green Man' that my absence was more to be +desired than my company, why, out I'd have to go. You can understand +that, can you not, miss?" + +"Yes--of course." + +"And it is the way with all the houses round here," continued Jasper; +"they are all under the thumb of the Castle--under the thumb of her +ladyship--and I cannot possibly stay near my dear young lady unless----" + +"Unless?" questioned Sylvia. + +"You was to give me shelter, miss, in your house." + +Sylvia backed away, absolute terror creeping over her face. + +"Oh! I could not," she said. "You do not know what you are asking. We +never have any one at The Priory. I could not possibly do it." + +"I'd pay you a pound a week," said Jasper, throwing down her trump +card--"a pound a week," she continued--"twenty whole shillings put in the +palm of that pretty little hand of yours, paid regularly in advance; and +you might have me in a big house like that without anybody knowing. I +heard you speak of the gentleman, your father; he need never know. Is +there not a room at The Priory which no one goes into, and could not I +sleep there? And you'd have money, miss--twenty shillings; and I'd feed +you up with chocolate, miss, and bread and butter, and--oh! lots of other +things. I have not been on a ranch in Tasmania for nothing. You could +hide me at The Priory, and you could keep me acquainted with all that +happened to my little Eve, and I'd pay for it, miss, and not a soul on +earth would be the wiser." + +"Oh, don't!" said Sylvia--"don't!" She covered her face with her hands; +she shook all over. "Don't tempt me!" she said. "Go away; do go away! Of +course I cannot have you. To deceive him--to shock him--why----Oh, I dare +not--I dare not! It would not be safe. There are times when he is +scarcely--yes, scarcely himself; and I must not try him too far. Oh, what +have I said?" + +"Nothing, my dear--nothing. You are a bit overcome. And now, shall I tell +you why?" + +"No, don't tell me anything more. Go; do go--do go!" + +"I will go," said Jasper, "after I have spoken. You are trembling, and +you are cold, and you are frightened--you who ought never to tremble; you +who under ordinary circumstances ought to know no fear; you who are +beautiful--yes, beautiful! But you tremble because that poor young body +of yours needs food and warmth--poor child!--I know." + +"Go!" said Sylvia. They were her only words. + +"I will go," answered Jasper after a pause; "but I will come again to +this same spot to-morrow night, and then you can answer me. Her ladyship +cannot turn me out between now and to-morrow night, and I will come then +for my answer." + +She turned and left Sylvia and went straight back to the village. + +Sylvia stood still for a minute after she had gone. She then turned very +slowly and re-entered The Priory grounds. A moment later she was in the +ugly, ill-furnished house. The hall into which she had admitted herself +was perfectly dark. There were no carpets on the floor, and the wind +whistled through the ill-fitting casements. The young girl fumbled about +until she found a box of matches. She struck one and lit a candle which +stood in a brass candlestick on a shelf. She then drearily mounted the +uncarpeted stairs. She went to her own room, and opening a box, looked +quickly and furtively around her. The box contained some crusts of bread +and a few dried figs. Sylvia counted the crusts with fingers that shook. +There were five. The crusts were not large, and they were dry. + +"I will eat one to-night," she said to herself, "and--yes, two of the +figs. I will not eat anything now. I wish Jasper had not tempted me. +Twenty shillings, and paid in advance; and father need never know! Lots +of room in the house! Yes; I know the one she could have, and I could +make it comfortable; and father never goes there--never. It is away +beyond the kitchen. I could make it very comfortable. She should have a +fire, and we could have our chocolate there. We must never, never have +any cooking that smells; we must never have anything fried; we must just +have plain things. Oh! I dare not think any more. Mother once said to +me, 'If your father ever, ever finds out, Sylvia, that you have deceived +him, all, all will be up.' I won't yield to temptation; it would be an +awful act of deceit. I cannot--I will not do it! If he will only give me +enough I will resist Jasper; but it is hard on a girl to be so +frightfully hungry." + +She sighed, pulled herself together, walked to the window, and looked up +at the watery moon. + +"My own mother," she whispered, "can you see me, and are you sorry for +me, and are you helping me?" + +Then she washed her hands, combed out her pretty, curly black hair, and +ran down-stairs. When she got half-way down she burst into a cheerful +song, and as she bounded into a room where a man sat crouching over a +few embers on the hearth her voice rose to positive gaiety. + +"Where have you been all this time?" said the querulous tones. + +"Learning a new song for you, dad. Come now; supper is ready." + +"Supper!" said the man. He rose, and turned and faced his daughter. + +He was a very thin man, with hair which must once have been as black as +Sylvia's own; his eyes, dark as the young girl's, were sunk so far back +in his head that they gleamed like half-burnt-out coals; his cheeks were +very hollow, and he gave a pathetic laugh as he turned and faced the +girl. + +"I have been making a calculation," he said, "and it is my firm +impression that we are spending a great deal more than is necessary. +There are further reductions which it is quite possible to make. But +come, child--come. How fat and well and strong you look, and how hearty +your voice is! You are a merry creature, Sylvia, and the joy of my life. +Were it not for you I should never hold out. And you are so good at +pinching and contriving, dear! But there, I give you too many luxuries +don't I, my little one? I spoil you, don't I? What did you say was +ready?" + +"Supper, father--supper." + +"Supper!" said Mr. Leeson. "Why, it seems only a moment ago that we +dined." + +"It is six hours ago, father." + +"Now, Sylvia, if there is one thing I dislike more than another, it is +that habit of yours of counting the hours between your meals. It is a +distinct trace of greediness and of the lower nature. Ah, my child, when +will you live high above your mere bodily desires? Supper, you say? I +shall not be able to eat a morsel, but I will go with you, dear, if you +like. Come, lead the way, my singing-bird; lead the way." + +Sylvia took a candle and lighted it. She then went on in front of her +father. They traversed a long and dark passage, and presently she threw +open the door of as melancholy and desolate a room as could be found +anywhere in England. + +The paper on the wall was scarcely perceptible, so worn was it by the +long passage of time. The floor was bare of any carpet; there was a deal +table at one end of the room; on the table a small white cloth had been +placed. A piece of bread was on a wooden platter on this table. There +was also a jug of water and a couple of baked potatoes. Sylvia had put +these potatoes into the oven before she went out, otherwise there would +not have been anything hot at all for the meager repast. The grate was +destitute of any fire; and although there were blinds to the windows, +there were no curtains. The night was a bitterly cold one, and the girl, +insufficiently clothed as well as unfed, shivered as she went into the +room. + +"What a palatial room this is!" said Mr. Leeson. "I really often think I +did wrong to come to this house. I have not the slightest doubt that my +neighbors imagine that I am a man of means. It is extremely wrong to +encourage that impression, and I trust, Sylvia, that you never by word +or action do so. A lady you are, my dear, and a lady you will look +whatever you wear; but that beautiful simplicity which rises above mere +dress and mere food is what I should like to inculcate in your nature, +my sweet child. Ah! potatoes--and hot! My dear Sylvia, was this +necessary?" + +"There are only two, father--one for you and one for me." + +"Well, well! I suppose the young must have their dainties as long as the +world lasts," said Mr. Leeson. "Sit down, my dear, and eat. I will stand +and watch you." + +"Won't you eat anything, father?" said the girl. A curious expression +filled her dark eyes. She longed for him to eat, and yet she could not +help thinking how supporting and soothing and satisfying both those +potatoes would be, and all that hunch of dry bread. + +Mr. Leeson paused before replying: + +"It would be impossible for you to eat more than one potato, and it +would be a sin that the other should be wasted. I may as well have it." +He dropped into a chair. "Not that I am the least hungry," he added as +he took the largest potato and put it on his plate. "Still, anything is +preferable to waste. What a pity it is that no one has discovered a use +for the skins, for these as a rule have absolutely to be wasted! When I +have gone through some abstruse calculations over which I am at present +engaged, I shall turn my attention to the matter. Quantities of +nourishing food are doubtless wasted every year by the manner in which +potato-skins are thrown away. Ah! and this bread, Sylvia--how long has it +been in the house?" + +"I got it exactly a week ago," said Sylvia. "It is quite the ordinary +kind." + +"It is too fresh, my dear. In future we must not eat new bread." + +"It is a week old, father." + +"Don't take me up in that captious way. I say we must not eat new bread. +It was only to-day I came across a book which said that bread when +turning slightly--very slightly--moldy satisfies the appetite far more +readily than new bread. Then you will see for yourself, Sylvia, that a +loaf of such bread may be made to go nearly as far as two loaves of the +ordinary kind. You follow me, do you not, singing-bird?" + +"Yes, father--yes. But may I eat my potato now while it is hot?" + +"How the young do crave for unnecessary indulgences!" said Mr. Leeson; +but he broke his own potato in half, and Sylvia seized the opportunity +to demolish hers. + +Alack and alas! when it was finished, every scrap of it, scarcely any +even of the skin being left, she felt almost more hungry than ever. She +stretched out her hand for the bread. Mr. Leeson raised his eyes as she +did so and gave her a reproachful glance. + +"You will be ill," he said. "You will suffer from a bilious attack. Take +it--take it if you want it; I am the last to interfere with your natural +appetite." + +Sylvia ate; she ate although her father's displeased eyes were fixed on +her face. She helped herself twice to the stale and untempting loaf. +Delicious it tasted. She could even have demolished every scrap of it +and still have felt half-wild with hunger. But she was eating it now to +give herself courage, for she had made up her mind--speak she must. + +The meal came to an end. Mr. Leeson had finished his potato; Sylvia had +very nearly consumed the bread. + +"There will be a very small breakfast to-morrow," he said in a mournful +tone; "but you, Sylvia, after your enormous supper, will scarcely +require a large one." + +Sylvia made no answer. She took her father's hand and walked back with +him through the passage. The fire was out now in the sitting-room; +Sylvia brought her father's greatcoat. + +"Put it on," she said. "I want to sit close to you, and I want to talk." + +He smiled at her and wrapped himself obediently in his coat. It was +lined with fur, a relic of bygone and happier days. Sylvia turned the +big fur collar up round his ears; then she drew herself close to him. +She seated herself on his lap. + +"Put your arm round me; I am cold," she said. + +"Cold, my dear little girl!" he said. "Why, so you are! How very +strange! It is doubtless from overeating." + +"No, father." + +"Why that 'No, father'? What a curious expression is in your voice, +Sylvia, my dear! Since your mother's death you have been my one comfort. +Heart and soul you have gone with me through the painful life which I am +obliged to lead. I know that I am doing the right thing. I am no longer +lavishly wasting that which has been entrusted to me, but am, on the +contrary, saving for the day of need. My dear girl, you and I have +planned our life of retrenchment. How much does our food cost us for a +week?" + +"Very, very little, father. Too little." + +"What do you mean by that?" + +"Father, forgive me; I must speak." + +"What is wrong?" + +Mr. Leeson pushed his daughter away. His eyes, which had been full of +kindness, grew sharp and became slightly narrowed; a watchful expression +came into his face. + +"Beware, Sylvia, how you agitate me; you know the consequences." + +"Since mother died," answered the girl, "I have never agitated you; I +have always tried to do exactly as you wished." + +"On the whole you have been a good girl; your one and only fault has +been your greediness. Last night, it is true, you displeased me very +deeply, but on your promise never to transgress so again I have forgiven +you." + +"Father," said Sylvia in a tremulous tone, "I must speak, and now. You +must not be angry, father; but you say that we spend too much on +housekeeping. We do not; we spend too little." + +"Sylvia!" + +"Yes; I am not going to be afraid," continued the girl. "You were +displeased with me to-night--yes, I know you were--because I nearly +finished the bread. I finished it because--because I was hungry; yes, +hungry. And, father, I do not mind how stale the bread is, nor how poor +the food, but I must--I must have enough. You do not give me enough. No, +you do not. I cannot bear the pain. I cannot bear the neuralgia. I +cannot bear the cold of this house. I want warmth, and I want food, and +I want clothes that will keep the chill away. That is all--just physical +things. I do not ask for fun, nor for companions of my own age, nor for +anything of that sort, but I do ask you, father, not to oblige me to +lead this miserable, starved life in the future." + +Sylvia paused; her courage, after all, was short-lived. The look on her +father's face arrested her words. He wore a stony look. His face, which +had been fairly animated, had lost almost all expression. The pupils of +his eyes were narrowed to a pin's point. Those eyes fixed themselves on +the girl's face as though they were gimlets, as though they meant to +pierce right into her very soul. Alarm now took the place of beseeching. + +"Never mind," she said--"never mind; it was just your wild little +rebellious Sylvia. Don't look at me like that. Don't--don't! Oh, I will +bear it--I will bear it! Don't look at me like that!" + +"Go to your room," was his answer, "at once. Go to your room." + +She was a spirited girl, but she crept out of the room as though some +one had beaten her. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII.--JASPER TO THE RESCUE. + + +The next evening, at the hour which she had named, Jasper walked down +the road which led to The Priory. She walked with a confident step; she +had very little doubt that Sylvia would be waiting for her. She was not +far wrong in her expectations. A girl, wrapped in a cloak, was standing +by a hedge. By the girl stood the mastiff Pilot. Pilot was not too well +fed, but he was better fed than Sylvia. It was necessary, according to +Mr. Leeson's ideas, that Pilot should be strong enough to guard The +Priory against thieves, against unwelcome, prying visitors--against the +whole of the human race. But even Pilot could be caught by guile, and +Sylvia was determined that he should be friends with Jasper. As Jasper +came up the road Sylvia advanced a step or two to meet her. + +"Well, dear," said Jasper in a cheerful tone, "am I to come in, and am I +to be welcome?" + +"You are to come in," said Sylvia. "I have made up my mind. I have been +preparing your room all day. If he finds it out I dare not think what +will happen. But come--do come; I am ready and waiting for you." + +"I thought you would be. I can fetch the rest of my things to-morrow. +Can we slip into my room now?" + +"We can. Come at once.--Pilot, remember that this lady is our friend.--One +moment, please, Jasper; I must be quite certain that Pilot does not do +you an injury.--Pilot, give your right paw to this lady." + +Pilot looked anxiously from Jasper to Sylvia; then, with a deliberate +movement, and a great expression of condescension on his face, he did +extend his right paw. Jasper took it. + +"Kiss him now just between his eyes," said Sylvia. + +"Good gracious, child! I never kissed a dog in my life." + +"Kiss him as you value your future safety. You surely do not want to be +a prisoner at The Priory!" + +"Heaven forbid!" said Jasper. "What I want to do, and what I mean to do, +is to parade before her ladyship just where her ladyship cannot touch +me. She could turn me out of every house in the place, but not from +here. I do not want to keep it any secret from her ladyship that I am +staying with you, Miss Sylvia." + +"We can talk of that afterwards," said Sylvia. "Come into the house +now." + +The two turned, the dog accompanying them. They passed through the heavy +iron gates and walked softly up the avenue. + +"What a close, dismal sort of place!" said Jasper. + +"Please--please do not speak so loud; father may overhear us." + +"Then mum's the word," said the woman. + +"Step on the grass here, please." + +Jasper did exactly as Sylvia directed her, and the result was that soon +the two found themselves in as empty a kitchen as Jasper had ever beheld +in the whole course of her life. + +"Sakes, child!" she cried, "is this where you cook your meals?" + +"The kitchen does quite well enough for our requirements," said Sylvia +in a low tone. + +"And where are you going to put me?" + +"In this room. I think in the happy days when the house was full this +room must have been used as the servants' hall. See, there is a nice +fireplace, with a good fire in it. I have drawn down the blinds, and I +have put thick curtains--the only thick curtains we possess--across the +windows. There are shutters too. If my father does walk abroad he cannot +see any light through this window. But I am sorry to say you can have a +fire only at night, for he would be very angry if he saw the smoke +ascending in the daytime." + +"Hard lines! But I suppose, as I made the offer, I must abide by it," +said Jasper. "The room looks bare but well enough. It is clean, I +suppose?" + +"It is about as clean as I can make it," said Sylvia, with a dreary +sigh. + +"As clean as you can make it? Have you not a servant, my dear?" + +"Oh no; we do not keep a servant." + +"Then I expect my work is cut out for me," said Jasper, who was +thoroughly good-natured, and had taken an immense fancy to Sylvia. + +"Please," said the girl earnestly, "you must not attempt to make the +place look the least bit better; if you do, father will find out, and +then----" + +"Find out!" said Jasper. "If I were you, you poor little thing, I would +let him. But there! I am in, and possession is everything. I have +brought my supper with me, and I thought maybe you would not mind +sharing it. I have it in this basket. This basket contains what I +require for the night and our supper as well. I pay you twenty shillings +a week, and buy my own coals, so I suppose at night at least I may have +a big fire." + +Here Jasper went to a large, old-fashioned wooden hod, and taking big +lumps of coal, put them on the fire. It blazed right merrily, and the +heat filled the room. Sylvia stole close to it and stretched out her +thin, white hands for the warmth. + +"How delicious!" she said. + +"You poor girl! Can you spend the rest of the evening with me?" + +"I must go to father. But, do you know, he has prohibited anything but +bread for supper." + +"What!" + +"He does not want it himself, and he says that I can do with bread. Oh, +I could if there were enough bread!" + +"You poor, poor child! Why, it was Providence which sent me all the way +from Tasmania to make you comfortable and to save the bit of life in +your body." + +"Oh, I cannot--I cannot!" said Sylvia. Her composure gave way; she sank +into a chair and burst into tears. + +"You cannot what, you poor child?" + +"Take everything from you. I--I am a lady. In reality we are rich--yes, +quite rich--only father has a craze, and he won't spend money. He hoards +instead of spending. It began in mother's lifetime, and he has got worse +and worse and worse. They say it is in the family, and his father had +it, and his father before him. When father was young he was extravagant, +and people thought that he would never inherit the craze of a miser; but +it has grown with his middle life, and if mother were alive now she +would not know him." + +"And you are the sufferer, you poor lamb!" + +"Yes; I get very hungry at times." + +"But, my dear, with twenty shillings a week you need not be hungry." + +"Oh no. I cannot realize it. But I have to be careful; father must not +see any difference." + +"We will have our meals here," said Jasper. + +"But we must not light a fire by day," said the girl. + +"Never mind; I can manage. Are there not such things as spirit-lamps? Oh +yes, I am a born cook. Now then, go away, my dear; have your meal of +bread with your father, say good-night to him, and then slip back to +me." + +Sylvia ran off almost joyfully. In about an hour she returned. During +that time Jasper had contrived to make a considerable change in the +room. The warmth of the fire filled every corner now the thick curtains +at the window looked almost cheerful; the heavy door tightly shut +allowed no cold air to penetrate. On the little table she had spread a +white cloth, and now that table was graced by a great jug of steaming +chocolate, a loaf of crisp white bread, and a little pat of butter; and +besides these things there were a small tongue and a tiny pot of jam. + +"Things look better, don't they?" said Jasper. "And now, my dearie, you +shall not only eat in this room, but you shall sleep in that warm bed in +which I have just put my own favorite hot-water bag." + +"But you--you?" said Sylvia. + +"I either lie down by your side or I stay in the chair by the fire. I am +going to warm you up and pet you, for you need it, you poor, brave +little girl!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV.--CHANGE OF PLANS. + + +A whole month had gone by since Jasper had left Evelyn, and Evelyn after +a fashion had grown accustomed to her absence. Considerable changes had +taken place in the little girl during that time. She was no longer +dressed in an _outr_ style. She wore her hair as any other very young +girl of her age would. She had ceased to consider herself grown-up; and +although she knew deep down in her heart that she was the heiress--that +by and by all the fine property would belong to her--and although she +still gloried in the fact, either fear, or perhaps the dawnings of a +better nature prevented her talking so much about it as she had done +during the early days of her stay at Castle Wynford. The guests had all +departed, and schoolroom life held sway over both the girls. Miss +Sinclair was the very soul of order; she insisted on meals being served +in the schoolroom to the minute, and schoolroom work being pursued with +regularity and method. There were so many hours for work and so many +hours for amusement. There were times when the girls might be present +with the Squire and Lady Frances, and times when they only enjoyed the +society of Miss Sinclair. There were masters for several +accomplishments, and the girls had horses to ride, and a pony-carriage +was placed at their disposal, and the hours were so full of occupation +that they went by on wings. Evelyn looked fifty times better and happier +than she had done when she first arrived at Castle Wynford, and even +Lady Frances was forced to own that the child was turning out better +than she expected. How long this comparatively happy state of things +might have lasted it is hard to say, but it was brought to an abrupt +conclusion by an event which occurred just then. This was no less than +the departure of kind Miss Sinclair. Her mother had died quite suddenly; +her father needed her at home. She could not even stay for the customary +period after giving notice of her intention to leave. Lady Frances, +under the circumstances, did not press her; and now the subject of how +the two girls were best to be educated was ceaselessly discussed. Lady +Frances was a born educationist; she had the greatest love for subjects +dealing with the education of the young. She had her own theories with +regard to this important matter, and when Miss Sinclair went away she +was for a time puzzled how to act. To get another governess was, of +course, the only thing to be done; but for a time she wavered much as to +the advisability of sending Evelyn to school. + +"I really think she ought to go," said Lady Frances to the Squire. "Even +now she does not half know her place. She has improved, I grant you, but +the thorough discipline of school would do her good." + +"You have never sent Audrey to school," was the Squire's answer. + +"I have not, certainly; but Audrey is so different." + +"I should not like anything to be done in Evelyn's case which has not +been done in Audrey's," was the Squire's reply. + +"But surely you cannot compare the girls!" + +"I do not intend to compare them. They are absolutely different. Audrey +is all that the heart of the proudest father could desire, and Evelyn is +still----" + +"A little savage at heart," interrupted Lady Frances. + +"Yes; but she is taming, and I think she has some fine points in +her--indeed, I am sure of it. She is, for instance, very affectionate." + +Lady Frances looked somewhat indignant. + +"I am tired of hearing of Evelyn's good qualities. When I perceive them +for myself I shall be the first to acknowledge them. But now, my dear +Edward, the point to be considered is this: What are we to do at once? +It is nearly the middle of the term. To give those two girls holidays +would be ruinous. There is an excellent school of a very superior sort +kept by the Misses Henderson in that large house just outside the +village. What do you say to their both going there until we can look +round us and find a suitable governess to take Miss Sinclair's place?" + +"If they both go it does not so much matter," said the Squire. "You can +arrange it in that way if you like, my dear Frances." + +Lady Frances gave a sigh of relief. She was much interested in the +Misses Henderson; she herself had helped them to start their school. +Accordingly, that very afternoon she ordered the carriage and drove to +Chepstow House. The Misses Henderson were expecting her, and received +her in state in their drawing-room. + +"You know what I have come about?" she said. "Now, the thing is this--can +you do it?" + +"I am quite certain of one thing," said the elder Miss Henderson--"that +there will be no stone left unturned on our parts to make the experiment +satisfactory." + +"Poor, dear Miss Sinclair--it is too terrible her having to leave!" said +Lady Frances. "We shall never get her like again. To find exactly the +governess for girls like my daughter and niece is no easy matter." + +"As to your dear daughter, she certainly will not be hard to manage," +said the younger Miss Henderson. + +"You are right, Miss Lucy," said Lady Frances, turning to her and +speaking with decision. "I have always endeavored to train Audrey in +those nice observances, those moral principles, and that high tone which +befits a girl who is a lady and who in the future will occupy a high +position." + +"But your niece--your niece; she is the real problem," said the elder +Miss Henderson. + +"Yes," answered Lady Frances, with a sigh. "When she came to me she was +little less than a savage. She has improved. I do not like her--I do not +pretend for a moment that I do--but I wish to give the poor child every +possible advantage, and I am anxious, if possible, that my prejudice +shall not weigh with me in any sense in my dealings with her; but she +requires very firm treatment." + +"She shall have it," said the elder Miss Henderson; and a look of +distinct pleasure crossed her face. "I have had refractory girls before +now," she said, "and I may add with confidence, Lady Frances, that I +have always broken them in. I do not expect to fail in the case of Miss +Wynford." + +"Firm discipline is essential," replied Lady Frances. "I told Miss +Sinclair so, and she agreed with me. I do not exactly know what her +method was, nor how she managed, but the child seemed happy, she learnt +her lessons correctly, and, in short, she has improved. I trust the +improvement will continue under your management." + +Here the good lady, after adding a few more words with regard to hours, +etc., took her leave. The girls were to go to Chepstow House as +day-pupils, and the work of their education at that distinguished school +was to begin on the following morning. + +Evelyn was rather pleased than otherwise when she heard that she was to +be sent to school. She had cried and flung her arms round Miss +Sinclair's neck when that lady was taking leave of her. Audrey, on the +contrary, had scarcely spoken; her face looked a little whiter than +usual, and her eyes a little darker. She took the governess's hand and +wrung it, and as she bent forward to kiss her again on the cheek, Miss +Sinclair kissed her and whispered something to her. But it was poor +Evelyn who cried. The carriage took the governess away, and the girls +looked at each other. + +"I did not know you could be so stony-hearted," said Evelyn. She took +out her handkerchief as she spoke and mopped her eyes. "Oh dear!" she +added, "I am quite broken-hearted without her. I am _such_ an +affectionate girl." + +"We had better prepare for school," said Audrey. "We are to go there +to-morrow morning, remember." + +"Yes," answered Evelyn, her eyes brightening; "and do you know, although +I am terribly sorry to part with dear Miss Sinclair, I am glad about +school. Mothery always wished me to go; she said that talents like mine +could never find a proper vent except in school-life. I wonder what sort +of girls there are at Chepstow House?" + +"I don't know anything about it," said Audrey. + +"Are you sorry to go, Audrey?" + +"Yes--rather. I have never been to school." + +"How funny it will be to see you looking shy and awkward! Will you be +shy and awkward?" + +"I don't think so. I hope not." + +"It would be fun to see it, all the same," said Evelyn. "But there, I am +going for a race; my legs are quite stiff for want of running. I used to +run such a lot in Tasmania on the ranch! Often and often I ran a whole +mile without stopping. Good-by for the present. I suppose I may do what +I like to-day." + +Evelyn rushed off into the grounds. She was running at full speed +through the shrubbery on her way to a big field, which was known as the +ten-acre field, on the other side of the turnstile, when she came full +tilt against her uncle. He stopped, took her hand, and looked kindly at +her. + +"Do you know, Uncle Edward," she said, "that I am going to school +to-morrow?" + +"So I hear, my dear little girl; and I hope you will be happy there." + +Evelyn made no reply. Her eyes sparkled. After a time she said slowly: + +"I am glad; mother wished me to go." + +"You love your mother's memory very much, do you not, Eve?" + +"Yes," she said; and tears came into her big, strange-looking eyes. "I +love her just as much as if she were alive," she continued--"better, I +think. Whenever I am sad she seems near to me." + +"You would do anything to please her, would you not, Eve?" + +"Yes," answered the child. + +"Well, I wish to say something to you. You had a great fight when you +came here, but I think to a certain extent you have conquered. Our ways +were not your ways--everything was strange--and at first, my dear little +girl, you rebelled, and were not very happy." + +"I was miserable--miserable!" + +"But you have done, on the whole, well; and if your mother could come +back again she would be pleased. I thought I should like to tell you." + +"But, please, Uncle Edward, why would mothery be pleased? She often told +me that I was not to submit; that I was to hold my own; that----" + +"My dear, she told you those things when she was on earth; but now, in +the presence of God, she has learnt many new lessons, and I am sure, +could she now speak to you, she would tell you that you did right to +submit, and were doing well when you tried to please me, for instance." + +"Why you, Uncle Edward?" + +"Because I am your father's brother, and because I loved your father +better than any one on earth." + +"Better than Aunt Frances?" said Evelyn, with a sparkle of pleasure in +her eyes. + +"In a different, quite a different way. Ay, I loved him well, and I +would do my utmost to promote the happiness of his child." + +"I love you," said the little girl. "I am glad--I am _glad_ that you are +my uncle." + +She raised his hand, pressed it to her lips, and the next moment was +lost to view. + +"Queer, erratic little soul!" thought Squire Wynford to himself. "If +only we can train her aright! I often feel that Frank is watching me, +and wondering how I am dealing with the child. It seems almost cruel +that Frances should dislike her, but I trust in the end all will be +well." + +Meanwhile Evelyn, having tired herself racing round the ten-acre field, +suddenly conceived a daring idea. She had known long ere this that her +beloved Jasper was not in reality out of reach. More than once the maid +and the little girl had met. These meetings were by no means conducive +to Evelyn's best interests, but they added a great spice of excitement +to her life; and the thought of seeing her now, and telling her of the +change which was about to take place with regard to her education, was +too great a temptation to be resisted. Evelyn accordingly, skirting the +high-roads and making many detours through fields and lanes, presently +arrived close to The Priory. She had never ventured yet into The Priory; +she had as a rule sent a message to Jasper, and Jasper had waited for +her outside. She knew now that she must be quick or she would be late +for lunch. She did not want on this day of all days to seriously +displease Lady Frances. She went, therefore, boldly up to the gate, +pushed it open, and entered. Here she was immediately confronted by +Pilot. Pilot walked down the path, uttered one or two deep bays, growled +audibly, and showed his strong white teeth. Whatever Evelyn's faults +were, she was no coward. An angry dog standing in her path was not going +to deter her. But she was afraid of something else. Jasper had told her +how insecure her tenure at The Priory was--how it all absolutely depended +on Mr. Leeson never finding out that she was there. Evelyn therefore did +not want to bring Mr. Leeson to her rescue. Were there no means by which +she could induce Pilot to let her pass? She went boldly up to the dog. +The dog growled more fiercely, and put himself in an attitude which the +little girl knew well meant that he was going to spring. She did not +want him to bound upon her; she knew he was much stronger than herself. + +"Good, good dog--good, good," she said. + +But Pilot, exasperated beyond measure, began to bark savagely. + +Who was this small girl who dared to defy him? His custom was to stand +as he stood to-day and terrify every one off the premises. But this +small person did not mean to go. He therefore really lost his temper, +and became decidedly dangerous. + +Mr. Leeson, in his study, was busily engaged over some of that abstruse +work which occupied all his time. He was annoyed at Pilot's barking, and +went to the window to ascertain the cause. He saw a stumpy, +stout-looking little girl standing on the path, and Pilot barring her +way. He opened the window and called out: + +"Go away, child; go away. We don't have visitors here. Go away +immediately, and shut the gate firmly after you." + +"But, if you please," said Evelyn, "I cannot go away. I want to see +Sylvia." + +"You cannot see her. Go away." + +"No, I won't," said Evelyn, her courage coming now boldly to her aid. "I +have come here on business, and I must see Sylvia. You dare not let your +horrid dog spring on me; and I am going to stand just where I am till +Sylvia comes." + +These very independent words astonished Mr. Leeson so much that he +absolutely went out of the house and came down the avenue to meet +Evelyn. + +"Who are you, child?" he said, as the bold light eyes were fixed on his +face. + +"I am Evelyn Wynford, the heiress of Wynford Castle." + +A twinkle of mirth came into Mr. Leeson's eyes. + +"And so you want Sylvia, heiress of Wynford Castle?" + +"Yes; I want to speak to her." + +"She is not in at present. She is never in at this hour. Sylvia likes an +open-air life, and I am glad to encourage her in her taste. May I show +you to the gate?" + +"Thank you," replied Evelyn, who felt considerably crestfallen. + +Mr. Leeson, with his very best manners, accompanied the little girl to +the high iron gates. These he opened, bowed to her as she passed through +them, and then shut them in her face, drawing a big bar inside as he did +so. + +"Good Pilot--excellent, brave, admirable dog!" Evelyn heard him say; and +she ground her small white teeth in anger. + +A moment or two later, to her infinite delight, she saw Jasper coming up +the road to meet her. In an instant the child and maid were in each +other's arms. Evelyn was petting Jasper, and kissing her over and over +again on her dark cheek. + +"Oh Jasper," said the little girl, "I got such a fright! I came here to +see you, and I was met by that horrible dog; and then a dreadful-looking +old man came out and told me I was to go right away, and he petted the +dog for trying to attack me. I was not frightened, of course--it is not +likely that mothery's little girl would be easily afraid--but, all the +same, it was not pleasant. Why do you live in such a horrid, horrid +place, Jasper darling?" + +"Why do I live there?" answered Jasper. "Now, look at me--look me full in +the face. I live in that house because Providence wills it, +because--because---- Oh, I need not waste time telling you the reason. I +live there because I am near to you, and for another reason; and I hope +to goodness that you have not gone and made mischief, for if that +dreadful old man, as you call him, finds out for a single moment that I +am there, good-by to poor Miss Sylvia's chance of life." + +"You are quite silly about Sylvia," said Evelyn in a jealous tone. + +"She is a very fine, brave young lady," was Jasper's answer. + +"I wish you would not talk of her like that; you make me feel quite +cross." + +"You always were a jealous little piece," said Jasper, giving her former +charge a look of admiration; "but you need not be, Eve, for no one--no +one shall come inside my little white Eve. But there, now; do tell me. +You did not say anything about me to Mr. Leeson?" + +"No, I did not," said Evelyn. "I only told him I had come to see Sylvia. +Was it not good of me, Jasper? Was it not clever and smart?" + +"It was like you, pet," said Jasper. "You always were the canniest +little thing--always, always." + +Evelyn was delighted at these words of praise. + +"But how did you get here, my pet? Does her ladyship know you are out?" + +"No, her ladyship does not," replied Evelyn, with a laugh. "I should be +very sorry to let her know, either. I came here all by myself because I +wanted to see you, Jasper. I have got news for you." + +"Indeed, pet; and what is that?" + +"Cannot you guess?" + +"Oh, how can I? Perhaps that you have got courage and are sleeping by +yourself. You cannot stand that horrid old Read; you would rather be +alone than have her near you." + +"Read has not slept in my room for over three weeks," said Evelyn +proudly. "I am not at all nervous now. It was Miss Sinclair who told me +how silly I was to want any one to sleep close to me." + +"But you would like your old Jasper again?" + +"Yes--oh yes; you are different." + +"Well, and what is the change, dear?" + +"It is this: poor Miss Sinclair--dear, nice Miss Sinclair--has been +obliged to leave." + +"Oh, well, I am not sorry for that," said Jasper. "I was getting a bit +jealous of her. You seemed to be getting on so well with her." + +"So I was. I quite loved her; she made my lessons so interesting. But +what do you think, Jasper? Although I am very sorry she has gone, I am +glad about the other thing. Audrey and I are going to school, as daily +boarders, just outside the village; Chepstow House it is called. We are +going to-morrow morning. Mothery would like that; she always did want me +to go to school. I am glad. Are you not glad too, Jasper?" + +"That depends," said Jasper in an oracular voice. + +"What does it all depend on? Why do you speak in that funny way?" + +"It depends on you, my dear. I have heard a great deal about schools. +Some are nice and some are not. In some they give you a lot of freedom, +and you are petted and fussed over; in others they discipline you. When +you are disciplined you don't like it. If I were you----" + +"Yes--what?" + +"I would stay there if I liked it, and if I did not I would not stay. I +would not have my spirit broke. They often break your spirit at school. +I would not put up with that if I were you." + +"I am sure they won't break my spirit," said Evelyn in a tone of alarm. +"Why do you speak so dismally, Jasper? Do you know, I am almost sorry I +told you. I was so happy at the thought of going, and now you have made +me miserable. No, there is not the slightest fear that they will break +my spirit." + +"Then that is all right, dear. Don't forget that you are the heiress." + +"I could let them know at school, could I not?" + +"I would if I were you," said the injudicious woman. "I would tell the +girls if I were you." + +"Oh yes; so I can. I wonder if they will be nice girls at Chepstow +House?" + +"You let them feel your power, and don't knock under to any of them," +said Jasper. "And now, my dear, I must really send you home. There, I'll +walk a bit of the way back with you. You are looking very bonny, my +little white Eve; you have got quite a nice color in your cheeks. I am +glad you are well; and I am glad, too, that the governess has gone, for +I don't want her to get the better of me. Remember what I said about +school." + +"That I will, Jasper; I'll be sure to remember." + +"It would please her ladyship if you got on well there," continued +Jasper. + +"I don't want to please Aunt Frances." + +"Of course you don't. Nasty, horrid thing! I shall never forgive her for +turning me off. Now then, dear, you had best run home. I don't want her +to see us talking together. Good-by, pet; good-by." + + + + +CHAPTER XV.--SCHOOL. + + +The girls at Chepstow House were quite excited at the advent of Audrey +and Evelyn. They were nice girls, nearly all of them; they were ladies, +too, of a good class; but they had not been at Chepstow House long +without coming under the influence of what dominated the entire +place--that big house on the hill, with its castellated roof and its +tower, its moat too, and its big, big gardens, its spacious park, and +all its surroundings. It was a place to talk to their friends at home +about, and to think of and wonder over when at school. The girls at +Chepstow House had often looked with envy at Audrey as she rode by on +her pretty Arab pony. They talked of her to each other; they criticised +her appearance; they praised her actions. She was a sort of princess to +them. Then there appeared on the scene another little princess--a strange +child, without style, without manners, without any personal attractions; +and this child, it was whispered, was the real heiress. By and by pretty +Audrey would cease to live at Castle Wynford, and the little girl with +the extraordinary face would be monarch of all she surveyed. The girls +commented over this story amongst each other, as girls will; and when +the younger Miss Henderson--Miss Lucy, as they called her--told them that +Audrey Wynford and her cousin Evelyn were coming as schoolgirls to +Chepstow House their excitement knew no bounds. + +"They are coming here," said Miss Lucy, "and I trust that all you girls +who belong to the house will treat them as they ought to be treated." + +"And how is that, Miss Lucy?" said Brenda Fox, the tallest and most +important girl in the school. + +"You must treat them as ladies, but at the same time as absolutely your +equals in every respect," said Miss Lucy. "They are coming to school +partly to find their level; we must be kind to them, but there is to be +no difference made between them and the rest of you. Now, Brenda, go +with the other girls into the Blue Parlor and attend to your preparation +for Signor Forre." + +Brenda and her companions went away, and during the rest of the day, +whenever they had a spare moment, the girls talked over Audrey and +Evelyn. + +The next morning the cousins arrived. They came in Audrey's pretty +governess-cart, and Audrey drove the fat pony herself. A groom took it +back to the Castle, with orders to come for his young ladies at six in +the evening, for Lady Frances had arranged that the girls were to have +both early dinner and tea at school. + +They both entered the house, and even Audrey just for a moment felt +slightly nervous. The elder Miss Henderson took them into her private +sitting-room, asked them a few questions, and then, desiring them to +follow her, went down a long passage which led into the large +schoolroom. Here the girls, about forty in number, were all assembled. +Miss Henderson introduced the new pupils with a few brief words. She +then went up to Miss Lucy and asked her, as soon as prayers were over, +to question both Audrey and Evelyn with regard to their attainments, and +to put them into suitable classes. + +The Misses Wynford sat side by side during prayers, and immediately +afterwards were taken into Miss Lucy's private sitting-room. Here a very +vigorous examination ensued, with the result that Audrey was promoted to +take her place with the head girls, and Evelyn was conducted to the +Fourth Form. Her companions received her with smiling eyes and beaming +looks. She felt rather cross, however; and was even more so when the +English teacher, Miss Thompson, set her some work to do. Evelyn was +extremely backward with regard to her general education. But Miss +Sinclair had such marvelous tact, that, while she instructed the little +girl and gave her lessons which were calculated to bring out her best +abilities, she never let her feel her real ignorance. At school, +however, all this state of things was reversed. Audrey, calm and +dignified, took a high position in the school; and Evelyn was simply, in +her own opinion, nowhere. A sulky expression clouded her face. She +thought of Jasper's words, and determined that no one should break her +spirit. + +"You will read over the reign of Edward I., and I will question you +about it when morning school is over," said Miss Thompson in a pleasant +tone. "After recreation I will give you your lessons to prepare for +to-morrow. Now, please attend to your book. You will be able to take +your proper place in class to-morrow." + +Miss Thompson as she spoke handed a History of England to the little +girl. The History was dry, and the reign, in Evelyn's opinion, not worth +reading. She glanced at it, then turned the book, open as it was, upside +down on her desk, rested her elbows on it, and looked calmly around her. + +"Take up your book, Miss Wynford, and read it," said Miss Thompson. + +Evelyn smiled quietly. + +"I know all about the reign," she said. "I need not read the history any +more." + +The other girls smiled. Miss Thompson thought it best to take no notice. +The work of the school proceeded; and at last, when recess came, the +English teacher called the little girl to her. + +"Now I must question you," she said. "You say you know the reign of +Edward I. Let me hear what you do know. Stand in front of me, please; +put your hands behind your back. So." + +"I prefer to keep my hands where they are," said Evelyn. + +"Do what I say. Stand upright. Now then!" + +Miss Thompson began catechizing. Evelyn's crass ignorance instantly +appeared. She knew nothing whatever of that special period of English +history; indeed, at that time her knowledge of any history was +practically _nil_. + +"I am sorry you told me what was not true with regard to the reign of +Edward I.," said the governess. "In this school we are very strict and +particular. I will say nothing further on the matter to-day; but you +will stay here and read over the history during recess." + +"What!" cried Evelyn, her face turning white. "Am I not to have my +recreation?" + +"Recess only lasts for twenty minutes; you will have to do without your +amusement in the playground this morning. To-morrow I hope you will have +got through your lessons well and be privileged to enjoy your pastime +with the other pupils." + +"Do you know who I am?" began Evelyn. + +"Yes--perfectly. You are little Evelyn Wynford. Now be a good girl, +Evelyn, and attend to your work." + +Miss Thompson left the room. Evelyn found herself alone. A wild fury +consumed her. She jumped up. + +"Does she think for a single moment that I am going to obey her?" +thought the naughty child. "Oh, if only Jasper were here! Oh Jasper! you +were right; they are trying to break me in, but they won't succeed." + +A book which the governess had laid upon a table near attracted the +little girl's attention. It was not an ordinary lesson-book, but a very +beautiful copy of Ruskin's _Sesame and Lilies_. Evelyn took up the book, +opened it, and read the following words on the title-page: + +"To dear Agnes, from her affectionate brother Walter. Christmas Day, +1896." + +Quick as thought the angry child tore out the title-page and two or +three other pages at the beginning, scattered them into little bits, and +then, going up to the fire which burned at one end of the long room, +flung the scattered fragments into the blaze. She had no sooner done so +than a curious sense of dismay stole over her. She shut up the book +hastily, and being really alarmed, began to look over her English +history. Miss Thompson came back just before recess was over, picked up +Evelyn's book, asked her one or two questions, and gave her an approving +nod. + +"That is better," she said. "You have done as much as I could expect in +the time. Now then, come here, please. These are your English lessons +for to-morrow." + +Evelyn walked quite meekly across the room. Miss Thompson set her +several lessons in the ordinary English subjects. + +"And now," she said, "you are to go to mademoiselle. She is waiting to +find out what French you know, and to give you your lesson for +to-morrow." + +The rest of the school hours passed quickly. Evelyn was given what she +considered a disgraceful amount of work to do; but a dull fear sat at +her heart, and she felt a sense of regret at having torn the pages out +of the volume of Ruskin. Immediately after morning school the girls went +for a short walk, then dinner was announced, and after dinner there was +a brief period of freedom. Evelyn, Audrey, and the rest all found +themselves walking in the grounds. Brenda Fox immediately went up to +Audrey, and introduced her to a few of the nicest girls in the head +form, and they all began to pace slowly up and down. Evelyn stood just +for an instant forlorn; then she dashed into the midst of a circle of +little girls who were playing noisily together. + +"Stop!" she said. "Look at me, all of you." + +The children stopped playing, and looked in wonder at Evelyn. + +"I am Evelyn Wynford. Who is going to be my friend? I shall only take up +with the one I really like. I am not afraid of any of you. I have come +to school to find out if I like it; if I don't like it I shall not stay. +You had best, all of you, know what sort I am. It was very mean and +horrid to put me into the Fourth Form with a number of ignorant little +babies; but as I am there, I suppose I shall have to stay for a week or +so." + +"You were put into the Fourth Form," said little Sophie Jenner, +"because, I suppose, you did not know enough to be put into the Fifth +Form." + +"You are a cheeky little thing," said Evelyn, "and I am not going to +trouble myself to reply to you.--Well, now, who is going to be my friend? +I can tell you all numbers of stories; I have heaps of pocket-money, and +I can bring chocolate-creams and ginger-pop and all sorts of good things +to the school." + +These last remarks were decidedly calculated to ensure Evelyn's +popularity. Two or three of the girls ran up to her, and she was soon +marching up and down the playground relating some of her grievances, and +informing them, one and all, of the high position which lay before her. + +"You are all very much impressed with Audrey, I can see, but she is +really nobody," cried Eve. "By and by Wynford Castle will be mine, and +won't you like to say you knew me when I am mistress of the Castle--won't +you just! I do not at all know that I shall stay long at school, but you +had better make it pleasant for me." + +Some of the girls were much impressed, and a few of them swore eternal +fealty to Evelyn. One or two began to flatter her, and on the whole the +little girl considered that she had a fairly good time during play-hour. +When she got back to her work she was relieved to see that Ruskin's +_Sesame and Lilies_ no longer lay in its place on the small table where +Miss Thompson had left it. + +"She will not open it, perhaps, for years," thought Evelyn. "I need not +worry any more about that. And if she did like the book I am glad I tore +it. Horrid, horrid thing!" + +Lessons went on, and by and by Audrey and Evelyn's first day at school +came to an end. The governess-cart came to fetch them, and they drove +off under the admiring gaze of several of their fellow-pupils. + +"Well, Evelyn, and how did you like school?" said Audrey when the two +were alone together. + +"You could not expect me to like it very much," replied Evelyn. "I was +put into such a horrid low class. I am angry with Miss Thompson." + +"Miss Thompson! That nice, intelligent girl?" + +"Not much of a girl about her!" said Evelyn. "Why, she is quite old." + +"Do you think so? She struck me as young, pretty, and very nice." + +"It is all very well for you, Audrey; you are so tame. I really believe +you never think a bad thought of anybody." + +"I try not to, of course," replied Audrey. "Do you imagine it is a fine +trait in one's character to think bad thoughts of people?" + +"Mothery always said that if you did not dislike people, you were made +of cotton-wool," replied Evelyn. + +"Then you really do dislike people?" + +"Oh! some I dislike awfully. Now, there is one at the Castle--but there! +I won't say any more about _her_; and there is one at school whom I +hate. It is that horrid Thompson woman. And she had the cheek to call me +Evelyn." + +"Of course she calls you Evelyn; you are her pupil." + +"Well, I think it is awful cheek, all the same. I hate her, and--oh, +Audrey, such fun--such fun! I have revenged myself on her; I really +have." + +"Oh Evelyn! don't get into mischief, I beseech of you." + +"I sha'n't say any more, but I do believe that I have revenged myself. +Oh, such fun--such fun!" + +Evelyn laughed several times during the rest of her drive home, and +arrived at the Castle in high spirits. The girls were to dine with Lady +Frances and the Squire that evening, as they happened to be alone; and +the Squire was quite interested in the account which Evelyn gave him of +her class. + +"The only reason why I could read the dull, dull life of Edward I.," she +said, "is because Edward is your name, Uncle Ned, and because I love you +so much." + +"On the whole, my dear," said the Squire later on to his wife, "the +school experiment seems to work well. Little Evelyn was in high spirits +to-night." + +"You think of no one but Evelyn!" said Lady Frances. "What about +Audrey?" + +"I am not afraid about Audrey; you have trained her, and she is by +nature most amiable," said the Squire. + +"I am glad you paid me a compliment, my dear," answered his wife. +"Audrey certainly does credit to my training. But I trust Miss Henderson +will break that naughty girl in; she certainly needs it." + +The next morning the girls went back to school; and Evelyn, who had +quite forgotten what she had done to the book, and who had provided +herself secretly with a great packet of delicious sweetmeats which she +intended to distribute amongst her favorites, was still in high spirits. + +School began, the girls went to their different classes, Evelyn stumbled +badly through her lessons, and at last the hour of recess came. The +girls were all preparing to leave the schoolroom when Miss Thompson +asked them to wait a moment. + +"Something most painful has occurred," she said, "and I trust whichever +girl has done the mischief will at once confess it." + +Evelyn's face did not change color. A curious, numb feeling got round +her heart; then an obstinate spirit took possession of her. + +"Not for worlds will I tell," she thought. "Of course Miss Thompson is +alluding to the book." + +Yes, Miss Thompson was. She held the beautifully bound copy of Ruskin in +her hand, opened it where the title-page used to be, and with tears in +her eyes looked at the girls. + +"Some one has torn four pages out of the beginning of this book," she +said. "I left it here by mistake yesterday. I took it up this morning to +continue a lecture which I was preparing for the afternoon, and found +what terrible mischief had been done. I trust whoever has done this will +at least have the honor to confess her wrong-doing." + +Silence and expressions of intense dismay were seen on all the young +faces. + +"If it were my own book I should not mind so much," said the governess; +"but it happens to belong to Miss Henderson, and was given to her by her +favorite brother, who died two months afterwards. I had some difficulty +in getting her to allow me to use it for this lecture. Nothing can +replace to her the loss of the inscription written in her brother's own +hand. The only possible chance for the guilty person is to tell all at +once. But, oh! who could have been so cruel?" + +Still the girls were silent, although tears had risen to many of their +eyes. Miss Thompson could hear the words "Oh, what a shame!" coming from +more than one pair of lips. + +She waited for an instant, and then said: + +"I must put a question to each and all of you. I had hoped the guilty +person would confess; but as it is, I am obliged to ask who has done +this mischief." + +She then began to question one girl after another in the class. There +were twelve in all in this special class, and each as her turn came +replied in the negative. Certainly she had not done the mischief; +certainly she had not torn the book. Evelyn's turn came last. She +replied quietly: + +"I have not done it. I have not seen the book, and I have not torn out +the inscription." + +No one had any reason to doubt her words; and Miss Thompson, looking +very sorrowful, paused for a minute and then said: + +"I have asked each of you, and you have all denied it. I must now +question every one else in the school. When I have done all that I can I +shall have to submit the matter to Miss Henderson, but I did not want to +grieve her with the news of this terrible loss until I could at least +assure her that the girl who had done the mischief had repented." + +Still there was silence, and Miss Thompson left the schoolroom. The +moment she did so the buzz of eager voices began, and during the recess +that followed nothing was talked of in the Fourth Form but the loss +which poor Miss Henderson had sustained. + +"Poor dear!" said Sophie Jenner; "and she did love her brother so much! +His name was Walter; he was very handsome. He came once to the school +when first it was started. My sister Rose was here then, and she said +how kind he was, and how he asked for a holiday for the girls; and Miss +Henderson and Miss Lucy were quite wrapped up in him. Oh, who could have +been so cruel?" + +"I never heard of such a fuss about a trifle before," here came from +Evelyn's lips. "Why, it is only a book when all is said and done." + +"Don't you understand?" said Sophie, looking at her in some +astonishment. "It is not a common book; it is one given to Miss +Henderson by the brother she loved. He is dead now; he can never give +her any other book. That was the very last present he ever made her." + +"Have some lollipops, and try to think of cheerful things," said Evelyn; +but Sophie turned almost petulantly away. + +"Do you know," Sophie said to her special friend, Cherry Wynne, "I don't +think I like Evelyn. How funnily she spoke! I wonder, Cherry, if she had +anything to do with the book?" + +"Of course not," answered Cherry. "She would not have dared to utter +such a lie. Poor Miss Henderson! How sorry I am for her!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI.--SYLVIA'S DRIVE. + + +"I have something very delightful to tell you, Sylvia," said her father. + +He was standing in his cold and desolate sitting-room. The fire was +burning low in the grate. Sylvia shivered slightly, and bending down, +took up a pair of tongs to put some more coals on the expiring fire. + +"No, no, my dear--don't," said her father. "There is nothing more +disagreeable than a person who always needs coddling. The night is quite +hot for the time of year. Do you know, Sylvia, that I made during the +last week a distinct saving. I allowed you, as I always do, ten +shillings for the household expenses. You managed capitally on eight +shillings. We really lived like fighting-cocks; and what is nicest of +all, my dear daughter, you look the better in consequence." + +Sylvia did not speak. + +"I notice, too," continued Mr. Leeson, a still more satisfied smile +playing round his lips, "that you eat less than you did before. Last +night I was pleased to observe how truly abstemious you were at supper." + +"Father," said Sylvia suddenly, "you eat less and less; how can you keep +up your strength at this rate? Cannot you see, clever man that you are, +that you need food and warmth to keep you alive?" + +"It depends absolutely," replied Mr. Leeson, "on how we accustom +ourselves to certain habits. Habits, my dear daughter, are the chains +which link us to life, and we forge them ourselves. With good habits we +lead good lives. With pernicious habits we sink: the chains of those +habits are too thick, too rusty, too heavy; we cannot soar. I am glad to +see that you, my dear little girl, are no longer the victim of habits of +greediness and desire for unnecessary luxuries." + +"Well, father, dinner is ready now. Won't you come and eat it?" + +"Always harping on food," said Mr. Leeson. "It is really sad." + +"You must come and eat while the things are hot," answered Sylvia. + +Mr. Leeson followed his daughter. He was, notwithstanding all his words +to the contrary, slightly hungry that morning; the intense cold--although +he spoke of the heat--made him so. He sat down, therefore, and removed +the cover from a dish on which reposed a tiny chop. + +"Ah," he said, "how tempting it looks! We will divide it, dear. I will +take the bone; far be it from me to wish to starve you, my sweet child." + +He took up his knife to cut the chop. As he did so Sylvia's face turned +white. + +"No, thank you," she said. "It really so happens that I don't want it. +Please eat it all. And see," she continued, with a little pride, lifting +the cover of a dish which stood in front of her own plate; "I have been +teaching myself to cook; you cannot blame me for making the best of my +materials. How nice these fried potatoes look! Have some, won't you, +father?" + +"You must have used something to fry them in," said Mr. Leeson, an angry +frown on his face. "Well, well," he added, mollified by the delicious +smell, which could not but gratify his hungry feelings--"all right; I +will take a few." + +Sylvia piled his plate. She played with a few potatoes herself, and Mr. +Leeson ate in satisfied silence. + +"Really they are nice," he said. "I have enjoyed my dinner. I do not +know when I made such a luxurious meal. I shall not need any supper +to-night." + +"But I shall," said Sylvia stoutly. "There will be supper at nine +o'clock as usual, and I hope you will be present, father." + +"Well, my dear, have something very plain. I am absolutely satisfied for +twenty-four hours. And you, darling--did you make a good meal?" + +"Yes, thank you, father." + +"There were a great many potatoes cooked. I see they are all finished." + +"Yes, father." + +"I am now going back to my sitting-room. I shall be engaged for some +hours. What are you going to do, Sylvia?" + +"I shall go out presently for a walk." + +"Is it not rather dangerous for you to wander about in such deep snow?" + +"Oh, I like it, father; I enjoy it. I could not possibly stay at home." + +"Very well, my dear child. You are a good girl. But, Sylvia dear, it +strikes me that we had better not have any more frying done; it must +consume a great quantity of fuel. Now, that chop might have been boiled +in a small saucepan, and it really would have been quite as nutritious. +And, my dear, there would have been the broth--the liquor, I mean--that it +had been boiled in; it would have made an excellent soup with rice in +it. I have been lately compiling some recipes for living what is called +the unluxurious life. When I have completed my little recipes I will +hand them down to posterity. I shall publish them. I quite imagine that +they will have a large sale, and may bring me in some trifling +returns--eh, Sylvia?" + +Sylvia made no answer. + +"My dear," said her father suddenly, "I have noticed of late that you +are a little extravagant in the amount of coals you use. It is your only +extravagance, my dear child, so I will not say much about it." + +"But, father, I don't understand. What do you mean?" + +"There is smoke--_smoke_ issuing from the kitchen chimney at times when +there ought to be none," said Mr. Leeson in a severe voice. "But there, +dear, I won't keep you now. I expect to have a busy afternoon. I am +feeling so nicely after our simple little lunch, my dear daughter." + +Mr. Leeson touched Sylvia's smooth cheek with his lips, went into the +sitting-room, and shut the door. + +"The fire must be quite out by now," she said to herself. "Poor, poor +father! Oh dear! oh dear! if he discovers that Jasper is here I shall be +done for. Now that I know the difference which Jasper's presence makes, +I really could not live without her." + +She listened for a moment, noticed that all was still in the big +sitting-room (as likely as not her father had dropped asleep), and then, +turning to her left, went quickly away in the direction of the kitchen. +When she entered the kitchen she locked the door. There was a clear and +almost smokeless fire in the range, and drawn up close to it was a table +covered with a white cloth; on the table were preparations for a meal. + +"Well, Sylvia," said Jasper, "and how did he enjoy his chop? How much of +it did he give to you, my dear?" + +"Oh, none at all, Jasper. I pretended I was not hungry. It was such a +pleasure to see him eat it!" + +"And what about the fried potatoes, love?" + +"He ate them too with such an appetite--I just took a few to satisfy him. +Do you know, Jasper, he says that he thinks an abstemious life agrees +with me. He says that I am looking very well, and that he is quite sure +no one needs big fires and plenty of food in cold weather--it is simply +and entirely a matter of habit." + +"Oh! don't talk to me of him any more," said Jasper. "He is the sort of +man to give me the dismals. I cannot tell you how often I dream of him +at night. You are a great deal too good to him, Sylvia, and that is the +truth. But here--here is our dinner, you poor frozen lamb. Eat now and +satisfy yourself." + +Sylvia sat down and ate with considerable appetite the good and +nourishing food which Jasper had provided. As she did so her bright, +clear, dark eyes grew brighter than ever, and her young cheeks became +full of the lovely color of the damask rose. She pushed her hair from +her forehead, and looked thoughtfully into the fire. + +"You feel better, dear, don't you?" asked Jasper. + +"Better!" said the young girl. "I feel alive. I wonder, Jasper, how long +it will last." + +"Why should it not go on for some time, dear? I have money--enough, that +is, for the present." + +"But you are spending your money on me." + +"Not at all. You are keeping me and feeding me. I give you twenty +shillings a week, and out of that you feed me as well as yourself." + +"Oh, that twenty shillings!" cried Sylvia. "What riches it seems! The +first week I got it I really felt that I should never, never be able to +come to the end of it. I quite trembled when I was in father's presence. +I dreaded that he might see the money lying in my pocket. It seemed +impossible that he, who loves money so much, would not notice it; but he +did not, and now I am almost accustomed to it. Oh Jasper, you have saved +my life!" + +"It is well to have lived for some good purpose," said Jasper in a +guarded tone. She looked at the young girl, and a quick sigh came to her +lips. + +"Do you know," she said abruptly, "that I mean to do more than feed you +and warm you?" + +"But what more could you do?" + +"Why, clothe you, love--clothe you." + +"No, Jasper; you must not." + +"But I must and will," said Jasper. "I have smuggled in all my +belongings, and the dear old gentleman does not know a single bit about +it. Bless you! notwithstanding that Pilot of his, and the way he himself +sneaks about and watches--notwithstanding all these things, I, Amelia +Jasper, am a match for him. Yes, my dear, my belongings are in this +house, and one of the trunks contains little Evelyn's clothes--the +clothes she is not allowed to wear. I mean to alter them, and add to +them, and rearrange them, and make them fit for you, my bonny girl." + +"It is a temptation," said Sylvia; "but, Jasper dear, I dare not allow +you to do it. If I were to appear in anything but the very plainest +clothes father would discover there was something up; he would get into +a state of terror, and my life would not be worth living. When mother +was alive she sometimes tried to dress me as I ought to be dressed, and +I remember now a terrible scene and mother's tears. There was an +occasion when mother gave me a little crimson velvet frock, and I ran +into the dining-room to father. I was quite small then, and the frock +suited me, and mother was, oh, so proud! But half an hour later I was in +my room, drowned in tears, and ordered to bed immediately, and the frock +had been torn off my back by father himself." + +"The man is a maniac," said Jasper. "Don't let us talk of him. You can +dress fine when you are with me. I mean to have a gay time; I don't mean +to let the grass grow under my feet. What do you say to my smuggling in +little Eve some day and letting her have a right jolly time with us two +in this old kitchen?" + +"But father will certainly, certainly discover it." + +"No; I can manage that. The kitchen is far away from the rest of the +house, and with this new sort of coal there is scarcely any smoke. At +night--at any rate on dark nights--he cannot see even if there is smoke; +and in the daytime I burn this special coal. Oh, we are safe enough, my +dear; you need have no fear." + +Sylvia talked a little longer with Jasper, and then she ran to her own +room to put on her very threadbare garments preparatory to going out. +Yes, she certainly felt much, much better. The air was keen and crisp; +she was no longer hungry--that gnawing pain in her side had absolutely +ceased; she was warm, too, and she longed for exercise. A moment or two +later, accompanied by Pilot, she was racing along the snow-covered +roads. The splendid color in her cheeks could not but draw the attention +of any chance passer-by. + +"What a handsome--what a very handsome girl!" more than one person said; +and it so happened that as Sylvia was flying round a corner, her great +mastiff gamboling in front of her, she came face to face with Lady +Frances, who was driving to make some calls in the neighborhood. + +Lady Frances Wynford was never proof against a pretty face, and she had +seldom seen a more lovely vision than those dark eyes and glowing cheeks +presented at that moment. She desired her coachman to stop, and bending +forward, greeted Sylvia in quite an affectionate way. + +"How do you do, Miss Leeson?" she said. "You never came to see me after +I invited you to do so. I meant to call on your mother, but you did not +greet my proposal with enthusiasm. How is she, by the way?" + +"Mother is dead," replied Sylvia in a low tone. The rich color faded +slowly from her cheeks, but she would not cry. She looked full up at +Lady Frances. + +"Poor child!" said that lady kindly; "you must miss her. How old are +you, Miss Leeson?" + +"I am just sixteen," was the reply. + +"Would you like to come for a drive with me?" + +"May I?" said the girl in an almost incredulous voice. + +"You certainly may; I should like to have you.--Johnson, get down and +open the carriage door for Miss Leeson.--But, oh, my dear, what is to be +done with the dog?" + +"Pilot will go home if I speak to him," said Sylvia.--"Come here, Pilot." + +The mastiff strode slowly up. + +"Go home, dear," said Sylvia. "Go, and knock as you know how at the +gates, and father will let you in. Be quick, dear dog; go at once." + +Pilot put on a shrewd and wonderfully knowing expression, cocked one ear +a little, wagged his tail a trifle, glanced at Lady Frances, seemed on +the whole to approve of her, and then turning on his heel, trotted off +in the direction of The Priory. + +"What a wonderfully intelligent dog, and how you have trained him!" said +Lady Frances. + +"Yes; he is almost human," replied Sylvia. "How nice this is!" she +continued as the carriage began to roll smoothly away. She leant back +against her comfortable cushions. + +"But you will soon be cold, my dear, in that very thin jacket," said +Lady Frances. "Let me wrap this warm fur cloak round you. Oh, yes, I +insist; it would never do for you to catch cold while driving with me." + +Sylvia submitted to the warm and comforting touch of the fur, and the +smile on her young face grew brighter than ever. + +"And now you must tell me all about yourself," said Lady Frances. "Do +you know, I am quite curious about you--a girl like you living such a +strange and lonely life!" + +"Lady Frances," said Sylvia. + +"Yes my dear; what?" + +"I am going to say something which may not be quite polite, but I am +obliged to say it. I cannot answer any of your questions; I cannot tell +you anything about myself." + +"Really?" + +"Not because I mean to be rude, for in many ways I should like to +confide in you; but it would not be honorable. Do you understand?" + +"I certainly understand what honor means," said Lady Frances; "but +whether a child like you is acting wisely in keeping up an unnecessary +mystery is more than I can tell." + +"I would much rather tell you everything about myself than keep silence, +but I cannot speak," said Sylvia simply. + +Lady Frances looked at her in some wonder. + +"She is a lady when all is said and done," she said to herself. "As to +poverty, I do not know that I ever saw any one so badly dressed; the +child has not sufficient clothing to keep her warm. When last I saw her +she was painfully thin, too; she has more color in her cheeks now, and +more flesh on her poor young bones, so perhaps whoever she lives with is +taking better care of her. I am curious, and I will not pretend to deny +it, but of course I can question the child no further." + +No one could make herself more agreeable than Lady Frances Wynford when +she chose. She chatted now on many matters, and Sylvia soon felt +perfectly at home. + +"Why, the child, young as she is, knows some of the ways of society," +thought the great lady. "I only wish that that miserable little Evelyn +was half as refined and nice as this poor, neglected girl." + +Presently the drive came to an end. Sylvia had not enjoyed herself so +much for many a day. + +"Now, listen, Sylvia," said Lady Frances: "I am a very plain-spoken +woman; when I say a thing I mean it, and when I think a thing, as a +rule, I say it. I like you. That I am curious about you, and very much +inclined to wonder who you are and what you are doing in this place, +goes without saying; but of course I do not want to pry into what you do +not wish to tell me. Your secret is your own, my dear, and not my +affair; but, at the same time, I should like to befriend you. Can you +come to the Castle sometimes? When you do come it will be as a welcome +guest." + +"I do not know how I can come," replied Sylvia. She colored, looked +down, and her face turned rather white. "I have not a proper dress," she +added. "Oh, not that I am poor, but----" + +Lady Frances looked puzzled. She longed to say, "I will give you the +dress you need," but there was something about Sylvia's face which +forbade her. + +"Well," she said, "if you can manage the dress will you come? This, let +me see, is Thursday. The girls are to have a whole holiday on Saturday. +Will you spend Saturday with us? Now you must say yes; I will take no +refusal." + +Sylvia's heart gave a bound of pleasure. + +"Is it right; is it wrong?" she said to herself. "But I cannot help it," +was her next thought; "I must have my fun--I must. I do like Audrey so +much! And I like Evelyn too--not, of course, like Audrey; but I like them +both." + +"You will come, dear?" said Lady Frances. "We shall be very pleased to +see you. By the way, your address is----" + +"The Priory," said Sylvia hastily. "Oh, please, Lady Frances, don't send +any message there! If you do I shall not be allowed to come to you. Yes, +I will come--perhaps never again, but I will come on Saturday. It is a +great pleasure; I do not feel able to refuse." + +"That is right. Then I shall expect you." + +Lady Frances nodded to the young girl, told the coachman to drive home, +and the next moment had turned the corner and was lost to view. + +"What fun this is!" said Sylvia to herself. "I wish Pilot were here. I +should like to have a race with him over the snow. Oh, how beautiful is +the world when all is said and done! Now, if only I had a proper dress +to go to the Castle in!" + +She ran home. Her father was standing on the steps of the house. His +face looked pinched, blue, and cold; the nourishment of the chop and the +fried potatoes had evidently passed away. + +"Why, father, you want your tea!" said the girl. "How sorry I am I was +not in sooner to get it for you!" + +"Tea, tea!" he said irritably. "Always the same cry--food, nothing but +food; the world is becoming impossible. My dear Sylvia, I told you that +I should not want to eat again to-day. The fact is, you overfed me at +lunch, and I am suffering from a sort of indigestion--I am really. There +is nothing better for indigestion than hot water; I have been drinking +it sparingly during the afternoon. But where have you been, dear, and +why did you send Pilot home? The dog made such a noise at the gate that +I went myself to find out what was the matter." + +"I did not want Pilot, so I sent him home," was Sylvia's low reply. + +"But why so?" + +She was silent for a moment; then she looked up into her father's face. + +"We agreed, did we not," she said, "that we both were to go our own way. +You must not question me too closely. I have done nothing wrong--nothing; +I am always faithful to you and to my mother's memory. You must not +expect me to tell you everything, father, for you know you do not tell +me everything." + +"Silly child!" he answered. "But there, Sylvia, I do trust you. And, my +dear little girl, know this, that you are the great--the very +greatest--comfort of my life. I will come in; it is somewhat chilly this +evening." + +Sylvia rushed before her father into his sitting-room, dashed up to the +fire, flung on some bits of wood and what scraps of coal were left in +the coal-hod, thrust in a torn newspaper, set a match to the fire she +had hastily laid, and before Mr. Leeson strolled languidly into the +room, a cheerful fire was crackling and blazing up the chimney. + +"How extravagant----" he began, but when he saw Sylvia's pretty face as +she knelt on the hearth the words were arrested on his lips. + +"The child is very like her mother, and her mother was the most +beautiful woman on earth when I married her," he thought. "Poor little +Sylvia! I wonder will she have a happier fate!" + +He sat down by the fire. The girl knelt by him, took his cold hands, and +rubbed them softly. Her heart was full; there were tears in her eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII.--THE FALL IN THE SNOW. + + +The next morning, when the meager breakfast which Mr. Leeson and his +daughter enjoyed together had come to an end, Sylvia ran off to find +Jasper. She had stayed with her father during most of the preceding +evening, and although she had gone as usual to drink her chocolate and +eat her bread before going to bed, she had said very little to Jasper. +But she wanted to speak to her this morning, for she had thoughts in the +night, and those thoughts were driving her to decisive action. Jasper +was standing in the kitchen. She had made up the fire with the smokeless +coal, and it was burning slowly but steadily. A little, plump chicken +lay on the table; a small piece of bacon was close at hand. There was +also a pile of large and mealy-looking potatoes and some green +vegetables. + +"Our dinner for to-day," said Jasper briefly. + +"Oh Jasper!" answered the girl--"oh, if only father could have some of +that chicken! Do you know, I do not think he is at all well; he looked +so cold and feeble last night. He really is starving himself--very much +as I starved myself before you came; but he is old and cannot bear it +quite so well. What am I to do to keep him alive?" + +Jasper looked full at Sylvia. + +"Do!" she said. "How can a fool be cured of his folly? That is the +question I ask myself. If he denies himself the necessaries of life, how +are you to give them to him?" + +"Well," said Sylvia, "I manage as best I can by hardly ever eating in +his presence; he does not notice, particularly at breakfast. He enjoyed +his egg and toast this morning, and really said nothing about my +unwonted extravagance." + +"I have a plan in my head," said Jasper, "which may or may not come to +anything. You know those few miserable barn-door fowls which your father +keeps just by the shrubbery in that old hen-house?" + +"Yes," replied Sylvia. + +"Do they ever lay any eggs?" + +"No." + +"I thought not. I wonder a prudent, careful man like Mr. Leeson should +keep them eating their heads off, so to speak." + +"Oh, they don't eat much," replied Sylvia. "I got them when father spoke +so much about the wasted potato-skins. I bought them from a gipsy. I did +not know they were so old." + +"We must get rid of those fowls," said Jasper. "You must tell your +father that it is a great waste of money to keep them; and, my dear, we +will give him fowl to eat for his dinner as long as the old fowls in the +shrubbery last. There are ten of them. I shall sell them--very little +indeed we shall get for them--and he will imagine he is eating them when +he really is consuming a delicate little bird like the one you and I are +going to enjoy for our dinner to-day." + +"What fun!" said Sylvia, the color coming into her cheeks and her eyes +sparkling. "You do not think it is wrong to deceive him, do you?" + +"Wrong! Bless you! no," replied Jasper. "And now, my dear, what is the +matter with you? You look----" + +"How?" replied Sylvia. + +"Just as if you were bursting to tell me something." + +"I am--I am," answered Sylvia. "Oh Jasper, you must help me!" + +"Of course I will, dear." + +"I have resolved to accept your most kind offer. I will pay you somehow, +in some fashion, but if you could make just one of Evelyn's frocks fit +for me to wear!" + +"Ah!" replied Jasper. "Now, I am as pleased about this as I could be +about anything. We will have more than one, my pretty young miss. But +what do you want it for?" + +"I am going to do a great, big, dangerous thing," replied Sylvia. "If +father discovers, things will be very bad, I am sure; but perhaps he +will not discover. Anyhow, I am not proof against temptation. I met Lady +Frances Wynford." + +"And how does her ladyship look?" asked Jasper--"as proud as ever?" + +"She was not proud to me, Jasper; she was quite nice. She asked me to +take a drive with her." + +"You took a drive with her ladyship!" + +"I did indeed; you must treat me with great respect after this." + +Jasper put her arms akimbo and burst into a loud laugh. + +"I guess," she said after a pause, "you looked just as fine and +aristocratic as her ladyship's own self." + +"I drove in a luxurious carriage, and had a lovely fur cloak wrapped +round me," replied the girl; "and Lady Frances was very, very kind, and +she has asked me to spend Saturday at the Castle." + +"Saturday! Why, that is to-morrow." + +"Yes, I know it is." + +"You are going?" + +"Yes, I am going." + +"You will see my little Eve to-morrow?" + +"Yes, Jasper." + +Jasper's black eyes grew suspiciously bright; she raised her hand to +dash away something which seemed to dim them for a second, then she said +in a brisk tone: + +"We have our work cut out for us, for you shall not go shabby, my +pretty, pretty maid. I will soon have the dinner in order, and----" + +"But what have you got for father's dinner?" + +"A little soup. You can tell him that you boiled his chop in it. It is +really good, and I am putting in lots of pearl barley and rice and +potatoes. He will be ever so pleased, for he will think it cost next to +nothing; but there is a good piece of solid meat boiled down in that +soup, nevertheless." + +"Oh, thank you, Jasper; you are a comfort to me." + +"Well," replied Jasper, "I always like to do my best for those who are +brave and young and put upon. You are a very silly girl in some ways, +Miss Sylvia; but you have been good to me, and I mean to be good to you. +Now then, dinner is well forward, and we will go and search out the +dress." + +The rest of the day passed quickly, and with intense enjoyment as far as +Sylvia was concerned. She had sufficiently good taste to choose the +least remarkable of Evelyn's many costumes. There was a rich dark-brown +costume, trimmed with velvet of the same shade, which could be +lengthened in the skirt and let out in the bodice, and which the young +girl would look very nice in. A brown velvet hat accompanied the +costume, with a little tuft of ostrich feathers placed on one side, and +a pearl buckle to keep all in place. There were muffs and furs in +quantities to choose from. Sylvia would for once in her life be richly +appareled. Jasper exerted herself to the utmost, and the pretty dress +was all in order by the time night came. + +It was quite late evening when Sylvia sought the room where her father +lived. A very plain but at the same time nourishing supper had been +provided for Mr. Leeson. Sylvia's own supper she would take as usual +with Jasper. Sylvia dashed into her father's room, her eyes bright and +her cheeks glowing. She was surprised and distressed to see the room +empty. She wondered if her father had gone to his bedroom. Quickly she +rushed up-stairs and knocked at the door; there was no response. She +opened the door softly and went in. All was cold and icy desolation +within the large, badly furnished room. Sylvia shivered slightly, and +rushed down-stairs again. She peeped out of the window. The snow was +falling heavily in great big flakes. + +"Oh, I hope it will not snow too much to-night!" thought the young girl. +"But no matter; however deep it is, I shall find my way to Castle +Wynford to-morrow." + +She wondered if her father would miss her, if he would grow restless and +anxious; but nevertheless she was determined to enjoy her pleasure. +Still, where was he now? She glanced at the fire in the big grate; she +ventured to put on some more coals and to tidy up the hearth; then she +drew down the blinds of the windows, pulled her father's armchair in +front of the fire, sat down herself by the hearth, and waited. She +waited for over half an hour. During that time the warmth of the fire +made her drowsy. She found herself nodding. Suddenly she sat up wide +awake. A queer sense of uneasiness stole over her; she must go and seek +her father. Where could he be? How she longed to call Jasper to her aid! +But that, she knew, would be impossible. She wrapped a threadbare cloak, +which hung on a peg in the hall, round her shoulders, slipped her feet +into goloshes, and set out into the wintry night. She had not gone a +dozen yards before she saw the object of her search. Mr. Leeson was +lying full length on the snow; he was not moving. Sylvia had a wild +horror that he was dead; she bent over him. + +"Father! father!" she cried. + +There was no answer. She touched his face with her lips; it was icy +cold. Oh, was he dead? Oh, terror! oh, horror! All her accustomed +prudence flew to the winds. Get succor for him at once she must. She +dashed into the kitchen. Jasper was standing by the fire. + +"Come at once, Jasper!" she said. "Bring brandy, and come at once." + +"What has happened, my darling?" + +"Come at once and you will see. Bring brandy--brandy." + +Jasper in an emergency was all that was admirable. She followed Sylvia +out into the snow, and between them they dragged Mr. Leeson back to the +house. + +"Now, dear," said Jasper, "I will give him the brandy, and I'll stand +behind him. When he comes to I will slip out of the room. Oh, the poor +gentleman! He is as cold as ice. Hold that blanket and warm it, will +you, Sylvia? We must put it round him. Oh, bless you, child! heap some +coals on the fire. What matter the expense? There! you cannot lift that +great hod; I'll do it." + +Jasper piled coals on the grate; the fire crackled and blazed merrily. +Mr. Leeson lay like one dead. + +"He is dead--he is dead!" gasped Sylvia. + +"No, love, not a bit of it; but he slipped in the cold and the fall +stunned him a bit, and the cold is so strong he could not come to +himself again. He will soon be all right; we must get this brandy +between his lips." + +That they managed to do, and a minute or two later the poor man opened +his eyes. Just for a second it seemed to him that he saw a strange +woman, stout and large and determined-looking, bending over him; but the +next instant, his consciousness more wholly returning, he saw Sylvia. +Sylvia's little face, white with fear, her eyes, large with love and +anxiety, were close to his. He smiled into the sweet little face, and +holding out his thin hand, allowed her to clasp it. There was a rustle +as though somebody was going away, and Sylvia and her father were alone. +A moment later the young girl raised her eyes and saw Jasper in the +background making mysterious signs to her. She got up. Jasper was +holding a cup of very strong soup in her hand. Sylvia took it with +thankfulness, and brought it to her father. + +"Do you know," she said, trying to speak as cheerfully as she could, +"that you have behaved very badly? You went out into the snow when you +should have been in your warm room, and you fell down and you fainted or +something. Anyhow, I found you in time; and now you are to drink this." + +"I won't; hot water will do--not that expensive stuff," said Mr. Leeson, +true to the tragedy of his life even at this crucial moment. + +"Drink this and nothing else," said Sylvia, speaking as hardly and +firmly as she dared. + +Mr. Leeson was too weak to withstand her. She fed him by spoonfuls, and +presently he was well enough to sit up again. + +"Child, what a fire!" he said. + +"Yes, father; and if it means our very last sixpence, or our very last +penny even, it is going to be a big fire to-night: and you are going to +be nursed and petted and comforted. Oh, father, father, you gave me such +a fright!" + +As Sylvia spoke her composure gave way; her tense feelings were relieved +by a flood of tears. She pressed her face against her father's hand and +sobbed unrestrainedly. + +"You do not mean to say you are really fond of me?" he said; and a queer +moisture came into his own eyes. He said nothing more about the coals, +and Sylvia insisted on his having more food, and, in short, having a +really good time. + +"Dare I leave him to-morrow?" she said to herself. "He may be very weak +after this; and yet--and yet I cannot give up my great, great fun. My +lovely dress, too, ready and all! Oh! I must go. I am sure he will be +all right in the morning." + +Presently, much to Sylvia's relief, Mr. Leeson suggested that he should +sleep on the sofa, in the neighborhood of the big fire. + +"For you have been so reckless, my dear little girl," he said, "that +really you have provided a fire to last for hours and hours. It would be +a sad pity to waste it; I think, therefore, that I shall spend the night +on this sofa, well wrapped up, enjoying the heat." + +"Nothing could be better, father," said Sylvia, "except a big, very big, +fire in your own room, and you in your own bed well warmed with hot +bottles." + +"We should soon be in the workhouse," was Mr. Leeson's rejoinder. "No, +no; I will enjoy the fire here now that you have been so extravagant; +and you had better go to bed if you have had your supper." + +Sylvia had had no supper, but Mr. Leeson was far too self-absorbed to +notice that fact. Presently she left him, and he lay on the sofa, +blinking into the fire, and occasionally half-dozing. After a time he +dropped off to sleep, and the young girl, who stole in to look at him, +went out with a satisfied expression on her face. + +"He is quite well again," she said to Jasper, "and he is sleeping +sweetly. + +"Now, look here," said Jasper. "What is fretting you?" + +"I don't think I ought to leave him to-morrow." + +"But I shall be here. I will manage to let him have his meals +comfortable without his knowing it. Do you suppose I have not done more +difficult things than that in my day? Now, my love, you go to bed and +sleep sound, and I will have a plan all mature to give you your happy +day with an undisturbed conscience in the morning." + +Sylvia was really very tired--dead tired. She went up-stairs, and as soon +as she laid her head on her pillow was sound asleep. + +Meanwhile Mr. Leeson slept on for two or three hours; it was past the +middle of the night when he awoke. He woke wide awake, as elderly people +will, and looked round him. The fire had burnt itself down to a great +red mass; the room looked cheery and comfortable in the warm rays. Mr. +Leeson stirred himself luxuriously and wrapped the blanket, which Jasper +had brought from her own stores, tightly round his person. After a time, +however, its very softness and fluffiness and warmth attracted his +attention. He began to feel it between his fingers and thumb; then he +roused himself, sat up, and looked at it. A suspicious look came into +his eyes. + +"What is the matter?" he said to himself. "Is Sylvia spending money that +I know nothing about? Why, this is a new blanket! I have an inventory of +every single thing that this house possesses. Surely new blankets are +not included in that inventory! I can soon see." + +He rose, lit a pair of candles, went to a secretary which stood against +the wall, opened it, and took out a book marked "Exact Inventory of all +the Furniture at The Priory." He turned up the portion devoted to house +linen, and read the description of the different blankets which the +meager establishment contained. There was certainly a lack of these +valuable necessaries; the blankets at The Priory had seen much service, +and were worn thin with use and washing. But this blanket was new--oh, +delicious, of course--but what was the man worth who needed such +luxuries! Mr. Leeson pushed it aside with a disturbed look on his face. + +"Sylvia must be spending money," he said to himself. "I have observed it +of late. She looks better, and she decidedly gives me extravagant meals. +The bread is not as stale as it might be, and there is too much meat +used. This soup----" + +He took up the empty cup from which he had drained the soup a few hours +back, and looked at a drop or two which still remained at the bottom. + +"Positively it jellies," he said to himself--"jellies! Then, too, in my +rambles round this evening I noticed that smoke again--that smoke coming +from the kitchen. There is too much fuel used here, and these blankets +are disgraceful, and the food is reckless--there is no other word for +it." + +He sank back on his sofa and gazed at the fire. + +"Ah!" he said as he looked full at the flames, "out you go presently; +and for some time the warmth will remain in the room, and I shall not +dream of lighting any other fire here until that warmth is gone. Sylvia +takes after her mother. There was never a better woman than my dear +wife, but she was madly, disgracefully extravagant. What shall I do if +this goes on?--and pretty girls like Sylvia are apt to be so thoughtless. +I wish I could send her away for a bit; it will be quite terrible if she +develops her mother's tastes. I could not be cruel to my pretty little +girl, but she certainly will be a fearful thorn in my side if she buys +blankets of this sort, and feeds me with soup that jellies, forsooth! +What am I to do? I have not saved quite so much as I ought during the +last week. Ah! the house is silent as the grave. I shall just count out +the money I have put into that last canvas bag." + +A stealthy, queer light came into Mr. Leeson's eyes. He crossed the room +on tiptoe and turned the key in the lock. As he did so he seemed to be +assailed by a memory. + +"Was I alone with Sylvia when I awoke out of unconsciousness," he said +to himself, "or was there some one else by? I cannot quite make out. Was +it a dream that I saw an ugly, large woman bending over me? People do +dream things of that sort when they sink from exhaustion. I have read of +it in stories of misers. Misers! I am nothing of that kind; I am just a +prudent man who will not spend too much--a prudent man who tries to save. +It must have been a dream that a stranger was in the house; my little +girl might take after her mother, but she is not so bad as that. Yes, I +will take the opportunity; I will count what is in the canvas bag. I was +too weak to-night to attempt the work of burying my treasure, but +to-morrow night I must be stronger. I believe I ate too much, and that +is what ails me--in fact, I am certain of it. The cold took me and +brought on an acute attack of indigestion, and I stumbled and fell. Poor +dear little Sylvia! But I won't leave her penniless; that is one +comfort." + +Putting out one candle carefully, Mr. Leeson now laid the other on a +table. He then went to his secretary and opened it. He pushed in his +hand far, and brought out from its innermost depths a small bag made of +rough canvas. The bag was tied with coarse string. He glanced round him, +a strange expression on his face, and loosening the string of the bag, +poured its contents upon the table. He poured them out slowly, and as he +did so a look of distinct delight visited his face. There lay on the +table in front of him a pile of money--gold, silver, copper. He spent +some time dividing the three species of coin into different heaps. The +gold coins were put in piles one on top of the other at his right hand, +the silver lying in still larger heaps in the middle; the coppers, up to +farthings, lay on his left hand. He bent his head and touched the gold +with his lips. + +"Beautiful! blessed! lovely!" he muttered. "I have saved all this out of +the money which my dear wife would have spent on food and dress and +luxuries. The solid, tangible, precious thing is here, and there is more +like it--much more like it--many bags larger than these, full, full to the +brim, all buried down deep in the fowl-house. No one would guess where I +bank my spoils. They are as safe as can be. I dare not keep much +treasure in the house, but no one will know where it really lies." + +He counted his gold carefully; he also counted his silver; finally he +counted his copper. He wrote down the different sums on a piece of +paper, which he slipped into the canvas bag; he put back the coins, tied +the bag with the string, and returned it to its hiding-place. + +"To-morrow night I must bury it," he said to himself. "I had hoped that +I would have saved a little more, but by dint of great additional +economy I may succeed next month. Well, I must begin to be very careful, +and I must speak plainly on the subject to Sylvia." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII.--A RED GIPSY CLOAK. + + +Mr. Leeson looked quite well the next morning, and Sylvia ate her scanty +breakfast with a happy heart; she no longer felt any qualms at leaving +her father for the day. Jasper assured Sylvia over and over again that +all would be well; that without in the least betraying the secret of her +residence in the house, she would see to Mr. Leeson's comforts. The +difficulty now was for Sylvia to dress in her smart clothes and slip +away without her father seeing her. She did not want to get to Castle +Wynford much before one o'clock, but she would leave The Priory long +before that hour and wander about in her usual fashion. No outdoor +exercise tired this energetic girl. She looked forward to a whole long +day of unalloyed bliss, to the society of other girls, to congenial +warmth and comfort and luxury. She even looked forward with a pleasure, +that her father would put down to distinct greediness, to nice, +temptingly served meals. Oh yes, she meant to enjoy everything. She +meant to drink this cup of bliss to the bottom, not to leave one drop +untasted. Jasper seemed to share her pleasure. Jasper burdened her with +many messages to Evelyn; she got Sylvia to promise that she would +contrive a meeting between Evelyn and her old maid on the following day. +Jasper selected the rendezvous, and told Sylvia exactly what she was to +say to Evelyn. + +"Whatever happens, I must see her," said the woman. "Tell her there are +many reasons; and tell her too that I am hungry for a sight of +her--hungry, hungry." + +"Because you love her so much," said Sylvia, a soft light in her eyes. + +"Yes, my darling, that is it--I love her." + +"And she must love you very much," said Sylvia. + +Jasper uttered a quick sigh. + +"It is not Evelyn's way to love to extremities," she said slowly. "You +must not blame her, my dear; we are all made according to the will of +the Almighty; and Evelyn--oh yes, she is as the apple of the eye to me, +but I am nothing of that sort to her. You see, dear, her head is a bit +turned with the lofty future that lies before her. In some ways it does +not suit her; it would suit you, Miss Sylvia, or it would suit Miss +Audrey, but it does not suit little Eve. It is too much for my little +Eve; she would do better in a less exalted sphere." + +"Well, I do hope and trust she will be glad to see you and glad to hear +about you," said Sylvia. "I will be sure to tell her what a dear old +thing you are. But, oh, Jasper, do you think she will notice the smart +dress made out of her dress?" + +"You can give her this note, dear; I am sending her a word of warning +not to draw attention to your dress. And now, don't you think you had +better get into it, and let me see you out by the back premises?" + +"I must go and see father just for a minute first," said Sylvia. + +She ran off, saw her father, as usual busily writing letters, and bent +down to kiss him. + +"Don't disturb me," he said in a querulous tone. "I am particularly +busy. The post this morning has brought me some gratifying news. A +little investment I made a short time ago in great fear and trembling +has turned up trumps. I mean to put a trifle more money--oh, my dear! I +only possess a trifle--into the same admirable undertaking (gold-mines, +my dear), and if all that the prospectus says is true I shall be in very +truth a rich man. Not yet, Sylvia--don't you think it--but some day." + +"Oh father! and if you are----" + +"Why, you may spend a little more then, dear--a little more; but it is +wrong to squander gold. Gold is a beautiful and precious thing, my dear; +very beautiful, very precious, very hard to get." + +"Yes, father; and I hope you will have a great deal of it, and I hope +you will put plenty--plenty of money into the--into the----" + +"Investment," said Mr. Leeson. "The investment that sounds so promising. +Don't keep me now, love." + +"I am going out for a long walk, father; it is such a bright, sunshiny +day. Good-by for the present." + +Mr. Leeson did not hear; he again bent over the letter which he was +writing. Sylvia ran back to Jasper. + +"He seems quite well," she said, "and very much interested in what the +post brought him this morning. I think I can leave him quite safely. You +will be sure to see that he has his food." + +"Bless you, child!--yes." + +"And you will on no account betray that you live here?" + +"Bless you, child! again--not I." + +"Well then, I will get into my finery. How grand and important I shall +feel!" + +So Sylvia was dressed in the brown costume and the pretty brown velvet +hat, and she wore a little sable collar and a sable muff; and then she +kissed Jasper, and telling her she would remember all the messages, +started on her day of pleasure. Jasper saw her out by the back entrance. +This entrance had been securely closed before Jasper's advent, but +between them the woman and the girl had managed to open the rusty gate, +although Mr. Leeson was unaware that it had moved on its hinges for many +a long day. It opened now to admit of Sylvia's exit, and Jasper went +slowly back to the house, meditating as she did so. Whatever her +meditations were, they roused her to action. She engaged herself busily +in her bedroom and kitchen. She opened her trunk and took out a small +bag which contained her money. She had plenty of money, still, but it +would not last always. Without Sylvia's knowing it, she had often spent +more than a pound a week on this establishment. It had been absolutely +necessary for her to provide herself with warm bedclothes, and to add to +the store of coals by purchasing anthracite coal, which is almost +smokeless. In one way or another her hoard was diminished by twenty +pounds; she had therefore only forty more. When this sum was spent she +would be penniless. + +"Not that I am afraid," thought Jasper, "for Evelyn will have to give me +more money--she must. I could not leave my dear little Sylvia now that I +find the dreadful plight she is in; and I cannot stay far from my dear +Evelyn, for although she does not love me as I love her, still, I should +suffer great pain if I could not be, so to speak, within call. I wonder +if my plan will succeed. I must have a try." + +Jasper, having fulfilled her small duties, sat for a time gazing +straight before her. The hours went on. The little carriage clock which +she kept in her bedroom struck eleven, then twelve. + +"Time for him to have something," thought Jasper. "Now, can I possibly +manage? Yes, I think so." + +She took a saucepan, which held something mysterious, out into the open +air. It was an old, shabby saucepan. She hid it in the shrubbery. She +then went back to her room and changed her dress. She was some little +time over her toilet, and when she once more emerged into view, the old +Jasper, to all appearance, had vanished. + +A dark, somewhat handsome woman, in a faded red gipsy cloak, now stood +before the looking-glass. Jasper slipped out the back way, pushed aside +the rusty gate, said a friendly word to Pilot, who wagged his tail with +approbation, and carrying a basket on her arm, walked slowly down the +road. She met one or two people, and accosted them in the true Romany +style. + +"May I tell your fortune, my pretty miss? May I cross your hand with +silver and tell you of the fine gentleman who is going to ride by +presently? Let me, my dear--let me." + +And when the young girl she addressed ran away giggling, little +suspecting that Jasper was not a real gipsy, Jasper knew that her scheme +had succeeded. She even induced a village boy to submit to her +fortune-telling, and half-turned his head by telling him of a treasure +to be found, and a wife in an upper class who would raise him once for +all to a position of luxury. She presently pounded loudly on The Priory +gates. Mr. Leeson had an acute ear; he always sat within view of these +gates. His one desire was to keep all strangers from the premises; he +had trained Pilot for the purpose. Accordingly Jasper's knocks were not +heeded. Sylvia was always desired to go to the village to get the +necessary food; trades-people were not allowed on the premises. His +letter occupied him intently; he was busy, too, looking over files of +accounts and different prospectuses; he was engaged over that most +fascinating pastime, counting up his riches. But, ah! ah! how poor he +was! Oh, what a poverty-stricken man! He sighed and grumbled as he +thought over these things. Jasper gave another furious knock, and +finding that no attention was paid to her imperious summons, she pushed +open the gate. Pilot immediately, as his custom was, appeared on guard. +He stood in front of Jasper and just for a moment barked at her, but she +gave him a mysterious sign, and he wagged his tail gently, went up to +her, and let her pat him on the head. The next instant, to Mr. Leeson's +disgust, the gipsy and the dog were walking side by side up to the door. +He sprang to his feet, and in a moment was standing on the steps. + +"Go away, my good woman; go away at once. I cannot have you on the +premises. I will set the dog on you if you don't go away." + +"One minute, kind sir," whined Jasper. "I have come to know if you have +any fowls to sell. I want some fowls; old hens and cocks--not young +pullets or anything of that sort. I want to buy them, sir, and I am +prepared to give a good price." + +These extraordinary remarks aroused Mr. Leeson's thoughtful attention. +He had long been annoyed by the barn-door fowls, and they were decidedly +old. He had often wished to dispose of them; they were too tough to eat, +and they no longer laid eggs. + +"If you will promise to take the fowls right away with you now, I do not +mind selling them for a good price," he said. "Are you prepared to give +a good price? I wonder where my daughter is; she would know better than +I what they are worth. Stand where you are, my good woman; do not +attempt to move or the dog Pilot will fly at your throat. I will call my +daughter." + +Mr. Leeson went into the house and shouted for Sylvia. Of course there +was no answer. + +"I forgot," muttered Mr. Leeson. "Sylvia is out. Really that child +over-exercises; such devotion to the open air must provoke unnecessary +appetite. I wish that horrid gipsy would go away! How extraordinary that +Pilot did not fly at her! But they say gipsies have great power over men +and animals. Well, if she does give a fair price for the birds I may as +well be quit of them; they annoy me a good deal, and some time, in +consequence of them, some one may discover my treasure. Good heavens, +how awful! The thought almost unmans me." + +Mr. Leeson therefore came out and spoke in quite a civil tone for him. + +"If you will accompany me to the fowl-house I will show you the birds, +but I may as well say at once that I won't give them for a mere nothing, +old as they are--and I should be the last to deceive you as to their age. +They are of a rare kind, and interesting from a scientific point of +view." + +"I do not know about scientific fowls," replied the gipsy, "but I want +to buy a few old hens to put into my pot." + +"Eh?" cried Mr. Leeson in a tone of interrogation. "Have you a recipe +for boiling down old fowls?" + +"Have not I, your honor! And soon they are done, too--in a jiffy, so to +speak. But let me look at them, your honor, and I will pay you far more +than any one else would give for them." + +"You won't get them unless you give a very good sum. You gipsies, if the +truth were known, are all enormously rich." + +He walked round to the hen-house, accompanied by the supposed gipsy and +Pilot. The fowls, about a dozen in number, were strutting up and down +their run. They were hungry, poor creatures, for they had had but a +slight meal that morning. The gipsy pretended to bargain for them, +keeping a sharp eye all the time on Mr. Leeson. + +"This one," she said, catching the most disreputable-looking of the +birds, "is the one I want for the gipsies' stew. There, I will give you +ninepence for this bird." + +"Ninepence!" cried Mr. Leeson, almost shrieking out the word. "Do you +think I would sell a valuable hen like that for ninepence? And you say +it can be boiled down to eat tender!" + +"Boiled down to eat tender!" said the supposed gipsy. "Why, it can be +made delicious. There is broth in it, soup in it, and meat in it. There +is dinner for four, and supper for four, and soup for four in this old +hen!" + +"And you offer me ninepence for such a valuable bird! I tell you what: I +wish you would show me that recipe. I will give you sixpence for it. I +do not know how to make an old hen tender." + +"Give me a quarter of an hour, your honor, and you will not know that +you are not eating the youngest chicken in the land." + +"But how are you to cook it?" + +"I will make a bit of fire in the shrubbery, and do it by a recipe of my +own." + +"You are sure you will not go near the house?" + +"No, your honor." + +"But how can a fowl that is now alive be fit to eat in a quarter of an +hour?" + +"It is a recipe of my grandmother's, your honor, and I am not going to +give it until you taste what the bird is like. Now, if you will go away +I will get it ready for you." + +Mr. Leeson really felt interested. + +"What a sensible woman!" he said to himself. "I shall try and get that +recipe out of her for threepence; it will be valuable for my little book +of cheap recipes; it would probably sell the book. How to make four +dinners, four lunches, and four plates of soup out of an old hen. A most +taking recipe--most taking!" + +He walked up and down while the pretended gipsy heated up the stew she +had already made out of a really tender chicken. The poor old hen was +tied up so that she could not cackle or make any sound, and put into the +bottom of the supposed gipsy's basket; and presently Jasper appeared +carrying the stew in a cracked basin. + +"Here, your honor, eat it up before me, and tell me afterwards if a +better or a more tender fowl ever existed." + +It was in this way that Mr. Leeson made an excellent repast. He was +highly pleased, for decidedly the boniest and most scraggy of the fowls +had been selected, and nothing could be more delicious than this stew. +He fetched a plate and knife and fork from his sitting-room, where he +always kept a certain amount of useful kitchen utensils, ate his dinner, +pronounced it to be the best of the best, and desired the gipsy to leave +the balance in the porch. + +"Thank you," he said; "it is admirable. And so you really made that out +of my old hen in a few minutes? I will give you threepence if you will +give me the recipe." + +"I could not sell it for threepence, sir--no, not for sixpence; no, not +for a shilling. But I should like to make a bargain for the rest of the +fowls." + +"How much will you give for each?" + +"Taking them all in a heap, I will give sixpence apiece," replied the +gipsy. + +Mr. Leeson uttered a scream. + +"You have outdone yourself, my good woman," he said. "Do you think I am +going to give fowls that will make such delicious and nourishing food +away for that trivial sum? My little daughter is a very clever cook, and +I shall instruct her with regard to the serving up of the remainder of +my poultry. If you will not give me the recipe I must ask you to go." + +The gipsy pretended to be extremely angry. + +"I won't go," she said, "unless you allow me to tell you your fortune; I +won't stir, and that's flat." + +"I do not believe in gipsy fortune-tellers. I shall have to call the +police if you do not leave my establishment immediately." + +"And how will you manage when you don't ever leave your own grounds? I +am thinking it may be you are a bit afraid. People who stick so close to +home often have a reason." + +This remark frightened Mr. Leeson very much. He was always in terror +lest some one would guess that he kept his treasure on the premises. + +"Look here," he said, raising his voice. "You see before you the poorest +man for my position in the whole of England; it is with the utmost +difficulty that I can keep soul and body together. Observe the place; +observe the house. Do you think I should care for a recipe to make old +fowls tender if I were not in very truth a most poverty-stricken +person?" + +"I will tell you if you show me your palm," said the gipsy. + +Now, Mr. Leeson was superstitious. It was the last thing he credited +himself with, but nevertheless he was. The gipsy, with her dancing black +eyes, looked full at him. He had a shadowy, almost a fearful idea that +he had seen that face before--he could not make out when. Then it +occurred to him that this was the very face that had bent over him for +an instant the night before when he was coming back from his fit of +unconsciousness. Oh, it was impossible that the gipsy could have been +here then! Had he seen her in a sort of vision? He felt startled and +alarmed. The gipsy kept watching him; she seemed to be reading him +through and through. + +"I saw you in a dream," she said. "And I know you will show your hand; +and I know I have things to tell you, both good and bad." + +"Well, well!" said Mr. Leeson, "here is sixpence. Tell me your +gibberish, and then go." + +The gipsy looked twice at the coin. + +"It is a poor one," she said. "But them who is rich always give the +smallest." + +"I am not rich, I tell you." + +"They who are rich find it hardest to part with their pelf. But I will +take it." + +"I will give you a shilling if you'll go. But it is hard for a very poor +man to part with it." + +"Sixpence will do," said the gipsy, with a laugh. "Give it me. Now show +me your palm." + +She pretended to look steadily into the wrinkled palm of the miser's +hand, and then spoke. + +"I see here," she said, "much wealth. Yes, just where this cross lies is +gold. I also see poverty. I also see a very great loss and a judgment." + +"Go!" screamed the angry man. "Do not tell me another word." + +He dashed into the house in absolute terror, and banged the hall door +after him. + +"I said I would give him a fright," said Jasper to herself. "Well, if he +don't touch another morsel till Miss Sylvia comes home late to-night, he +won't die after my dinner. Ah, the poor old hen! I must get her out of +the basket now or she will be suffocated." + +The gipsy walked slowly down the path, let herself out by the front +entrance, walked round to the back, got in once more, and handed the old +hen to a boy who was standing by the hedge. + +"There," she said. "There's a present for you. Take it at once and go." + +"What do I want with it?" he asked in astonishment. "Why, it belongs to +old Mr. Leeson, the miser!" + +"Go--go!" she said. "You can sell it for sixpence, or a shilling, or +whatever it will fetch, only take it away." + +The boy ran off laughing, the hen tucked under his arm. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX.--"WHY DID YOU DO IT?" + + +Meanwhile Sylvia was thoroughly enjoying herself. She started for the +Castle in the highest spirits. Her walk during the morning hours had not +fatigued her; and when, soon after twelve o'clock, she walked slowly and +thoughtfully up the avenue, a happier, prettier girl could scarcely be +seen. The good food she had enjoyed since Jasper had appeared on the +scene had already begun to tell. Her cheeks were plump, her eyes bright; +her somewhat pale complexion was creamy in tint and thoroughly healthy. +Her dress, too, effected wonders. Sylvia would look well in a cotton +frock; she would look well as a milkmaid, as a cottage girl; but she +also had that indescribable grace which would enable her to fill a +loftier station. And now, in her rich furs and dark-brown costume, she +looked fit to move in any society. She held Evelyn's letter in her hand. +Her one fear was that Evelyn would remark on her own costume +transmogrified for Sylvia's benefit. + +"Well, if she does, I don't much care," thought the happy girl. "After +all, truth is best. Why should I deceive? I deceived when I was here +last, when I wore Audrey's dress. I had not the courage then that I have +now. Somehow to-day I feel happy and not afraid of anything." + +She was met, just before she reached the front entrance, by Audrey and +Evelyn. + +"Here, Evelyn," she cried--"here is a note for you." + +Evelyn took it quickly. She did not want Audrey to know that Jasper was +living at The Priory. She turned aside and read her note, and Audrey +devoted herself to Sylvia. Audrey had liked Sylvia before; she liked her +better than ever now. She was far too polite to glance at her improved +dress; that somehow seemed to tell her that happier circumstances had +dawned for Sylvia, and a sense of rejoicing visited her. + +"I am so very glad you have come!" she said. "Evelyn and I have been +planning how we are to spend the day. We want to give you, and ourselves +also, a right good time. Do you know that Evelyn and I are schoolgirls +now? Is it not strange? Dear Miss Sinclair has left us. We miss her +terribly; but I think we shall like school-life--eh, Eve?" + +Evelyn had finished Jasper's letter, and had thrust it into her pocket. + +"I hate school-life!" she said emphatically. + +"Oh Eve! but why?" asked Audrey. "I thought you were making a great many +friends at school." + +"Wherever I go I shall make friends," replied Evelyn in a careless tone. +"That, of course, is due to my position. But I do not know, after all," +she continued, "that I like fair-weather friends. Mothery used to tell +me that I must be careful when with them. She said they would, one and +all, expect me to do something for them. Now, I hate people who want you +to do things for them. For my part, I shall soon let my so-called +friends know that I am not that sort of girl." + +"Let us walk about now," said Audrey. "It will be lunch-time before +long; afterwards I thought we might go for a ride. Can you ride, +Sylvia?" + +"I used to ride once," she answered, coloring high with pleasure. + +"I can lend you a habit; and we have a very nice horse--quite quiet, and +at the same time spirited." + +"I am not afraid of any horses," answered the girl. "I should like a +ride immensely." + +"We will have lunch, then a ride, then a good cozy chat together by the +schoolroom fire, then dinner; and then, what do you say to a dance? We +have asked some young friends to come to the Castle to-night for the +purpose." + +"I must not be too late in going home," said Sylvia. "And," she added, +"I have not brought a dress for the evening." + +"Oh, we must manage that," said Audrey. "What a good thing that you and +I are the same height! Now, shall we walk round the shrubbery?" + +"The shrubbery always reminds me," said Sylvia, "of the first day we +met." + +"Yes. I was very angry with you that day," said Audrey, with a laugh. +"You must know that I always hated that old custom of throwing the +Castle open to every one on New Year's Day." + +"But I am too glad of it," said Sylvia. "It made me know you, and Evelyn +too." + +"Don't forget, Audrey," said Evelyn at that moment, "that Sylvia is +really my friend. It was I who first brought her to the Castle.--You do +not forget that, do you, Sylvia?" + +"No," said Sylvia, smiling. "And I like you both awfully. But do tell me +about your school--do, please." + +"Well," said Audrey, "there is a rather exciting thing to tell--something +unpleasant, too. Perhaps you ought not to know." + +"Please--please tell me. I am quite dying to hear about it." + +Audrey then described the mysterious damage done to Sesame and Lilies. + +"Miss Henderson was told," she said, "and yesterday morning she spoke to +the entire school. She is going to punish the person who did it very +severely if she can find her; and if that person does not confess, I +believe the whole school is to be put more or less into Coventry." + +"But how does she know that any of the girls did it?" was Sylvia's +answer. "There are servants in the house. Has she questioned them?" + +"She has; but it so happens that the servants are quite placed above +suspicion, for the book was whole at a certain hour the very first day +we came to school, and that evening it was found in its mutilated +condition. During all those hours it happened to be in the Fourth Form +schoolroom." + +"Yes," said Evelyn in a careless tone. "It is quite horrid for me, you +know, for I am a Fourth Form girl. I ought not to be. I ought to be in +the Sixth Form with Audrey. But there! those unpleasant mistresses have +no penetration." + +"But why should you wish to be in a higher form than your acquirements +warrant?" replied Sylvia. "Oh," she added, with enthusiasm, "don't I +envy you both your luck! Should I not love to be at school in order to +work hard!" + +"By the way, Sylvia," said Audrey suddenly, "how have you been +educated?" + +"Why, anyhow," said the girl. "I have taught myself mostly. But please +do not ask me any questions. I don't want to think of my own life at all +to-day; I am so very happy at being with you two." + +Audrey immediately turned the conversation; but soon, by a sort of +instinct, it crept back again to the curious occurrence which had taken +place at Miss Henderson's school. + +"Please do not speak of it at lunch," said Audrey, "for we have not told +mother or father anything about it. We hope that this disgraceful thing +will not be made public, but that the culprit will confess." + +"Much chance of that!" said Evelyn; and she nudged Sylvia's arm, on +which she happened to be leaning. + +The girls presently went into the house. Lunch followed. Lady Frances +was extremely kind to Sylvia--in fact, she made a pet of her. She looked +with admiration at the pretty and suitable costume, and wondered in her +own heart what she could do for the little girl. + +"I like her," she said to herself. "She suits me better than any girl I +have ever met except my own dear Audrey. Oh, how I wish she were the +heiress instead of Evelyn!" + +Evelyn was fairly well behaved; she had learnt to suppress herself. She +was now outwardly dutiful to Lady Frances, and was, without any seeming +in the matter, affectionate to her uncle. The Squire was always +specially kind to Evelyn; but he liked young girls, and took notice of +Sylvia also, trying to draw her out. He spoke to her about her father. +He told her that he had once known a distinguished man of the name, and +wondered if it could be the same. Sylvia colored painfully, and showed +by many signs that the conversation distressed her. + +"It cannot be the same, of course," said the Squire lightly, "for my +friend Robert Leeson was a man who was likely to rise to the very top of +his profession. He was a barrister of extreme eminence. I shall never +forget the brilliant way he spoke in a _cause clbre_ which occupied +public attention not long ago. He won the case for his clients, and +covered himself with well-earned glory." + +Sylvia's eyes sparkled; then they grew dim with unshed tears. She +lowered her eyes and looked on her plate. Lady Frances nodded softly to +herself. + +"The same--doubtless the same," she said to herself. "A most +distinguished man. How terribly sad! I must inquire into this; Edward +has unexpectedly given me the clue." + +The girls went for a ride after lunch, and the rest of the delightful +day passed swiftly. Sylvia counted the hours. Whenever she looked at the +clock her face grew a little sadder. Half-hour after half-hour of the +precious time was going by. When should she have such a grand treat +again? At last it was time to go up-stairs to dress for dinner. + +"Now, you must come to my room, Sylvia," said Evelyn. "Yes, I insist," +she added, "for I was in reality your first friend." + +Sylvia was quite willing to comply. She soon found herself in Evelyn's +extremely pretty blue-and-silver room. How comfortable it looked--how +luxurious, how sweet, how refreshing to the eyes! The cleanliness and +perfect order of the room, the brightness of the fire, the calm, proper +look of Read as she stood by waiting to dress Evelyn for dinner, all +impressed Sylvia. + +"I like this life," she said suddenly. "Perhaps it is bad for me even to +see it, but I like it; I confess as much." + +"Perhaps, Miss Leeson," said Read just then in a very courteous voice, +"you will not object to Miss Audrey lending you the same dress you wore +the last time you were here? It has been nicely made up, and looks very +fresh and new." + +As Read spoke she pointed to the lovely Indian muslin robe which lay +across Evelyn's bed. + +"Please, Read," said Evelyn suddenly, "don't stay to help me to dress +to-night; Sylvia will do that. I want to have a chat with her; I have a +lot to say." + +"I will certainly help Evelyn if I can," replied Sylvia. + +"Very well, miss," replied Read. "To tell you the truth, I shall be +rather relieved; my mistress requires a fresh tucker to be put into the +dress she means to wear this evening, and I have not quite finished it. +Then you will excuse me, young ladies. If you want anything, will you +have the goodness to ring?" + +The next moment Read had departed. + +"Now, that is right," said Evelyn. "Now we shall have a cozy time; there +is nearly an hour before we need go down-stairs. How do you like my +room, Sylvia?" + +"Very much indeed. I see the second bed has gone." + +"Oh yes. I do not mind a scrap sleeping alone now; in fact, I rather +prefer it. Sylvia, I want so badly to confide in you!" + +"To confide in me! How? Why?" + +"I want to ask you about Jasper. Oh yes, she wants to see me. I can +manage to slip out about nine o'clock on Tuesday next; we are not to +dine down-stairs on Tuesday night, for there is a big dinner party. She +can come to meet me then; I shall be standing by the stile in the +shrubbery." + +"But surely Lady Frances will not like you to be out so late!" + +"As if I minded her! Sylvia, for goodness' sake don't tell me that you +are growing goody-goody." + +"No; I never was that," replied Sylvia. "I don't think I could be; it is +not in me, I am afraid." + +"I hope not; I don't think Jasper would encourage that sort of thing. +Yes, I have a lot to tell her, and you may say from me that I don't care +for school." + +"Oh, I am so sorry! It is incomprehensible to me, for I should think +that you would love it." + +"For some reasons I might have endured it; but then, you see, there is +that awkward thing about the Ruskin book." + +"The Ruskin book!" said Sylvia. She turned white, and her heart began to +beat. "Surely--surely, Evelyn, you have had nothing to do with the +tearing out of the first pages of _Sesame and Lilies_!" + +"You won't tell--you promise you won't tell?" said Evelyn, nodding her +head, and her eyes looking very bright. + +"Oh! I don't know. This is dreadful; please relieve my anxiety." + +"You will not tell; you dare not!" said Evelyn, with passion. "If you +did I would tell about Jasper--I would. Oh! I would not leave a stone +unturned to make your life miserable. There, Sylvia, forgive me; I did +not mean to scold. I like you so much, dear Sylvia; and I am so glad you +have Jasper with you, and it suits me to perfection. But I did tear the +leaves out of the book; yes, I did, and I am glad I did; and you must +never, never tell." + +"But, Eve--oh, Eve! why did you do such a dreadful thing?" + +"I did it in a fit of temper, to spite that horrid Miss Thompson; I hate +her so! She was so intolerably cheeky; she made me stay in during +recreation on the very first day, and she accused me of telling lies, +and when she had left the room I saw the odious book lying on the table. +I had seen her reading it before, and I thought it was her book; and +almost before I had time to think, the pages were out and torn up and in +the fire. If I had known it was Miss Henderson's book, of course, I +should not have done it. But I did not know. I meant to punish horrid +old Thompson, and it seems I have succeeded better than I expected." + +"But, Eve--Eve, the whole school is suspected now. What are you going to +do?" + +"Do!" replied Evelyn. "Nothing." + +"But you have been asked, have you not, whether you knew anything about +the injury to the book?" + +"I have, and I told a nice little whopper--a nice pretty little whopper--a +dear, charming little whopper--and I mean to stick to it." + +"Eve!" + +"You look shocked. Well, cheer up; it has not been your fault. I must +confide in some one, so I have told you, and you may tell Jasper if you +like. Dear old Jasper! she will applaud me for my spirit. Oh dear! do +you know, Sylvia, I think you are rather a tiresome girl. I thought you +too would have admired the plucky way I have acted." + +"How can I admire deceit and lies?" replied Sylvia in a low tone. + +"You dare say those words to me!" + +"Yes, I dare. Oh, you have made me unhappy! Oh, you have destroyed my +day! Oh Eve, Eve, why did you do it?" + +"You won't tell on me, please, Sylvia? You have promised that, have you +not?" + +"Oh, why should I tell? It is not my place. But why did you do it?" + +"If you will not tell, nothing matters. I have done it, and it is not +your affair." + +"Yes, it is, now that you have confided in me. Oh, you have made me +unhappy!" + +"You are a goose! But you may tell dear Jasper; and tell her too that +her little Eve will wait for her at the turnstile on Tuesday night at +nine o'clock. Now then, let's get ready or we shall be late for dinner." + + + + +CHAPTER XX.--"NOT GOOD NOR HONORABLE." + + +It was very late indeed when Sylvia got home. On this occasion she was +not allowed to return to The Priory unaccompanied; Lady Frances insisted +on Read going with her. Read said very little as the two walked over the +roads together; but she was ever a woman of few words. Sylvia longed to +question her, as she wanted to take as much news as possible to Jasper, +but Read's face was decidedly uninviting. As soon as the woman had gone, +Sylvia slipped round to the back entrance, where Jasper was waiting for +her. Jasper had the gate ajar, and Pilot was standing by her side. + +"Come, darling--come right in," she said. "The coast is clear, and, oh! I +have a lot to tell you." + +She fastened the back gate, making it look as though it had not been +disturbed for years, and a moment later the woman and the girl were +standing in the warm kitchen. + +"The door is locked, and he will not come," said Jasper. "He is quite +well, and I heard him go up-stairs to his bed an hour ago." + +"And did he eat anything, Jasper?" + +"Oh, did he not, my love? Oh, I am fit to die with laughter when I think +of it! He imagines that he has demolished one quarter of the scraggiest +hen in the hen-house." + +"What! old Wallaroo?" replied Sylvia, a smile breaking over her face. + +"Wallaroo, or whatever outlandish name you like to call the bird." + +"Please tell me all about it." + +Sylvia sank down as she spoke into a chair. Jasper related her morning's +adventure, and the two laughed heartily. + +"Only it seems a shame to deceive him," said Sylvia at last. "And so +Wallaroo has really gone! Do you know, I shall miss her; I have stood +and watched her antics for so many long days. She was the most +outrageous flirt of any bird I have ever come across, and so indignant +when old Roger paid the least attention to any of his other wives." + +"She has passed her flirting days," replied Jasper, "and is now the +property of little Tim Donovan in the village; perhaps, however, she +will get more food there. My dear Miss Sylvia, you must make up your +mind that each one of those birds has to be disposed of in secret, and +that I in exchange get in sleek and fat young fowls for your father's +benefit. But now, that is enough on the subject for the present. Tell me +all about Miss Evelyn; I am just dying to hear." + +"She will meet you on Tuesday evening at nine o'clock by the turnstile +in the shrubbery," replied Sylvia. + +"That is right. What a brave, dear, plucky pet she is!" + +Sylvia was silent. + +"What is the matter with you, Miss Sylvia? Had you not a happy day?" + +"I had--very, very happy until just before dinner." + +"And what happened then?" + +"I will tell you in the morning, Jasper--not to-night. Something happened +then. I am sorry and sad, but I will tell you in the morning. I must +slip up to bed now without father knowing it." + +"Your father thinks that you are in bed, for I went up, just imitating +your step to perfection, an hour before he did, and I went into your +room and shut the door; and when he went up he knocked at the door, and +I answered in your voice that I had a bit of a headache and had gone to +bed. He asked me if I had had any supper, and I said no; and he said the +best thing for a headache was to rest the stomach. Bless you! he is keen +on that, whatever else he is not keen on. He went off to his bed +thinking you were snug in yours. When I made sure that he was well in +his bed, which I could tell by the creaking of the bedstead, I let +myself out. I had oiled the lock previously. I shut the door without +making a sound loud enough to wake a mouse, and crept down-stairs; and +here I am. You must not go up to-night or you will give me away, and +there will be a fine to-do. You must sleep in my cozy room to-night." + +"Well, I do not mind that," replied Sylvia. "How clever you are, Jasper! +You really did manage most wonderfully; only again I must say it seems a +shame to deceive my dear old father." + +"It is a question of dying in the cause of your dear old father or +deceiving him," replied Jasper in blunt tones. "Now then, come to bed, +my love, for if you are not dead with sleep I am." + +The next morning Mr. Leeson was in admirable spirits. He met Sylvia at +breakfast, and congratulated her on the long day she had spent in the +open air. + +"And you look all the better for it," he said. "I was too busy to think +about you at tea-time; indeed, I did not have any tea, having consumed a +most admirable luncheon some time before one o'clock. I was so very busy +attending to my accounts all the afternoon that I quite forgot my dear +little girl. Well, I have made arrangements, dearest, to buy shares in +the Kilcolman Gold-mines. The thing may or may not turn up trumps, but +in any case I have made an effort to spare a little money to buy some of +the shares. That means that we must be extra prudent and careful for the +next year or so. You will aid me in that, will you not, Sylvia? You will +solemnly promise me, my dear and only child, that you will not give way +to recklessness; when you see a penny you will look at it two or three +times before you spend it. You have not the least idea how careful it +makes you to keep what I call close and accurate accounts, every +farthing made to produce its utmost value, and, if possible--if possible, +my dear Sylvia--saved. It is surprising how little man really wants here +below; the luxuries of the present day are disgusting, enervating, +unnecessary. I speak to you very seriously, for now and then, I grieve +to say, I have seen traces in you of what rendered my married life +unhappy." + +"Father, you must not speak against mother," said Sylvia. Her face was +pale and her voice trembled. "There was no one like mother," she +continued, "and for her sake I----" + +"Yes, Sylvia, what do you do for her sake?" + +"I put up with this death in life. Oh father, father, do you think I +really--really like it?" + +Mr. Leeson looked with some alarm at his child. Sylvia's eyes were full +of tears; she laid her hands on the table, bent forward, and looked full +across at her father. + +"For mother's sake I bear it; you cannot think that I like it!" she +repeated. + +Mr. Leeson's first amazement now gave place to cold displeasure. + +"We will not pursue this topic," he said. "I have something more to tell +you. I made a pleasant discovery yesterday. During your absence a +strange thing occurred. A gipsy woman entered the avenue and walked up +to the front door, unmolested by Pilot. She seemed to have a strange +power over Pilot, for the dog did not bar her entrance in the least. I +naturally went to see what she wanted, and she told me that she had +come, thinking I might have some fowls for sale. Now, you know, my dear, +those old birds in the hen-house have long been eating their heads off, +and I rather hailed an opportunity of getting rid of them; they only lay +eggs--and that but a few--in the warm weather, and during the winter we +are at a loss by our efforts to keep them alive." + +"I know plenty about fowls," said Sylvia then. "They need hot suppers +and all sorts of good things to make them lay eggs in cold weather." + +"We can do without eggs, but we cannot afford to give the fowls hot +suppers," said Mr. Leeson in a tone of great dignity. "But now, Sylvia, +to the point. The woman offered a ludicrous price for the birds, and of +course I would not part with them; at the same time she +incidentally--silly person--gave herself away. She let me understand that +she wanted the fowls to stew down in the gipsy pot. Now, of late, when +arranging my recipes for publication, I have often thought of the +gipsies and the delicious stews they make out of all sorts of things +which other people would throw away. It occurred to me, therefore, to +question her; and the result was, dear, not to go too much into +particulars, that she killed one of the fowls, and in a very short time +brought me a delicious stew made out of the bird, really as tasty and +succulent as anything I have ever swallowed. I paid her a trifle for her +services, and the remainder of the fowl is at the present moment lying +in the cupboard in our sitting-room. I should like it to be warmed up +for our midday repast; there is a great deal more there than we can by +any possibility consume, but we can have a dainty meal out of part of +the stew, and the rest can be saved for supper. I have further decided +that we must get some one to kill the rest of the birds, and we will +have them one by one on the table. Do you ever, my dear Sylvia, in your +perambulations abroad, go near any of the gipsies?--for, if so, I should +not mind giving you a shilling to purchase that woman's recipe." + +Sylvia at this juncture rose from the table. She had with the utmost +difficulty kept her composure while her father was so innocently talking +about the gipsy's stew. + +"I will see--I will see, father. I quite understand," she said; and the +next instant she ran out of the room. + +"Really," thought Mr. Leeson when she had gone, "Sylvia talks a little +strangely at times. Just think how she spoke just now of her happy home! +Death in life, she called it--a most wrong and exaggerated term; and +exaggeration of speech leads to extravagance of mind, and extravagance +of mind means most reckless expenditure. If I am not very careful my +poor child will soon be on the road to ruin. I doubt if I ought to feed +her up with dainties--and really that stewed fowl made a rare and +delicious dish--but it is the most saving thing I can do; there are +enough birds in the hen-house to last Sylvia and me for several weeks to +come." + +Meanwhile Sylvia had rushed off to Jasper. + +"Oh Jasper!" she said, "I nearly died with laughter, and yet it is +horrid to deceive him. Oh! please do not kill any more of the birds for +a long time; it is more than I can stand. Father is so delighted; and he +has offered me a shilling to buy the recipe from you." + +"Bless you, dear!" replied Jasper, "and I think what I am doing for your +father is well worth a shilling, so you had better give it to me." + +"I have not got it yet," replied Sylvia. "You must live on trust, +Jasper; but, oh, it is quite too funny!" + +"Now, you sit down just there," said Jasper, "and tell me what troubled +you last night." + +Sylvia's face changed utterly when Jasper spoke. + +"It is about Eve," she said. "She has done very wrong--very wrong +indeed." And then Sylvia related exactly what had occurred at school. + +Jasper stood and listened with her arms akimbo; her face more than once +underwent a curious expression. + +"And so you blame my little Eve very much?" she said when Sylvia had +ceased speaking. + +"How can I help it? To get the whole school accused--to tell a lie to do +it! Oh Jasper, how can I help myself?" + +"You were brought up so differently," said Jasper. "Maybe if I had had +the rearing of you and the loving of you from your earliest days I might +have thought with you; as it is, I think with Eve. I could not counsel +her to tell. I cannot but admire her spirit when she did what she did." + +"Jasper! Jasper!" said Sylvia in a tone of horror, "you cannot--cannot +mean what you are saying! Oh, please unsay those dreadful words! I was +hoping--hoping--hoping that you might put things right. What is to be +done? There is going to be a great fuss--a great commotion--a great +trouble at Miss Henderson's school. Evelyn can put it right by +confessing; are you not going to urge her to confess?" + +"I urge my darling to lower herself! Miss Sylvia, if you say that kind +of thing to me again, you and I can scarcely be friends." + +"Jasper! Jasper!" + +"We won't talk about it," said Jasper, with decision. "I love you, miss, +and what is more, I respect and admire you, but I cannot rise as high as +you, Miss Sylvia; I was not reared so. I do not think that my little Eve +could have done other than she did when she was so tempted." + +"Then, Jasper, you are a bad friend to Evelyn--a very bad friend; and +what is more, if there is great trouble at the school, and if Audrey +gets into it, and if Evelyn herself will never tell, why, I must." + +"Oh, good gracious! you would not be so mean as that; and the poor, dear +little innocent confided in you!" + +"I do not want to be so mean, and I will not tell for a long, long time; +but I will tell--I will--if no one else can put it right, for it is quite +too cruel." + +Jasper looked long and full at Sylvia. + +"This may mean a good deal," she said--"more than you think. And have you +no sense of honor, miss? What you are told in confidence, have you any +right to give to the world?" + +"I will not tell if I can help myself, but this matter has made me very +unhappy indeed." + +Then Sylvia put on her shabby hat and went out. She passed the +fowl-house, and stood for a moment, a sad smile on her face, looking +down at the ill-fed birds. Then she went along the tiny shrubbery to the +front entrance, and, accompanied as usual by her beloved Pilot, started +forth. She was in her very shabbiest and oldest dress to-day, and the +joy and brightness of her appearance of twenty-four hours ago had +absolutely left her young face. It was Sunday morning, but Sylvia never +went to church. She heard the bells ringing now. Sweetly they pealed +across the valley, and one little church on the top of the hill sent +forth a low and yet joyful chime. Sylvia longed to press her hands to +her ears; she did not want to listen to the church bells. Those who went +to church did right, not wrong; those who went to church listened to +God's Word, and followed the ways--the good and holy ways--of religion. + +"And I cannot go because of my shabby, shabby dress," she thought. "But +why should I not wear the beautiful dress I had yesterday and venture to +church?" + +No sooner had the thought come to her than she returned, dashed in by +the back entrance, desired Pilot to stay where he was, flew up-stairs, +dressed herself recklessly in her rich finery of yesterday, and started +off for church. She had a fancy to go to the church on the top of the +hill, but she had to walk fast to reach it. She did arrive there a +little late. The verger showed her into a pew half-way up the church. +One or two people turned to stare at the handsome girl. The brilliant +color was in her cheeks from the quickness of her walk. She dropped on +her knees and covered her face; all was confusion in her mind. In the +Squire's pew, a very short distance away, sat Audrey and Evelyn. Could +Evelyn indeed mean to pray? Of what sort of nature was Evelyn made? +Sylvia felt that she could not meet her eyes. + +"Some people who are not good, who are not honorable, go to church," she +thought to herself. "It is very sad and very puzzling." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI.--THE TORN BOOK. + + +On the following morning Audrey and Evelyn started off for school. On +the way Audrey turned to her companion. + +"I wonder if anything has been discovered with regard to the injured +book?" she said. + +"Oh, I wish you would not talk so continually about that stupid old +fuss!" said Evelyn in her crossest voice. + +"It is useless to shirk it," was Audrey's reply. "You do not suppose for +a single moment that Miss Henderson will not get to the bottom of the +mischief? For my part, I think I could understand a girl doing it just +for a moment in a spirit of revenge, although I have never yet felt +revengeful to any one--but how any one could keep it up and allow the +school to get into trouble is what puzzles me." + +"Were you ever at school before, Audrey?" was Evelyn's remark. + +"No; were you?" + +"I wish I had been; I have always longed for school." + +"Well, you have your wish at last. How do you like it?" + +"I should like it fairly well if I were put into a higher form, and if +this stupid fuss were not going on." + +"Why do you dislike the subject being mentioned so much?" + +Evelyn colored slightly. Audrey looked at her. There was no suspicion in +Audrey's eyes; it was absolutely impossible for her to connect her +cousin with anything so mean and low. Evelyn had a great many +objectionable habits, but that she could commit what was in Audrey's +opinion a very grave sin, and then tell lies about it, was more than the +young girl could either imagine or realize. + +The pretty governess-cart took them to school in good time, and the +usual routine of the morning began. It was immediately after prayers, +however, that Miss Henderson spoke from her desk to the assembled +school. + +"I am sorry to tell you all," she began, "that up to the present I have +not got the slightest clue to the mystery of the injured book. I have +questioned, I have gone carefully into every particular, and all I can +find out is that the book was left in classroom No. 4 (which is usually +occupied by the girls of the Fourth Form); that it was placed there at +nine o'clock in the morning, and was not used again by Miss Thompson +until school was over--namely, between five and six o'clock in the +evening. During that time, as far as I can make out, only one girl was +alone in the room. That girl was Evelyn Wynford. I do not in any way +accuse Evelyn Wynford of having committed the sin--for sin it was--but I +have to mention the fact that she was alone in the room during recess, +having failed to learn a lesson which had been set her. During the +afternoon the room was, as far as I can tell, empty for a couple of +hours, and of course some one may have come in then and done the +mischief. I therefore have not the slightest intention of suspecting a +girl who only arrived that morning; but I mention the fact, all the +same, that Evelyn Wynford was _alone in the room for the space of twenty +minutes_." + +While Miss Henderson was speaking all eyes were turned in Evelyn's +direction; all eyes saw a white and stubborn face, and two angry brown +eyes that flashed almost wildly round the room and then looked down. +Just for an instant a few of the girls said to themselves, "That is a +guilty face." But again they thought, "How could she do it? Why should +she do it? No, it certainly cannot be Evelyn Wynford." + +As to Audrey, she pitied Evelyn very much. She thought it extremely hard +on her that Miss Henderson should have singled her out for individual +notice on this most painful occasion, and out of pity for her she would +not once glance in her direction. + +Miss Henderson paused for a moment; then she continued: + +"Whoever the sinner may be, I am determined to sift this crime to the +bottom. I shall severely punish the girl who tore the book unless she +makes up her mind to confess to me between now and to-morrow evening. If +she confesses before school is over to-morrow evening, I shall not only +not punish but I shall forgive her. It will be my painful duty, however, +to oblige her to confess her sin before the entire school, as in no +other way can the rest of the girls be exonerated. I give her till +to-morrow evening to make up her mind. I hope she will ask for strength +from above to enable her to make this very painful confession. I myself +shall pray that she may be guided aright. If no one comes forward by +that time, I must again assemble the school to suggest a very terrible +alternative." + +Here Miss Henderson left the room, and the different members of the +school went off to their respective duties. + +School went on much as usual. The girls were forced to attend to their +numerous duties; the all-absorbing theme was therefore held more or less +in abeyance for the time being. At recess, however, knots of girls might +be seen talking to one another in agitated whispers. The subject of the +injured book was the one topic on every one's tongue. Evelyn produced +chocolates, crystallized fruits, and other dainties from a richly +embroidered bag which she wore at her side, and soon had her own little +coterie of followers. To these she imparted her opinion that Miss +Henderson was not only a fuss, but a dragon; that probably a servant had +torn the book--or perhaps, she added, Miss Thompson herself. + +"Why," said Evelyn, "should not Miss Thompson greatly dislike Miss +Henderson, and tear the outside page out of the book just to spite her?" + +But this theory was not received as possible by any one to whom she +imparted it. Miss Thompson was a favorite; Miss Thompson hated no one; +Miss Thompson was the last person on earth to do such a shabby thing. + +"Well," said Evelyn crossly, "I don't know who did it; and what is more, +I don't care. Come and walk with me, Alice," she said to a pretty little +curly-headed girl who sat next to her at class. "Come and let me tell +you about all the grandeur which will be mine by and by. I shall be +queen by and by. It is a shame--a downright shame--to worry a girl in my +position with such a trifle as a torn book. The best thing we can all do +is to subscribe amongst ourselves and give the old dragon another +_Sesame and Lilies_. I don't mind subscribing. Is it not a good +thought?" + +"But that will not help her," said Alice; while Cherry, who stood near, +solemnly shook her head. + +"Why will it not help her?" asked Evelyn. + +"Because it was the inscription she valued--the inscription in her +brother's writing; her brother who is dead, you know." + +Evelyn was about to make another pert remark when a memory assailed her. +Naughty, heartless, rude as she was, she had somewhere a spark of +feeling. If she had loved any one it was the excitable and strange woman +she had called "mothery." + +"If mothery gave me something and wrote my name in it I'd be fond of +it," she thought; and just for a moment a prick of remorse visited her +hard little heart. + +No other girl in the whole school could confess the crime which Evelyn +had committed, and the evening came in considerable gloom and +excitement. Audrey could talk of nothing else on their way home. + +"It is terrible," said Audrey. "I am really sorry we are both at the +school; it makes things so unpleasant for us. And you, Evelyn--I did pity +you when Miss Henderson said to-day that you were alone in the room. Did +you not feel awful?" + +"No, I did not," replied Evelyn. "At least, perhaps I did just for a +minute." + +"Well, it was very brave of you. I should not have liked to be in your +position." + +Evelyn turned the conversation. + +"I wonder whether any one will confess to-morrow," said Audrey again. + +"Perhaps it was one of the servants," remarked Evelyn. Then she said +abruptly, "Oh, do let us change the subject!" + +"There is something fine about Evelyn after all," thought Audrey; "And I +am so glad! She took that speech of Miss Henderson's very well indeed. +Now, I scarcely thought it fair to have her name singled out in the way +it was. Surely Miss Henderson could not have suspected my little +cousin!" + +At dinner Audrey mentioned the whole circumstance of the torn book to +her parents. The girls were again dining with the Squire and Lady +Frances. The Squire was interested for a short time; he then began to +chat with Evelyn, who was fast, in her curious fashion, becoming a +favorite of his. She was always at her best in his society, and now +nestled up close to him, and said in an almost winsome manner: + +"Don't let us talk about the old fuss at school." + +"Whom do you call the old fuss, Evelyn?" + +"Miss Henderson. I don't like her a bit, Uncle Edward." + +"That is very naughty, Evelyn. Remember, I want you to like her." + +"Why?" + +"Because for the present, at least, she is your instructress." + +"But why should I like my instructress?" + +"She cannot influence you unless you like her." + +"Then she will never influence me, because I shall never like her," +cried the reckless girl. "I wish you would teach me, Uncle Edward. I +should learn from you; you would influence me because I love you." + +"I do try to influence you, Evelyn, and I want you to do a great many +things for me." + +"I would do anything in all the world for him," thought Evelyn, "except +confess that I tore that book; but that I would not do even for him. Of +course, now that there has been such an awful fuss, I am sorry I did it, +but for no other reason. It is one comfort, however, they cannot +possibly suspect me." + +Lady Frances, however, took Audrey's information in a very different +spirit from what her husband did. She felt indignant at Evelyn's having +been singled out for special and undoubtedly unfavorable notice by Miss +Henderson, and resolved to call at the school the next day to have an +interview with the head-mistress. She said nothing to Audrey about her +intention, and the girls went off to school without the least idea of +what Lady Frances was about to do. Her carriage stopped before Chepstow +House a little before noon. She inquired for Miss Henderson, and was +immediately admitted into the head-mistress's private sitting-room. +There Miss Henderson a moment or two later joined her. + +"I am sorry to trouble you," began Lady Frances at once, "but I have +come on a matter which occasioned me a little distress. I allude to the +mystery of the torn book. Audrey has told me all about it, so I am in +possession of full particulars. Of course I am extremely sorry for you, +and can quite understand your feelings with regard to the injury of a +book you value so much; but, at the same time, you will excuse my +saying, Miss Henderson, that I think your mentioning Evelyn's name in +the way you did was a little too obvious. It was uncomfortable for the +poor child, although I understand from my daughter that she took it +extremely well." + +"In a case of this kind," replied Miss Henderson quietly, "one has to be +just, and not to allow any favoritism to appear." + +"Oh, certainly," said Lady Frances; "it was my wish in sending both +girls to school that they should find their level." + +"And I regret to say," answered Miss Henderson, "that your niece's level +is not a high one." + +"Alas! I am aware of it. I have been terribly pained since Evelyn came +home by her recklessness and want of obedience; but this is a very +different matter. This shows a most depraved nature; and of course you +cannot for a moment have suspected my niece when you spoke of her being +alone in the room." + +"Had any other girl been alone in the room I should equally have +mentioned her name," said Miss Henderson. "I certainly did not at the +time suspect Miss Wynford." + +"What do you mean by 'did not at the time'? Have you changed your +opinion?" + +Lady Frances's face turned very white. + +"I am sorry to say that I have." + +"What do you mean?" + +"If you will pardon me for a moment I will explain." + +Miss Henderson left the room. + +While she was absent Lady Frances felt a cold dew breaking out on her +forehead. + +"This is beyond everything," she thought. "But it is impossible; the +child could never have done it. What motive would she have? She is not +as bad as that; and it was her very first day at school." + +Miss Henderson re-entered the room, accompanied by Miss Thompson. In +Miss Thompson's hand was a copy of the History of England that Evelyn +had been using. + +"Will you kindly open that book," said Miss Henderson, "and show Lady +Frances what you have found there?" + +Miss Thompson did so. She opened the History at the reign of Edward I. +Between the leaves were to be seen two fragments of torn paper. Miss +Thompson removed them carefully and laid them upon Lady Frances's hand. +Lady Frances glanced at them, and saw that they were beyond doubt torn +from a copy of Ruskin's _Sesame and Lilies_. She let them drop back +again on to the open page of the book. + +"I accuse no one," said Miss Henderson. "Even now I accuse no one; but I +grieve to tell you, Lady Frances, that this book was in the hands of +your niece, Evelyn Wynford, on that afternoon.--Miss Thompson, will you +relate the entire circumstances to Lady Frances?" + +"I am very, very sorry," said Miss Thompson. "I wish with all my heart I +had understood the child better, but of course she was a stranger to me. +The circumstance was this: I gave her the history of the reign of Edward +I. to look over during class, as of course on her first day at school +she had no regular lessons ready. She glanced at it, told me she knew +the reign, and amused herself looking about during the remainder of the +time. At recess I called her to me and questioned her. She seemed to be +totally ignorant of anything relating to Edward I. I reproved her for +having made an incorrect statement----" + +"For having told a lie, you mean," snapped Lady Frances. + +Miss Thompson bowed. + +"I reproved her, and as a punishment desired her to look over the reign +while the other girls were in the playground." + +"And quite right," said Lady Frances. + +"She was very much annoyed, but I was firm. I left her with the book in +her hand. I have nothing more to say. At six o'clock that evening I +removed _Sesame and Lilies_ from its place in the classroom, and took it +away to continue the preparation of a lecture. I then found that several +pages had been removed. This morning, early, I happened to take this +very copy of the History, and found these fragments in the part of the +book which contains the reign of Edward I." + +"Suspicion undoubtedly now points to Evelyn," said Miss Henderson; "and +I must say, Lady Frances, that although a matter of this kind pertains +entirely to the school, and must be dealt with absolutely by the +head-mistress, yet your having called, and in a measure taken the matter +up, relieves me of a certain responsibility." + +"Suspicion does undoubtedly point to the unhappy child," said Lady +Frances; "but still, I can scarcely believe it. What do you mean to do?" + +"I shall to-morrow morning have to state before the entire school what I +have now stated to you." + +"It might be best for me to remove Evelyn, and let her confess to you in +writing." + +"I do not think that would be either right or fair. If the girl is taken +away now she is practically injured for life. Give her a chance, I +beseech you, Lady Frances, of retrieving her character." + +"Oh, what is to be done?" said Lady Frances. "To think that my daughter +should have a girl like that for a companion! You do not know how we are +all to be pitied." + +"I do indeed; you have my sincere sympathy," said Miss Henderson. + +"And what do you advise?" + +"I think, as she is a member of the school, you must leave her to me. +She committed this offense on the very first day of her school-life, and +if possible we must not be too severe on her. She has not been brought +up as an English girl." + +Lady Frances talked a little longer with the head-mistress, and went +away; she felt terribly miserable and unhappy. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII.--"STICK TO YOUR COLORS, EVELYN." + + +Evelyn met Jasper, as arranged, on Tuesday evening. She found it quite +easy to slip away unnoticed, for in truth Lady Frances was too unhappy +to watch her movements particularly. The girls had been dining alone. +Audrey had a headache, and had gone to bed early. Evelyn rushed up to +her room, put on a dark shawl, which completely covered her fair hair +and white-robed little figure, and rushed out by a side entrance. She +wore thin shoes, however, being utterly reckless with regard to her +health. Jasper was waiting for her. It took but an instant for Jasper to +clasp her in her arms, lifting her off the ground as she did so. + +"Oh, my little darling," cried the affectionate woman--"my sweet little +white Eve! Oh, let me hug you; let me kiss you! Oh, my pet! it is like +cold water to a thirsty person to clasp you in my arms again." + +"Do not squeeze me quite so tight, Jasper," said Evelyn. "Yes, of +course, I am glad to see you--very glad." + +"But let me feel your feet, pet. Oh, to think of your running out like +this in your house-shoes! You will catch your death! Here, I will sit +down on this step and keep you in my arms. Now, is not that cozy, my fur +cloak wrapped round you, feet and all? Is not that nice, little Eve?" + +"Yes, very nice," said Evelyn. "It is almost as good as if I were back +again on the ranch with mothery and you." + +"Ah, the happy old days!" sighed Jasper. + +"Yes, they were very happy, Jasper. I almost wish I was back again. I am +worried a good bit; things are not what I thought they would be in +England. There is no fuss made about me, and at school they treat me so +horribly." + +"You bide your time, my love; you bide your time." + +"I don't like school, Jas." + +"And why not, my beauty? You know you must be taught, my dear Miss +Evelyn; an ignorant young lady has no chance at all in these enlightened +days." + +"Oh! please, Jas, do not talk so much like a horrid book; be your true +old self. What does learning matter?" + +"Everything, love; I assure you it does." + +"Well, I shall never be learned; it is too much trouble." + +"But why don't you like school, pet?" + +"I will tell you. I have got into a scrape; I did not mean to, but I +have." + +"Oh, you mean about that book. Sylvia told me. Why did you tell Sylvia, +Evelyn?" + +"I had to tell some one, and she is not a schoolgirl." + +"She is not your sort, Evelyn." + +"Is she not? I like her very much." + +"But she is not your sort; for instance, she could not do a thing of +that kind." + +"Oh, I do not suppose many people would have spirit enough," said Evelyn +in the voice of one who had done a very fine act. + +"She could not do it," repeated Jasper; "and I expect she is in the +right, and that you, my little love, are in the wrong. You were +differently trained. Well, my dear Eve, the long and short of it is that +I admire what you did, only somehow Sylvia does not, and you will have +to be very careful or she may----" + +"What--what, Jasper?" + +"She may not regard it as a secret that she will always keep." + +"Is she that sort? Oh, the horrid, horrid thing!" said Evelyn. "Oh, to +think that I should have told her! But you cannot mean it; it is +impossible that you can mean it, Jasper!" + +"Don't you fret, love, for I will not let her. If she dares to tell on +you, why, I will leave her, and then it is pretty near starvation for +the poor little miss." + +"You are sure you will not let her tell? I really am in rather a nasty +scrape. They are making such a horrid fuss at school. This evening was +the limit given for the guilty person--I should not say the guilty +person, but the spirited person--to tell, and the spirited person has not +told; and to-morrow morning goodness knows what will happen. Miss +Henderson has a rod in pickle for us all, I expect. I declare it is +quite exciting. None of the girls suspect me, and I talk so openly, and +sometimes they laugh, too. I suppose we shall all be punished. I do not +really know what is going to be done." + +"You hold your tongue and let the whole matter slide. That is my +advice," said Jasper. "I would either do that or I would out with it +boldly--one or the other. Say you did it, and that you are not ashamed to +have done it." + +"I could not--I could not," said Evelyn. "I may be brave after a fashion, +but I am not brave enough for that. Besides, you know, Jasper, I did say +already that I had not done it." + +"Oh, to be sure," answered Jasper. "I forgot that. Well, you must stick +to your colors now, Eve; and at the worst, my darling, you have but to +come to me and I will shield you." + +"At the worst--yes, at the worst," said Evelyn. "I will remember that. +But if I want to come to you very badly how can I?" + +"I will come every night to this stile at nine o'clock, and if you want +me you will find me. I will stay here for exactly five minutes, and any +message you may like to give you can put under this stone. Now, is not +that a 'cute thought of your dear old Jasper's?" + +"It is--it is," said the little girl. "Perhaps, Jasper, I had better be +going back now." + +"In a minute, darling--in a minute." + +"And how are you getting on with Sylvia, Jasper?" + +"Oh, such fun, dear! I am having quite an exciting time--hidden from the +old gentleman, and acting the gipsy, and pretending I am feeding him +with old fowls when I am giving him the tenderest chicken. You have not, +darling, a little scrap of money to spare that you can help old Jasper +with?" + +"Oh! you are so greedy, Jasper; you are always asking for things. Uncle +Edward makes me an allowance, but not much; no one would suppose I was +the heiress of everything." + +"Well dear, the money don't matter. I will come here again to-morrow +night. Now, keep up your pecker, little Eve, and all will be well." + +Evelyn kissed Jasper, and was about to run back to the house when the +good woman remembered the light shoes in which she had come out. + +"I'll carry you back," she said. "Those precious little feet shall not +touch the frosty ground." + +Jasper was very strong, and Evelyn was all too willing. She was carried +to within fifty yards of the side entrance in Jasper's strong arms; then +she dashed back to the house, kissed her hand to the dark shadow under a +tree, and returned to her own room. Read had seen her, but Evelyn knew +nothing of that. Read had had her suspicions before now, and determined, +as she said, to keep a sharp lookout on young miss in future. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII.--ONE WEEK OF GRACE. + + +There never was a woman more distressed and puzzled than Miss Henderson. +She consulted with her sister, Miss Lucy; she consulted with her +favorite teacher, Miss Thompson. They talked into the small hours of the +night, and finally it was resolved that Evelyn should have another +chance. + +"I must appeal to her honor; it is impossible that any girl could be +quite destitute of that quality," said Miss Henderson. + +"I am sure you are doing right, sister," said Miss Lucy. "Once you +harden a girl you do for her. Whatever Evelyn Wynford's faults may be, +she will hold a high position one day. It would be terrible--more than +terrible--if she grew up a wicked woman. How awful to have power and not +to use it aright! My dear Maria, whatever you are, be merciful." + +"I must pray to God to guide me aright," answered Miss Maria. "This is a +case for a right judgment in all things. Poor child! I pity her from my +heart; but how to bring her to the necessary confession is the +question." + +Miss Henderson went to bed, but not to sleep. Early in the morning she +arose, having made up her mind what to do. + +Accordingly, when Audrey and Evelyn arrived in the pretty little +governess-cart--Audrey with a high color in her cheeks, looking as sweet +and fresh and good and nice as English girl could look, and Evelyn +tripping after her with a certain defiance on her white face and a look +of hostility in her brown eyes--they were both greeted by Miss Henderson +herself. + +"Ah, Audrey dear," she said in a cheerful and friendly tone, "how are +you this morning?--How do you do, Evelyn?--No, Audrey, you are not late; +you are quite in nice time. Will you go to the schoolroom, my dear? I +will join you presently for prayers.--Evelyn, can I have a word with +you?" + +"Why so?" asked Evelyn, backing a little. + +"Because I have something I want to say to you." + +Audrey also stood still. She cast a hostile glance at Miss Henderson, +saying to herself: + +"After all, my head-mistress is horribly unfair; she is doubtless going +to tell Evelyn that she suspects her." + +"Evelyn," said Audrey, "I will wait for you in the dressing-room if Miss +Henderson has no objection." + +"But I have, for it may be necessary for me to detain your cousin for a +short time," said Miss Henderson. "Go, Audrey; do not keep me any +longer." + +Evelyn stood sullenly and perfectly still in the hall; Audrey +disappeared in the direction of the schoolrooms. Miss Henderson now took +Evelyn's hand and led her into her private sitting-room. + +"What do you want me for?" asked the little girl. + +"I want to say something to you, Evelyn." + +"Then say it, please." + +"You must not be pert." + +"I do not know what 'pert' is." + +"What you are now. But there, my dear child, please control yourself; +believe me, I am truly sorry for you." + +"Then you need not be," said Evelyn, with a toss of her head. "I do not +want anybody to be sorry for me. I am one of the most lucky girls in the +world. Sorry for me! Please don't. Mothery could never bear to be +pitied, and I won't be pitied; I have nothing to be pitied for." + +"Who did you say never cared to be pitied?" asked Miss Henderson. + +"Never you mind." + +"And yet, Evelyn, I think I have heard the words. You allude to your +mother. I understand from Lady Frances that your mother is dead. You +loved her, did you not?" + +Evelyn gave a quick nod; her face seemed to say, "That is nothing to +you." + +"I see you did, and she was fond of you." + +In spite of herself Evelyn gave another nod. + +"Poor little girl; how sad to be without her!" + +"Don't," said Evelyn in a strained voice. + +"You lived all your early days in Tasmania, and your mother was good to +you because she loved you, and you loved her back; you tried to please +her because you loved her." + +"Oh, bother!" said Evelyn. + +"Come here, dear." + +Evelyn did not budge an inch. + +"Come over to me," said Miss Henderson. + +Miss Henderson was not accustomed to being disobeyed. Her tone was not +loud, but it was quiet and determined. She looked full at Evelyn. Her +eyes were kind. Evelyn felt as if they mesmerized her. Step by step, +very unwillingly, she approached the side of the head-mistress. + +"I love girls like you," said Miss Henderson then. + +"Bother!" said Evelyn again. + +"And I do not mind even when they are sulky and rude and naughty, as you +are now; still, I love them--I love them because I am sorry for them." + +"You need not be sorry for me; I won't have you sorry for me," said +Evelyn. + +"If I must not be sorry for you I must be something else." + +"What?" + +"Angry with you." + +"Why so? I never! What do you mean now?" + +"I must be angry with you, Evelyn--very angry. But I will say no more by +way of excusing my own conduct. I will say nothing of either sorrow or +anger. I want to state a fact to you." + +"Get it over," said Evelyn. + +Miss Henderson now approached the table; she opened the History at the +reign of Edward I., and taking two tiny fragments of torn paper from the +pages of the book, she laid them in her open palm. In her other hand she +held the mutilated copy of _Sesame and Lilies_. The print on the torn +scrap exactly corresponded with the print in the injured volume. Miss +Henderson glanced from Evelyn to the scraps of paper, and from Evelyn to +the copy of Ruskin. + +"You have intelligence," she said; "you must see what this means." + +She then carefully replaced the bits of paper in the History and laid it +on the table by her side. + +"Between now," she said, "and this time yesterday Miss Thompson +discovered these scraps of paper in the copy of the History which you +had to read on the morning of the day when you first came to school. The +scraps are evidently part of the pages torn from the injured book. Have +you anything to say with regard to them?" + +Evelyn shook her head; her face was white and her eyes bright. But there +was a small red spot on each cheek--a spot about the size of a farthing. +It did not grow any larger. It gave a curious effect to the pallid face. +The obstinacy of the mouth was very apparent. The cleft in the chin +still further showed the curious bias of the girl's character. + +"Have you anything to say--any remark to make?" + +Again the head was slowly shaken. + +"Is there any reason why I should not immediately after prayers to-day +explain these circumstances to the whole school, and allow the school to +draw its own conclusions?" + +Evelyn now raised her eyes and fixed them on Miss Henderson's face. + +"You will not do that, will you?" she asked. + +"Have you ever, Evelyn, heard of such a thing as circumstantial +evidence?" + +"No. What is it?" + +"You are very ignorant, my dear child--ignorant as well as wilful; wilful +as well as wicked." + +"No, I am not wicked; you shall not say it!" + +"Tell me, is there any reason why I should not show what I have now +shown you to the rest of the school, and allow the school to draw its +own conclusion?" + +"You won't--will you?" + +"Must I explain to you, Evelyn, what this means?" + +"You can say anything you like." + +"These scraps of paper prove beyond doubt that you, for some +extraordinary reason, were the person who tore the book. Why you did it +is beyond my conception, is beyond Miss Thompson's conception, is beyond +the conception of my sister Lucy; but that you did do it we none of us +for a moment doubt." + +"Oh, you are wicked! How dare you think such things of me?" + +"Tell me, Evelyn--tell me why you did it. Come here and tell me. I will +not be unkind to you, my poor little girl. I am sorry for one so +ignorant, so wanting in all conceptions of right or wrong. Tell me, +dear, and as there is a God in heaven, Evelyn, I will forgive you." + +"I will not tell you what I did not do," said the angry child. + +"You are vexed now and do not know what you are saying. I will go away, +and come back again at the end of half an hour; perhaps you will tell me +then." + +Evelyn stood silent. Miss Henderson, taking the History with her, left +the room. She turned the key in the lock. Evelyn rushed to the window. +Could she get out by it? She rushed to the door and tried to open it. +Window and door defied her efforts. She was locked in. She was like a +wild creature in a trap. To scream would do no good. Never before had +the spoilt child found herself in such a position. A wild agony seized +her; even now she did not repent. + +If only mothery were alive! If only she were back on the ranch! If only +Jasper were by her side! + +"Oh mothery! oh Jasper!" she cried; and then a sob rose to her throat, +tears burst from her eyes. The tension for the time was relieved; she +huddled up in a chair, and sobbed as if her heart would break. + +Miss Henderson came back again in half an hour. Evelyn was still +sobbing. + +"Well, Evelyn," she said, "I am just going into the schoolroom now for +prayers. Have you made up your mind? Will you tell me why you did it, +and how you did it, and why you denied it? Just three questions, dear; +answer truthfully, and you will have got over the most painful and +terrible crisis of your life. Be brave, little girl; ask God to help +you." + +"I cannot tell you what I do not know," burst now from the angry child. +"Think what you like. Do what you like. I am at your mercy; but I hate +you, and I will never be a good girl--never, never! I will be a bad girl +always--always; and I hate you--I hate you!" + +Miss Henderson did not speak a word. The most violent passion cannot +long retain its hold when the person on whom its rage is spent makes no +reply. Even Evelyn cooled down a little. Miss Henderson stood quite +still; then she said gently: + +"I am deeply sorry. I was prepared for this. It will take more than this +to subdue you." + +"Are you going into the schoolroom with those scraps of paper, and are +you going to tell all the girls I am guilty?" said Evelyn. + +"No, I shall not do that; I will give you another chance. There was to +have been a holiday to-day, but because of that sin of yours there will +be no holiday. There was to be a visit on Saturday to the museum at +Chisfield, which the girls were all looking forward to; they are not to +go on account of you. There were to be prizes at the break-up; they will +not be given on account of you. The girls will not know that you are the +cause of this deprivation, but they will know that the deprivation is +theirs because there is a guilty person in the school, and because she +will not confess. Evelyn, I give you a week from now to think this +matter over. Remember, my dear, that I know you are guilty; remember +that my sister Lucy knows it, and Miss Thompson; but before you are +publicly disgraced we wish to give you a chance. We will treat you +during the week that has yet to run as we would any other girl in the +school. You will be treated until the week is up as though you were +innocent. Think well whether you will indeed doom your companions to so +much disappointment as will be theirs during the next week, to so dark a +suspicion. During the next week the school will practically be sent to +Coventry. Those who care for the girls will have to hold aloof from +them. All the parents will have to be written to and told that there is +an ugly suspicion hanging over the school. Think well before you put +your companions, your schoolfellows, into this cruel position." + +"It is you who are cruel," said Evelyn. + +"I must ask God to melt your hard heart, Evelyn." + +"And are you really going to do all this?" + +"Certainly." + +"And at the end of the week?" + +"If you have not confessed before then I shall be obliged to confess for +you before all the school. But, my poor child, you will; you must make +amends. God could not have made so hard a heart!" + +Evelyn wiped away her tears. She scarcely knew what she felt; she +scarcely comprehended what was going to happen. + +"May I bathe my eyes," she said, "before I go with you into the +schoolroom?" + +"You may. I will wait for you here." + +The little girl left the room. + +"I never met such a character," said Miss Henderson to herself. "God +help me, what am I to do with her? If at the end of a week she has not +confessed her sin, I shall be obliged to ask Lady Frances to remove her. +Poor child--poor child!" + +Evelyn came back looking pale but serene. She held out her hand to Miss +Henderson. + +"I do not want your hand, Evelyn." + +"You said you would treat me for a week as if I were innocent." + +"Very well, then; I will take your hand." + +Miss Henderson entered the schoolroom holding Evelyn's hand. Evelyn was +looking as if nothing had happened; the traces of her tears had +vanished. She sat down on her form; the other girls glanced at her in +some wonder. Prayers were read as usual; the head-mistress knelt to +pray. As her voice rose on the wings of prayer it trembled slightly. She +prayed for those whose hearts were hard, that God would soften them. She +prayed that wrong might be set right, that good might come out of evil, +and that she herself might be guided to have a right judgment in all +things. There was a great solemnity in her prayer, and it was felt +throughout the hush in the big room. When she rose from her knees she +ascended to her desk and faced the assembled girls. + +"You know," she said, "what an unpleasant task lies before me. The +allotted time for the confession of the guilty person who injured my +book, _Sesame and Lilies_, has gone by. The guilty person has not +confessed, but I may as well say that the injury has been traced home to +one of your number--but to whom, I am at present resolved not to tell. I +give that person one week in order to make her confession. I do this for +reasons which my sister and I consider all-sufficient; but during that +week, I am sorry to say, my dear girls, you must all bear with her and +for her the penalty of her wrong-doing. I must withhold indulgences, +holidays, half-holidays, visits from friends; all that makes life +pleasant and bright and home-like will have to be withdrawn. Work will +have to be the order of the hour--work without the impetus of reward--work +for the sake of work. I am sorry to have to do this, but I feel that +such a course of conduct is due to myself. In a week's time from now, if +the girl has not confessed, I must take further steps; but I can assure +the school that the cloud of my displeasure will then alone visit the +guilty person, on whom it will fall with great severity." + +There was a long, significant pause when Miss Henderson ceased speaking. +She was about to descend from her seat when Brenda Fox spoke. + +"Is this quite fair?" she said. "I hope I am not asking an impertinent +question, but is it fair that the innocent should suffer for the +guilty?" + +"I must ask you all to do so. Think of the history of the past, girls. +Take courage; it is not the first time." + +"I think," said Brenda Fox later on that same day to Audrey, "that Miss +Henderson is right." + +"Then I think her wrong," answered Audrey. "Of course I do not know her +as well as you do, Brenda, and I am also ignorant with regard to the +ordinary rules of school-life, but I cannot but feel it would be much +better, if the guilty girl will not confess, to punish her at once and +put an end to the thing." + +"It would be pleasanter for us," replied Brenda Fox; "but then, Miss +Henderson never thinks of that." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean that Miss Henderson is the sort of woman who would think very +little of small personal pain and inconvenience compared with the injury +which might be permanently inflicted on a girl who was harshly dealt +with." + +"Still I do not quite understand. If any girl in the school did such a +disgraceful thing it ought to be known at once." + +"Miss Henderson evidently does know, but for some reason she hopes the +girl will repent." + +"And we are to be punished?" + +"Is it not worth having a little discomfort if the girl's character can +be saved?" + +"Yes, of course; if it does save her." + +"We must hope for that. For my part," said Brenda in a reverent tone, "I +shall pray about it. I believe in prayer." + +"And so do I," answered Audrey. "But do you know, Brenda, that I think +Miss Henderson was greatly wanting in tact when she mentioned my poor +little cousin's name two days ago." + +"Why so? Your cousin did happen to be alone in the room." + +"But it seemed to draw a very unworthy suspicion upon her head." + +"Oh no, no, Audrey!" answered Brenda. "Who could think that your cousin +would do it? Besides, she is quite a stranger; it was her first day at +school." + +"Then have you the least idea who did it?" + +"None; no one has. We are all very fond of Miss Thompson. We are all +fond of Miss Henderson; we respect her and Miss Lucy as most able and +worthy mistresses. We enjoy our school-life. Who could have been so +unkind?" + +Audrey had an uncomfortable sensation at her heart that Evelyn at least +did not enjoy her school-life; that Evelyn disliked Miss Thompson, and +openly said that she hated Miss Henderson. Still, that Evelyn could +really be guilty did not for an instant visit her brain. + +Meanwhile Evelyn went recklessly on her way. The _dnouement_, of +whatever nature, was still a week off. For a week she could be gay or +impertinent or rude or defiant or good, just as the mood took her; at +the end of the week, or towards the end, she would run away. She would +go to Jasper and tell her she must hide her. This was her resolve. She +was as inconsequent as an infant. To save herself trouble and pain was +her one paramount idea; even her schoolfellows' annoyance and distress +scarcely worried her. As she and Audrey always spent their evenings at +home, the dulness of the school, the increase of lessons and the absence +of play, the walks two and two in absolute silence, scarcely depressed +her; she could laugh and play at home, and talk to her uncle and draw +him out to tell her stories of her father. The one redeeming trait in +her character was her love for Uncle Edward. She was certainly going +downhill very rapidly at this time. Poor child! who was there to +understand her, to bring her to a standstill, to help her to choose +right? + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV.--"WHO IS E. W.?" + + +The one person who might have helped Evelyn was too busy with her own +troubles just then to think a great deal about her. Poor Sylvia was +visited with a very great dread. Her father's manner was strange; she +began to fear that he suspected Jasper's presence in the house. If +Jasper left, Sylvia felt that things must come to a crisis; she could +not stand the life she had lived before the comfortable advent of this +kindly but ill-informed woman. Sylvia was really very much attached to +Jasper, and although she argued much over Evelyn, and disagreed strongly +with her with regard to the best way to treat this unruly little member +of society, Sylvia's very life depended on Jasper's purse and Jasper's +tact. + +One by one the fowls disappeared, the same boy receiving them over the +hedge day by day from Jasper. The boy sold each of the old hens for +sixpence, and reaped quite a harvest in consequence. He was all too +willing to keep Jasper's secret. Jasper bought tender young cockerels +from a neighbor in the village, conveyed them home under her arm, killed +them, and dressed them in various and dainty manners for Mr. Leeson's +meals. He was loud in his praise of Sylvia, and told her that if the +worst came to the worst she could go out as a lady cook. + +"Nothing could give me such horror, my dear child," he said, "as to +think that a Leeson, and a member of one of the proudest families in the +kingdom, should ever demean herself to earn money; but, my dear girl, in +these days of chance and change one must be prepared for the worst--there +never is any telling. Sylvia, I go through anxious moments--very, very +anxious moments." + +"You do, father," answered the girl. "You watch the post too much. I +cannot imagine," she continued, "why you are so fretted and so +miserable, for surely we must spend very, very little indeed." + +"We spend more than we ought, Sylvia--far more. But there, dear, I am not +complaining; I suppose a young girl must have dainties and fine dress." + +"Fine dress!" said Sylvia. She looked down at her shabby garment and +colored painfully. + +Mr. Leeson faced her with his bright and sunken dark eyes. + +"Come here," he said. + +She went up to him, trembling and her head hanging. + +"I saw you two days ago; it was Sunday, and you went to church. I was +standing in the shrubbery. I was lost--yes, lost--in painful thoughts. +Those recipes which I was about to give to the world were occupying my +mind, and other things as well. You rushed by in your shabby dress; you +went into the house by the back entrance. Sylvia dear, I sometimes think +it would be wise to lock that door. With you and me alone in the house +it might be safest to have only one mode of ingress." + +"But I always lock it when I go out," said Sylvia; "and it saves so much +time to be able to use the back entrance." + +"It is just like you, Sylvia; you argue about every thing I say. +However, to proceed. You went in; I wondered at your speed. You came out +again in a quarter of an hour transformed. Where did you get that +dress?" + +"What dress, father?" + +"Do not prevaricate. Look me straight in the face and tell me. You were +dressed in brown of rich shade and good material. You had a stylish and +fanciful and hideous hat upon your head; it had feathers. My very breath +was arrested when I saw the merry-andrew you made of yourself. You had +furs, too--doubtless imitations, but still, to all appearance, rich +furs--round neck and wrist. Sylvia, have you during these months and +years been secretly saving money?" + +"No, father." + +"You say 'No, father,' in a very strange tone. If you had no money to +buy the dress, how did you get it?" + +"It was--given to me." + +"By whom?" + +"I would rather not say." + +"But you must say." + +Here Mr. Leeson took Sylvia by both her wrists; he held them tightly in +his bony hands. He was seated, and he pulled her down towards him. + +"Tell me at once. I insist upon knowing." + +"I cannot--there! I will not." + +"You defy me?" + +"If that is defying you, father, yes. The dress was given to me." + +"You refuse to say by whom?" + +"Yes, father." + +"Then leave my presence. I am angry, hurt. Sylvia, you must return it." + +"Again, no, father." + +"Sylvia, have you ever heard of the Fifth Commandment?" + +"I have, father; but I will break it rather than return the dress. I +have been a good daughter to you, but there are limits. You have no +right to interfere. The dress was given to me; I did not steal it." + +"Now you are intolerable. I will not be agitated by you; I have enough +to bear. Leave me this minute." + +Sylvia left the room. She did not go to Jasper; she felt that she could +not expose her father in the eyes of this woman. She ran up to her own +bedroom, locked the door, and flung herself on her bed. Of late she had +not done this quite so often. Circumstances had been happier for her of +late: her father had been strange, but at the same time affectionate; +she had been fed, too, and warmed; and, oh! the pretty dress--the pretty +dress--she had liked it. She was determined that she would not give it +up; she would not submit to what she deemed tyranny. She wept for a +little; then she got up, dried her tears, put on her cloak (sadly thin +from wear), and went out. Pilot came, looked into her face, and begged +for her company. She shook her head. + +"No, darling; stay at home--guard him," she whispered. + +Pilot understood, and turned away. Sylvia found herself on the +high-road. As she approached the gate, and as she spoke to Pilot, eager +eyes watched her over the wire screen which protected the lower part of +Mr. Leeson's sitting-room. + +"What can all this mean?" he said to himself. "There is a mystery about +Sylvia. Sometimes I feel that there is a mystery about this house. +Sylvia used to be a shocking cook; now the most dainty chef who has ever +condescended to cook meals for my pampered palate can scarcely excel +her. She confessed that she did not get the recipe from the gipsy; the +gipsies had left the common, so she could not get what I gave her a +shilling to obtain. Or, did I give her the shilling? I think not--I hope +not. Oh, good gracious! if I did, and she lost it! I did not; I must +have it here." + +He fumbled anxiously in his waistcoat pocket. + +"Yes, yes," he said, with a sigh of relief. "I put it here for her, but +she did not need it. Thank goodness, it is safe!" + +He looked at it affectionately, replaced it in its harbor of refuge, and +thought on. + +"Now, who gave her those rich and extravagant clothes? Can she possibly +have been ransacking her mother's trunks? I was under the impression +that I had sold all my poor wife's things, but it is possible I may have +overlooked something. I will go and have a look now in the attics. I had +her trunks conveyed there. I will go and have a look." + +When Mr. Leeson was engaged in what he was pleased to call a voyage of +discovery, he, as a rule, stepped on tiptoe. As he wore, for purposes of +economy, felt slippers when in the house, his steps made no noise. Now, +it so happened that when Jasper arrived at The Priory she brought not +only her own luggage, which was pretty considerable, but two or three +boxes of Evelyn's finery. These trunks having filled up Jasper's bedroom +and the kitchens to an unnecessary extent, she and Sylvia had contrived +to drag them up to the attics in a distant part of the house without Mr. +Leeson hearing. The trunks, therefore, mostly empty, which had contained +the late Mrs. Leeson's wardrobe and Evelyn's trunks were now all +together, in what was known as the back attic--that attic which stood, +with Sylvia's room between, exactly over the kitchen. + +Mr. Leeson knew, as he imagined, every corner of the house. He was well +aware of the room where his wife's trunks were kept, and he went there +now, determined, as he expressed it, to ferret out the mystery which was +unsettling his life. + +He reached the attic in question, and stared about him. There were the +trunks which he remembered so well. Many marks of travel were on +them--names of foreign hotels, names of distant places. Here was a trophy +of a good time at Florence; here a remembrance of a delightful fortnight +at Rome; here, again, of a week in Cairo; here, yet more, of a +never-to-be-forgotten visit to Constantinople. He stared at the +hall-marks of his past life as he gazed at his wife's trunks, and for a +time memory overpowered the lonely man, and he stood with his hands +clasped and his head slightly bent, thinking--thinking of the days that +were no more. No remorse, it is true, seized his conscience. He did not +recognize how, step by step, the demon of his life had gained more and +more power over him; how the trunks became too shabby for use, but the +desire for money prevented his buying new ones. Those labels were old, +and the places he and his wife had visited were much changed, and the +hotels where they had stayed had many of them ceased to exist, but the +labels put on by the hall porters remained on the trunks and bore +witness against Mr. Leeson. He turned quickly from the sight. + +"This brings back old times," he said to himself, "and old times create +old feelings. I never knew then that she would be cursed by the demon of +extravagance, and that her child--her only child--would inherit her +failing. Well, it is my bounden duty to nip it in the bud, or Sylvia +will end her days in the workhouse. I thought I had sold most of the +clothes, but doubtless she found some materials to make up that +unsuitable costume." + +He dragged the trunks forward. They were unlocked, being supposed to +contain nothing of value. He pulled them open and went on his knees to +examine them. Most of them were empty; some contained old bundles of +letters; there was one in the corner which still had a couple of muslin +dresses and an old-fashioned black lace mantilla. Mr. Leeson remembered +the mantilla and the day when he bought it, and how pretty his handsome +wife had looked in it. He flung it from him now as if it distressed him. + +"Faugh!" he said. "I remember I gave ten guineas for it. Think of any +man being such a fool!" + +He was about to leave the attic, more mystified than ever, when his eyes +suddenly fell upon the two trunks which contained that portion of Evelyn +Wynford's wardrobe which Lady Frances had discarded. The trunks were +comparatively new. They were handsome and good, being made of crushed +cane. They bore the initials E. W. in large white letters on their +arched roofs. + +"But who in the name of fortune is E. W.?" thought Mr. Leeson; and now +his heart beat in ungovernable excitement. "E. W.! What can those +initials stand for?" + +He came close to the trunks as though they fascinated him. They were +unlocked, and he pulled them open. Soon Evelyn's gay and useless +wardrobe was lying helter-skelter on the attic floor--silk dresses, +evening dresses, morning dresses, afternoon dresses, furs, hats, cloaks, +costumes. He kicked them about in his rage; his anger reached +white-heat. What was the meaning of this? + +E. W. and E. W.'s clothes took such an effect on his brain that he could +scarcely speak or think. He left the attic with all the things scattered +about, and stumbled rather than walked down-stairs. He had nearly got to +his own part of the house when he remembered something. He went back, +turned the key in the attic door, and put it in his pocket. He then +breathed a sigh of relief, and went back to his sitting-room. The fire +was nearly out; the day was colder than ever--a keen north wind was +blowing. It came in at the badly fitting windows and shook the old panes +of glass. The attic in which Mr. Leeson had stood so long had also been +icy-cold. He shivered and crept close to the remains of the fire. Then a +thought came to him, and he deliberately took up the poker and poked out +the remaining embers. They flamed up feebly on the hearth and died out. + +"No more fires for me," he said to himself; "I cannot afford it. She is +ruining--ruining me. Who is E. W.? Where did she get all those clothes? +Oh, I shall go mad!" + +He stood shivering and frowning and muttering. Then a change came over +him. + +"There is a secret, and I mean to discover it," he said to himself; "and +until I do I shall say nothing. I shall find out who E. W. is, where +those trunks came from, what money Sylvia stole to purchase those awful +and ridiculous and terrible garments. I shall find out before I act. +Sylvia thinks that she can make a fool of her old father; she will +discover her mistake." + +The postman's ring was heard at the gate. The postman was never allowed +to go up the avenue. Mr. Leeson kept a box locked in the gate, with a +little slit for the postman to drop in the letters. He allowed no one to +open this box but himself. Without even putting on his greatcoat, he +went down the snowy path now, unlocked the box, and took out a letter. +He returned with it to the house; it was addressed to himself, and was +from his broker in London. The letter contained news which affected him +pretty considerably. The gold mine in which he had invested nearly the +whole of his available capital was discovered to be by no means so rich +in ore as was at first anticipated. Prices were going down steadily, and +the shares which Mr. Leeson had bought were now worth only half their +value. + +"I'll sell out--I'll sell out this minute," thought the wretched man; "if +I don't I shall lose all." + +But then he paused, for there was a postscript to the letter. + +"It would be madness to sell now," wrote the broker. "Doubtless the +present scare is a passing one; the moment the shares are likely to go +up then sell." + +Mr. Leeson flung the letter from him and tore his gray hair. He paced up +and down the room. + +"Disaster after disaster," he murmured. "I am like Job; all these things +are against me. But nothing cuts me like Sylvia. To buy those things--two +trunks full of useless finery! Oh yes, I have money on the +premises--money which I saved and never invested; I wonder if that is +safe. For all I can tell----But, oh, no, no, no! I will not think that. +That way madness lies. I will bury the canvas bag to-night; I have +delayed too long. No one can discover that hiding-place. I will bury the +canvas bag, come what may, to-night." + +Mr. Leeson wrote to his broker, telling him to seize the first +propitious moment to sell out from the gold-mine, and then sat moodily, +getting colder and colder, in front of the empty grate. + +Sylvia came in presently. + +"Dinner is ready, father," she said. + +"I don't want dinner," he muttered. + +She went up to him and laid her hand on his arm. + +"Why are you like ice?" she said. + +He pushed her away. + +"The fire is out," she continued; "let me light it." + +"No!" he thundered. "Leave it alone; I wish for no fire. I tell you I am +a beggar, and worse; and I wish for no fire!" + +"Oh father--father darling!" said the girl. + +"Don't 'darling' me; don't come near me. I am displeased with you. You +have cut me to the quick. I am angry with you. Leave me." + +"You may be angry," she answered, "but I will not leave you ; and if you +are cold--cold to death--and cannot afford a fire, you will warm yourself +with me. Let me put my arms round you; let me lay my cheek against +yours. Feel how my cheek glows. There, is not that better?" + +He struggled, but she insisted. She sat on his knee now and put the +cloak she was wearing, thin and poor enough in itself, round his neck. +Inside the cloak she circled him with her arms. Her dark luxuriant hair +fell against his white and scanty locks; she pressed her face close to +his. + +"You may hate me, but I am going to stay with you," she said. "How cold +you are!" + +Just for a minute or two Mr. Leeson bore the loving caress and the +endearing words. She was very sweet, and she was his--his only child--bone +of his bone. Yes, it was nicer to be warm than cold, nicer to be loved +than to be hated, nicer to----But was he loved? Those trunks up-stairs; +that costly, useless finery; those initials which were not Sylvia's! + +"Oh that I could tell her!" he said to himself. "She pretends; she is +untrue--untrue as our first mother. What woman was ever yet to be +trusted?" + +"Go, Sylvia," he replied vehemently; and he started up and shook her off +cruelly, so that she fell and hurt herself. + +She rose, pushed her hair back from her forehead and gazed at him in +bewilderment. Was he going mad? + +"Come and eat your dinner before it gets cold," she said. "It is +extravagant to waste good food; come and eat it." + +"Made from some of those old fowls?" he queried; and a scornful smile +curled his lips. + +"Come and eat it; it costs you practically nothing," she added. "Come, +it is extravagant to waste it." + +He pondered in his own mind; there were still about three fowls left. He +would not take her hand but he followed her into the dining-room. He sat +down before the dainty dish, helped her to a small portion, and ate the +rest. + +"Now you are better," she said cheerfully. + +He gave her a glance which seemed to her to be one of almost venom. + +"I am going into my sitting-room," he said; "do not disturb me again +to-day." + +"But you must have a fire!" + +"I decline to have a fire." + +"You will die of cold." + +"Much you care." + +"Father!" + +"Yes, Sylvia, much you care; you are like the one who gave you being. I +will not say any more." + +She started away at this; he knew she would. She was patient with him +almost beyond the limits of human patience, but she could not stand +having her mother abused. + +He went down the passage, and locked himself in his sitting-room. + +"Now I can think," he thought; "and to-night when Sylvia is in bed I +will bury the last canvas bag." + +When Sylvia went into the kitchen Jasper asked her at once what was the +matter. She stood for a moment without speaking; then she said in a low, +broken-hearted voice: + +"Father sometimes gets these moods, but I never saw him as bad before. +He refuses to have a fire in the parlor; he will die of this cold." + +"Let him," muttered Jasper under her breath. She did not say these words +aloud; she knew Sylvia too well by this time. + +"What has put him into this state of mind?" she asked as she dished up a +hot dinner for Sylvia and herself. + +"It was my dress, Jasper; I ought not to have allowed you to make it for +me. I ran in to put it on to go to church on Sunday; and he saw me and +drew his own conclusions, as he said. He asked me where I got it, and I +refused to tell him." + +"Now, if I were you, dear," said Jasper, "I would just up and tell him +the whole story. I would tell him that I am here, and that I mean to +stay, and that he has been living on me for some time now. I would tell +him everything. He would rage and fume, but not more than he has raged +and fumed. Things are past bearing, darling. Why, your pretty, young, +and brave heart will be broken. I would not bear it. It is best for him +too, dear; he must learn to know you, and if necessary to fear you. He +cannot go on killing himself and every one else with impunity. It is +past bearing, Sylvia, my love--past bearing." + +"I know, Jasper--I know--but I dare not tell him. You cannot imagine what +he is when he is really roused. He would turn you out." + +"Well, darling, and you would come with me. Why should we not go out?" + +"In the first place, Jasper, you have no money to support us both. Why, +poor, dear old thing, you are using up all your little savings to keep +me going! And in the next place, even if you could afford it, I promised +mother that I would never leave him. I could not break my word to her. +Oh! it hurt much; but the pain is over. I will never leave him while he +lives, Jasper." + +"Dear, dear!" said Jasper, "what a power of love is wasted on worthless +people! It is the most extraordinary fact on earth." + +Sylvia half-smiled. She thought of Evelyn, who was also in her opinion +more or less worthless, and how Jasper was wasting both substance and +heart on her. + +"Well," she said, "I can eat if I can do nothing else ; but the thought +of father dying of cold does come between me and all peace." + +She finished her dinner, and then went and stood by the window. + +"It is a perfect miracle he has not found me out before," said Jasper; +"and, by the same token," she added, "I heard footsteps in the attic +up-stairs while I was preparing his fowl for dinner. My heart stood +still. It must have been he; and I thought he would see the smoke +curling up through that stack of chimneys just alongside of the attics. +What was he doing up stairs?" + +"Oh, I know--I know!" said Sylvia; and her face turned very white, and +her eyes seemed to start from her head. "He went to look in mother's +trunks; he thought that I had got my brown dress from there." + +"And he will discover Evelyn's trunks as sure as fate," said Jasper; +"and what a state he will be in! That accounts for it, Sylvia. Well, +darling, discovery is imminent now; and for my part the sooner it is +over the better." + +"I wonder if he did discover! Something has put him into a terrible +rage," thought the girl. + +She went out of the kitchen, and stole softly up-stairs to the attic +where the trunks were kept. It was locked. Doubt was now, of course, at +an end. Sylvia went back and told her discovery to Jasper. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV.--UNCLE EDWARD. + + +According to her promise, Jasper went that evening to meet Evelyn at the +stile. Evelyn was there, and the news she had for her faithful nurse was +the reverse of soothing. + +"You cannot stand it," said Jasper; "you cannot demean yourself. I don't +know that I'd have done it--yes, perhaps I would--but having done it, you +must stick to your guns." + +"Yes," said Evelyn in a mournful tone; "I must run away. I have quite, +quite, absolutely made up my mind." + +"And when, darling?" said Jasper, trembling a good deal. + +"The night before the week is up. I will come to you here, Jasper, and +you must take me." + +"Of course, love; you will come back with me to The Priory. I can hide +you there as well as anywhere on earth--yes, love, as well as anywhere on +earth." + +"Oh, I'd be so frightened! It would be so close to them all!" + +"The closer the better, dear. If you went into any village or any town +near you would be discovered; but they'd never think of looking for you +at The Priory. Why, darling, I have lived there unsuspected for some +time now--weeks, I might say. Sylvia will not tell. You shall sleep in my +bed, and I will keep you safe. Only you must bring some money, Evelyn, +for mine is getting sadly short." + +"Yes," said Evelyn. "I will ask Uncle Edward; he will not refuse me. He +is very kind to me, and I love him better than any one on earth--better +even than Jasper, because he is father's very own brother, and because I +am his heiress. He likes to talk to me about the place and what I am to +do when it belongs to me. He is not angry with me when I am quite alone +with him and I talk of these things; only he has taught me to say +nothing about it in public. If I could be sorry for having got into this +scrape it would be on his account; but there, I was not brought up with +his thoughts, and I cannot think things wrong that he thinks wrong. Can +you, Jasper?" + +"No, my little wild honey-bird--not I. Well, dearie, I will meet you +again to-morrow night; and now I must be going back." + +Evelyn returned to the house. She went up to her room, changed her +shoes, tidied her hair, and came down to the drawing-room. Lady Frances +was leaning back in a chair, turning over the pages of a new magazine. +She called Evelyn to her side. + +"How do you like school?" she said. Her tones were abrupt; the eyes she +fixed on the child were hard. + +Evelyn's worst feelings were always awakened by Lady Frances's manner to +her. + +"I do not like it at all," she said. "I wish to leave." + +"Your wishes, I am afraid, are not to be considered; all the same, you +may have to leave." + +"Why?" asked Evelyn, turning white. She wondered if Lady Frances knew. + +Her aunt's eyes were fixed, as though they were gimlets, on her face. + +"Sit down," said Lady Frances, "and tell me how you spend your day. What +class are you in? What lessons are you learning?" + +"I am in a very low class indeed?" said Evelyn. "Mothery always said I +was clever." + +"I do not suppose your mother knew." + +"Why should she not know, she who was so very clever herself? She taught +me all sorts of things, and so did poor Jasper." + +"Ah! I am glad at least that I have removed that dreadful woman out of +your path," said Lady Frances. + +Evelyn smiled and lowered her eyes. Her manner irritated her aunt +extremely. + +"Well," she said, "go on; we will not discuss the fact of the form you +ought to be in. What lessons do you do?" + +"Oh, history, grammar; I suppose, the usual English subjects." + +"Yes, yes; but history--that is interesting. English history?" + +"Yes, Aunt Frances." + +"What part of the history?" + +"We are doing the reigns of the Edwards now." + +"Ah! can you tell me anything with regard to the reign of Edward I.?" + +Evelyn colored. Lady Frances watched her. + +"I am certain she knows," thought the little girl. "But, oh, this is +terrible! Has that awful Miss Henderson told her? What shall I do? I do +not think I will wait until the week is up; I think I will run away at +once." + +"Answer my question, Evelyn," said her aunt. + +Evelyn did mutter a tiny piece of information with regard to the said +reign. + +"I shall question you on your history from time to time," said Lady +Frances. "I take an interest in this school experiment. Whether it will +last or not I cannot say; but I may as well say one thing--if for any +reason your presence is not found suitable in the school where I have +now sent you, you will go to a very different order of establishment and +to a much stricter _rgime_ elsewhere." + +"What is a _rgime?_" asked Evelyn. + +"I am too tired to answer your silly questions. Now go and read your +book in that corner. Do not make a noise; I have a headache." + +Evelyn slouched away, looking as cross and ill-tempered as a little girl +could look. + +"Audrey darling," called her mother in a totally different tone of +voice, "play me that pretty thing of Chopin's which you know I am so +fond of." + +Audrey approached the piano and began to play. + +Evelyn read her book for a time without attending much to the meaning of +the words. Then she observed that her uncle, who had been asleep behind +his newspaper, had risen and left the room. Here was the very +opportunity that she sought. If she could only get her Uncle Edward +quite by himself, and when he was in the best of good humors, he might +give her some money. She could not run away without money to go with. +Jasper, she knew, had not a large supply. Evelyn, with all her ignorance +of many things, had early in her life come into contact with the want of +money. Her mother had often and often been short of funds. When Mrs. +Wynford was short, the ranch did without even, at times, the necessaries +of life. Evelyn had a painful remembrance of butterless breakfasts and +meatless dinners; of shoes which were patched so often that they would +scarcely keep out the winter snows; of little garments turned and turned +again. Then money had come back, and life became smooth and pleasant; +there was an abundance of good food for the various meals, and Evelyn +had shoes to her heart's content, and the sort of gay-colored garments +which her mother delighted in. Yes, she understood Jasper's appeal for +money, and determined on no account to go to that good woman's +protection without a sufficient sum in hand. + +Therefore, as Audrey was playing some of the most seductive music of +that past master of the art, Chopin, and Lady Frances lay back in her +chair with closed eyes and listened, Evelyn left the room. She knew +where to find her uncle, and going down a corridor, opened the door of +his smoking-room without knocking. He was seated by the fire smoking. A +newspaper lay by his side; a pile of letters which had come by the +evening post were waiting to be opened. When Evelyn quietly opened the +door he looked round and said: + +"Ah, it is you, Eve. Do you want anything, my dear?" + +"May I speak to you for a minute or two, Uncle Edward?" + +"Certainly, my dear Evelyn; come in. What is the matter, dear?" + +"Oh, nothing much." + +Evelyn went and leant up against her uncle. She had never a scrap of +fear of him, which was one reason why he liked her, and thought her far +more tolerable than did his wife or Audrey. Even Audrey, who was his own +child, held him in a certain awe; but Evelyn leant comfortably now +against his side, and presently she took his arm of her own accord and +passed it securely round her waist. + +"Now, that is nice," she said; "when I lean up against you I always +remember that you are father's brother." + +"I am glad that you should remember that fact, Evelyn." + +"You are pleased with me on the whole, aren't you, Uncle Edward?" asked +the little girl. Evelyn backed her head against his shoulder as she +spoke, and looked into his face with her big and curious eyes. + +"On the whole, yes." + +"But Aunt Frances does not like me." + +"You must try to win her affection, Evelyn; it will all come in good +time." + +"It is not pleasant to be in the house with a person who does not like +you, is it, Uncle Edward?" + +"I can understand you, Evelyn; it is not pleasant." + +"And Audrey only half-likes me." + +"My dear little girl," said her uncle, rousing himself to talk in a more +serious strain, "would it not be wisest for you to give over thinking of +who likes you and who does not, and to devote all your time to doing +what is right?" + +Evelyn made a wry face. + +"I don't care about doing what is right," she said; "I don't like it." + +Her uncle smiled. + +"You are a strange girl; but I believe you have improved," he said. + +"You would be sorry if I did anything very, very naughty, Uncle Edward?" + +"I certainly should." + +Evelyn lowered her eyes. + +"He must not know. I must keep him from knowing somehow, but I wonder +how I shall," she thought. + +"And perhaps you would be sorry," she continued, "if I were not here--if +your naughty, naughty Eve was no longer in the house?" + +"I should. I often think of you. I----" + +"What, Uncle Edward?" + +"Love you, little girl." + +"Love me! Do you?" she asked in a tone of affection. "Do you really? +Please say that again." + +"I love you, Evelyn." + +"Uncle Edward, may I give you just the tiniest kiss?" + +"Yes, dear." + +Evelyn raised her soft face and pressed a light kiss on her uncle's +cheek. She was quite silent then for a minute; truth to tell, her heart +was expanding and opening out and softening, and great thrills of pure +love were filling it, so that soon, soon that heart might have melted +utterly and been no longer a hard heart of stone. But, alas! as these +good thoughts visited her, there came also the remembrance of the sin +she had committed, and of the desperate measures she was about to take +to save herself--for she had by no means come to the stage of confessing +that sin, and by so doing getting rid of her naughtiness. + +"Uncle Edward," she said abruptly, "I want you to give me a little +money. I have come here to ask you. I want it all for my very own self. +I want some money which no one else need know anything about." + +"Of course, dear, you shall have money. How much do you want?" + +"Well, a good bit. I want to give Jasper a present." + +"Your old nurse?" + +"Yes. You know it was unkind of Aunt Frances to send her away; mothery +wished her to stay with me." + +"I know that, Evelyn, and as far as I personally am concerned, I am +sorry; but your aunt knows very much more about little girls than I do." + +"She does not know half so much about this girl." + +"Well, anyhow, dear, it was her wish, and you and I must submit." + +"But you are sorry?" + +"For some reasons, yes." + +"And you would like me to help Jasper?" + +"Certainly. Do you know where your nurse is now, Evelyn?" + +"I do." + +"Where?" + +"I would rather not say; only, may I send her some money?" + +"That seems reasonable enough," thought the Squire. + +"How much do you want?" he asked. + +"Would twenty pounds be too much?" + +"I think not. It is a good deal, but she was a faithful servant. I will +give you twenty pounds for her now." + +The Squire rose and took out his check-book. + +"Oh, please," said Evelyn, "I want it in gold." + +"But how will you send it to her?" + +"Never, never mind; I must have it in gold." + +"Poor child! She is in earnest," thought the Squire. "Perhaps the woman +will come to meet her somewhere. I really cannot see why she should be +tabooed from having a short interview with her old nurse. Frances and I +differ on this head. Yes, I will let her have the money; the child has a +good deal of heart when all is said and done." + +So the Squire put two little rolls, neatly made up in brown paper, into +Evelyn's hands. + +"There," he said; "it is a great deal of money to trust a little girl +with, but you shall have it; only you must not ask me for any more." + +"Oh, what a darling you are, Uncle Edward! I feel as if I must kiss you +again. There! those kisses are full of love. Now I must go. But, oh, I +say, _what_ a funny parcel!" + +"What parcel, dear?" + +"That long parcel on that table." + +"It is a gun-case which I have not yet unpacked. Now run away." + +"But that reminds me. You said I might go out some day to shoot with +you." + +"On some future day. I do not much care for girls using firearms; and +you are so busy now with your school." + +"You think, perhaps, that I cannot fire a gun, but I can aim well; I can +kill a bird on the wing as neatly as any one. I told Audrey, and she +would not believe me. Please--please show me your new gun. + +"Not now; I have not looked at it myself yet." + +"But you do believe that I can shoot?" + +"Oh yes, dear--yes, I suppose so. All the same, I should be sorry to +trust you; I do not approve of women carrying firearms. Now leave me, +Evelyn; I have a good deal to attend to." + +Evelyn went to bed to think over her uncle's words; her disgrace at +school; the terrible _dnouement_ which lay before her; the money, which +seemed to her to be the only way out, and which would insure her comfort +with Jasper wherever Jasper might like to take her; and finally, and by +no means least, she meditated over the subject of her uncle's new gun. +On the ranch she had often carried a gun of her own; from her earliest +days she had been accustomed to regard the women of her family as +first-class shots. Her mother had herself taught her how to aim, how to +fire, how to make allowance in order to bring her bird down on the wing, +and Evelyn had followed out her instructions many times. She felt now +that her uncle did not believe her, and the fear that this was the case +irritated her beyond words. + +"I do not pretend to be learned," thought Evelyn, "and I do not pretend +to be good, but there is one thing that I am, and that is a first-rate +shot. Uncle Edward might show me his new gun. How little he guesses that +I can manage it quite as well as he can himself!" + +Two or three days passed without anything special occurring. Evelyn was +fairly good at school; it was not, she considered, worth her while any +longer to shirk her lessons. She began in spite of herself, and quite +against her declared inclination, to have a sort of liking for her +books. History was the only lesson which she thoroughly detested. She +could not be civil to Miss Thompson, whom she considered her enemy; but +to her other teachers she was fairly agreeable, and had already to a +certain extent won the hearts of more than one of the girls in her form. +She was bright and cheerful, and could say funny things; and as also she +brought an unlimited supply of chocolates and other sweetmeats to +school, these facts alone insured her being more or less of a favorite. +At home she avoided her aunt and Audrey, and evening after evening she +went to the stile to have a chat with Jasper. + +Jasper never failed to meet her little girl, as she called Evelyn, at +their arranged rendezvous. Evelyn managed to slip out without, as she +thought, any one noticing her; and the days went by until there was only +one day left before Miss Henderson would proclaim to the entire school +that Evelyn Wynford was the guilty person who had torn the precious +volume of Ruskin. + +"When you come for me to-morrow night, Jasper," said Evelyn, "I will go +away with you. Are you quite sure that it is safe to take me back to The +Priory?" + +"Quite, quite safe, darling; hardly a soul knows that I am at The +Priory, and certainly no one will suspect that you are there. Besides, +the place is all undermined with cellars, and at the worst you and I +could hide there together while the house was searched." + +"What fun!" cried Evelyn, clapping her hands. "I declare, Jasper, it is +almost as good as a fairy story." + +"Quite as good, my little love." + +"And you will be sure to have a very, very nice supper ready for me +to-morrow night?" + +"Oh yes, dear; just the supper you like best--chocolate and sweet cakes." + +"And you will tuck me up in bed as you used to?" + +"Darling, I have put a little white bed close to my own, where you shall +sleep." + +"Oh Jasper, it will be nice to be with you again! And you are positive +Sylvia will not tell?" + +"She is sad about you, Evelyn, but she will not tell. I have arranged +that." + +"And that terrible old man, her father, will he find out?" + +"I think not, dear; he has not yet found out about me at any rate." + +"Perhaps, Jasper, I had better go back now; it is later than usual." + +"Be sure you bring the twenty pounds when you come to-morrow night," +said Jasper; "for my funds, what with one thing and another, are getting +low." + +"Yes, I will bring the money," replied Evelyn. + +She returned to the house. No one saw her as she slipped in by the back +entrance. She ran up to her room, smoothed her hair, and went down to +the drawing-room. Lady Frances and Audrey were alone in the big room. +They had been talking together, but instantly became silent when Evelyn +entered. + +"They have been abusing me, of course," thought the little girl; and she +flashed an angry glance first at one and then at the other. + +"Evelyn," said her aunt, "have you finished learning your lessons? You +know how extremely particular Miss Henderson is that school tasks should +be perfectly prepared." + +"My lessons are all right, thank you," replied Evelyn in her brusquest +voice. She flung herself into a chair and crossed her legs. + +"Uncross your legs, my dear; that is a very unlady-like thing to do." + +Evelyn muttered something, but did what her aunt told her. + +"Do not lean back so much, Evelyn; it is not good style. Do not poke out +your chin, either; observe how Audrey sits." + +"I don't want to observe how Audrey sits," said Evelyn. + +Lady Frances colored. She was about to speak, but a glance from her +daughter restrained her. Just then Read came into the room. Between Read +and Evelyn there was already a silent feud. Read now glanced at the +young lady, tossed her head a trifle, and went up to Lady Frances. + +"I am very sorry to trouble you, madam," she said, "but if I may see you +quite by yourself for a few moments I shall be very much obliged." + +"Certainly, Read; go into my boudoir and I will join you there," said +her mistress. "I know," added Lady Frances graciously, "that you would +not disturb me if you had not something important to say." + +"No, madam; I should be very sorry to do so." + +Lady Frances and Read now left the room, and Audrey and Evelyn were +alone. Audrey uttered a sigh. + +"What is the matter, Audrey?" asked her cousin. + +"I am thinking of the day after to-morrow," answered Audrey. "The +unhappy girl who has kept her secret all this time will be openly +denounced. It will be terribly exciting." + +"You do not pretend that you pity her!" said Evelyn in a voice of scorn. + +"Indeed I do pity her." + +"What nonsense! That is not at all your way." + +"Why should you say that? It is my way. I pity all people who have done +wrong most terribly." + +"Then have you ever pitied me since I came to England?" + +"Oh yes, Evelyn--oh, indeed I have!" + +"Please keep your pity to yourself; I don't want it." + +Audrey relapsed into silence. + +By and by Lady Frances came back; she was still accompanied by Read. + +"What does a servant want in this room?" said Evelyn in her most +disagreeable voice. + +"Evelyn, come here," said her aunt; "I have something to say to you." + +Evelyn went very unwillingly. Read stood a little in the background. + +"Evelyn," said Lady Frances, "I have just heard something that surprises +me extremely, that pains me inexpressibly; it is true, so there is no +use in your denying it, but I must tell you what Read has discovered." + +"Read!" cried Evelyn, her voice choking with passion and her face white. +"Who believes what a tell-tale-tit of that sort says?" + +"You must not be impertinent, my dear. I wish to tell you that Read has +found you out. Your maid Jasper has not left this neighborhood, and you, +Evelyn--you are naughty enough and daring enough to meet her every night +by the stile that leads into the seven-acre meadow. Read observed your +absence one night, and followed you herself to-night, and she discovered +everything." + +"Did you hear what I was saying to Jasper?" asked Evelyn, turning her +white face now and looking full at Read. + +"No, Miss Evelyn," replied the maid; "I would not demean myself to +listen." + +"You would demean yourself to follow," said Evelyn. + +"Confess your sin, Evelyn, and do not scold Read," interrupted Lady +Frances. + +"I have nothing to confess, Aunt Frances." + +"But you did it?" + +"Certainly I did it." + +"You dared to go to meet a woman privately, clandestinely, whom I, your +aunt, prohibited the house?" + +"I dared to go to meet the woman my mother loved," replied Evelyn, "and +I am not a bit ashamed of it; and if I had the chance I would do it +again." + +"You are a very, very naughty girl. I am more than angry with you. I am +pained beyond words. What is to become of you I know not. You are a bad +girl; I cannot bear to think that you should be in the same house with +Audrey." + +"Loving the woman whom my mother loved does not make me a bad girl," +replied Evelyn. "But as you do not like to have me in the room, Aunt +Frances, I will go away--I will go up-stairs. I think you are very, very +unkind to me; I think you have been so from the first." + +"Do not dare to say another word to me, miss; go away immediately." + +Evelyn left the room. She was half-way up-stairs when she paused. + +"What is the use of being good?" she said to herself. "What is the use +of ever trying to please anybody? I really did not mean to be naughty +when first I came, and if Aunt Frances had been different I might have +been different too. What right had she to deprive me of Jasper when +mothery said that Jasper was to stay with me? It is Aunt Frances's fault +that I am such a bad girl now. Well, thank goodness! I shall not be here +much longer; I shall be away this time to-morrow night. The only person +I shall be sorry to leave is Uncle Edward. Audrey and I will be going to +school early in the morning, and then there will be the fuss and bustle +and the getting away before Read sees me. Oh, that dreadful old Read! +what can I do to blind her eyes to-morrow night? Throw dust into them in +some fashion I must. I will just go and have one word of good-by with +Uncle Edward now." + +Evelyn ran down the corridor which led to her uncle's room. She tapped +at the door. There was no answer. She opened the door softly and peeped +in. The room was empty. She was just about to go away again, +considerably crestfallen and disappointed, when her eyes fell upon the +gun-case. Instantly a sparkle came into her eyes; she went up to the +case, and removing the gun, proceeded to examine it. It was made on the +newest pattern, and was light and easily carried. It held six chambers, +all of which could be most simply and conveniently loaded. + +Evelyn knew well how to load a gun, and finding the proper cartridges, +now proceeded to enjoy herself by making the gun ready for use. Having +loaded it, she returned it to its case. + +"I know what I'll do," she thought. "Uncle Edward thinks that I cannot +shoot; he thinks that I am not good at any one single thing. But I will +show him. I'll go out and shoot two birds on the wing before breakfast +to-morrow; whether they are crows or whether they are doves or whether +they are game, it does not matter in the least; I'll bring them in and +lay them at his feet, and say: + +"Here is what your wild niece Evelyn can do; and now you will believe +that she has one accomplishment which is not vouchsafed to other girls." + +So, having completed her task of putting the gun in absolute readiness +for its first essay in the field, she returned the case to its corner +and went up-stairs to bed. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI.--TANGLES. + + +When Audrey and her mother found themselves alone, Lady Frances turned +at once to her daughter. + +"Audrey," she said, "I feel that I must confide in you." + +"What about, mother?" asked Audrey. + +"About Evelyn." + +"Yes, mother?" + +Audrey's face looked anxious and troubled; Lady Frances's scarcely less +so. + +"The child hates me," said Lady Frances. "What I have done to excite +such a feeling is more than I can tell you; from the first I have done +my utmost to be kind to her." + +"It is difficult to know how best to be kind to Evelyn," said Audrey in +a thoughtful voice. + +"What do you mean, my dear?" + +"I mean, mother, that she is something of a little savage. She has never +been brought up with our ideas. Do you think, mother--I scarcely like to +say it to one whom I honor and love and respect as I do you--but do you +think you understand her?" + +"No, I do not," said Lady Frances. "I have never understood her from the +first. Your father seems to manage her better." + +"Ah, yes," said Audrey; "but then, she belongs to him." + +Lady Frances looked annoyed. + +"She belongs to us all," she remarked. "She is your first cousin, and my +niece, of course, by marriage. Her father was a very dear fellow; how +such a daughter could have been given to him is one of those puzzles +which will never be unraveled. But now, dear, we must descend from +generalities to facts. Something very grave and terrible has occurred. +Read did right when she told me about Evelyn's secret visits to Jasper +at the stile. You know how from the very first I have distrusted and +disliked that woman. You must not suppose, Audrey, that I felt no pain +when I turned the woman away after the letter which Evelyn's mother had +written to me; but there are times when it is wrong to yield, and I felt +that such was the case." + +"I knew, my darling mother, that you must have acted from the best of +motives," said Audrey. + +"I did, my dearest child; I did. Well, Evelyn has managed to meet this +woman, and instead of being removed from her influence, is under it to a +remarkable and dangerous degree--for the woman, of course, thinks herself +wronged, and Evelyn agrees with her. Now, the fact is this, Audrey: I +happen to know about that very disagreeable occurrence which took place +at Chepstow House." + +"What, mother--what?" cried Audrey. "You speak as if you knew something +special." + +"I do, Audrey." + +"But what, mother?" + +Audrey's face turned red; her eyes shone. She went close to her mother, +knelt by her, and took her hand. + +"Who has spoken to you about it?" she asked. + +"Miss Henderson." + +"Oh mother! and what did she say?" + +"My darling, I am afraid you will be terribly grieved; I can scarcely +tell you how upset I am. Audrey, the strongest, the very strongest, +circumstantial evidence points to Evelyn as the guilty person." + +"Oh mother! Evelyn! But why? Oh, surely, surely whoever accuses poor +Evelyn is mistaken!" + +"I agreed with you, Audrey; I felt just as indignant as you do when +first I heard what Miss Henderson told me; but the more I see of Evelyn +the more sure I am that she would be capable of this action, that if the +opportunity came she would do this cruel and unjustifiable wrong, and +after having done it the unhappy child would try to conceal it." + +"But, mother darling, what motive could she have?" + +"Well, dear, let me tell you. Miss Henderson seems to be well aware of +the entire story. On the first day when Evelyn went to school she was +asked during class to read over the reign of Edward I. in the history of +England. Evelyn, in her usual pert way which we all know so well, +declared that she knew the reign, and while the other girls in her form +were busy with their lessons she amused herself looking about her. As it +was the first day, Miss Thompson took no notice; but when the girls went +into the playground for recess she called Evelyn to her and questioned +her with regard to the history. Evelyn's wicked lie was immediately +manifest, for she did not know a single word about the reign. Miss +Thompson was naturally angry, and desired her to stay in the schoolroom +and learn the reign while the other girls were at play. Evelyn was +angry, but could not resist. About six o'clock that evening Miss +Thompson came into the schoolroom, found Ruskin's _Sesame and Lilies_, +which she had left there that morning, and took it away with her. She +was preparing a lecture out of the book, and did not open it at once. +When she did so she perceived, to her horror, that some pages had been +torn out. You know, my dear, what followed. You know what a strained and +unhappy condition the school is now in." + +"Oh yes, mother--yes, I know all that; the only part that is new to me is +that Evelyn was kept indoors to learn her history." + +"Yes, dear, and that supplies the motive; not to one like you, my +Audrey, but to such a perverted, such an unhappy and ignorant child as +poor Evelyn, one who has never learnt self-control, one whose passions +are ever in the ascendency." + +"Oh, poor Evelyn, poor Evelyn!" said Audrey. "But still, +mother--still----Oh, I am sure she never did it! She has denied it, mother; +whatever she is, she is not a coward. She might have done it in a fit of +rage; but if she did she would confess. Why should she wreak her anger +on Miss Henderson? Oh, mother darling, there is nothing proved against +her!" + +"Wait, Audrey; I have not finished my story. Two days passed before Miss +Thompson needed to open the history-book which Evelyn had been using; +when she did, she found, lying in the pages which commenced the reign of +Edward I., some scraps of torn paper, all too evidently torn out of +_Sesame and Lilies_. + +"Mother!" + +"It is true, Audrey." + +"Who told you this?" + +"Miss Henderson." + +"Does Miss Henderson believe that Evelyn is guilty?" + +"Yes; and so do I." + +"Mother, mother, what will happen?" + +"Who knows? But Miss Henderson is determined--and, yes, my dear, I must +say I agree with her--she is determined to expose Evelyn; she said she +would give her a week in which to repent." + +"And that week will be up the day after to-morrow," said Audrey. + +"Yes, Audrey--yes; there is only to-morrow left." + +"Oh mother, how can I bear it?" + +"My poor child, it will be dreadful for you." + +"Oh mother, why did she come here? I could almost hate her! And yet--no, +I do not hate her--no, I do not; I pity her." + +"You are an angel! When I think that you, my sweet, will be mixed up in +this, and--and injured by it, and brought to low esteem by it, oh, my +dearest, what can I say?" + +Audrey was silent for a moment. She bent her head and looked down; then +she spoke. + +"It is a trial," she said, "but I am not to be pitied as Evelyn is to be +pitied. Mother darling, there is but one thing to be done." + +"What is that, dearest?" + +"To get her to repent--to get her to confess between now and the morning +after next. Oh mother! leave her to me." + +"I will, Audrey. If any one can influence her, you can; you are so +brave, so good, so strong!" + +"Nay, I have but little influence over her," said Audrey. "Let me think +for a few moments, mother." + +Audrey sank into a chair and sat silent. Her sweet, pure, high-bred face +was turned in profile to her mother. Lady Frances glanced at it, and +thought over the circumstances which had brought Evelyn into their +midst. + +"To think that that girl should supplant her!" thought the mother; and +her anger was so great that she could not keep quiet. She was going out +of the room to speak to her husband, but before she reached the door +Audrey called her. + +"What are you going to do, mother?" + +"It is only right that I should tell you, Audrey. An idea has come to +me. Evelyn respects your father; if I told him just what I have told you +he might induce her to confess." + +"No, mother," said Audrey suddenly; "do not let us lower her in his +eyes. The strongest possible motive for Evelyn to confess her sin will +be that father does not know; that he need never know if she confesses. +Do not tell him, please, mother; I have got another thought." + +"What is that, my darling?" + +"Do you not remember Sylvia--pretty Sylvia?" + +"Of course. A dear, bright, fascinating girl!" + +"Evelyn is fond of her--fonder of Sylvia than she is of me; perhaps +Sylvia could induce her to confess." + +"It is a good thought, Audrey. I will ask Sylvia over here to dine +to-morrow evening." + +"Oh, mother darling, that is too late! May I not send a messenger for +her to come in the morning? Oh mother, if she could only come now!" + +"No dearest; it is too late to-night." + +"But Evelyn ought to see her before she goes to school." + +"My dearest, you have both to be at school at nine o'clock." + +"Oh, I don't know what is to be done! I do feel that I have very little +influence, and Sylvia may have much. Oh dear! oh dear!" + +"Audrey, I am almost sorry I have told you; you take it too much to +heart." + +"Dear mother, you must have told me; I could not have stood the shock, +the surprise, unprepared. Oh mother, think of the morning after next! +Think of our all standing up in school, and Evelyn, my cousin, being +proclaimed guilty! And yet, mother, I ought only to think of Evelyn, and +not of myself; but I cannot help thinking of myself--I cannot--I cannot." + +"Something must be done to help you, Audrey. Let me think. I will write +a line to Miss Henderson and say I am detaining you both till afternoon +school. Then, dearest, you can have your talk with Evelyn in the +morning, and afterwards Sylvia can see her, and perhaps the unhappy +child may be brought to repentance, and may speak to Miss Henderson and +confess her sin in the afternoon. That is the best thing. Now go to bed, +and do not let the trouble worry you, my sweet; that would indeed be the +last straw." + +Audrey left the room. But during that night she could not sleep. From +side to side of her pillow she tossed; and early in the morning, an hour +or more before her usual time of rising, she got up. She dressed herself +quickly and went in the direction of Evelyn's room. Her idea was to +speak to Evelyn there and then before her courage failed her. She opened +the door of her cousin's room softly. She expected to see Evelyn, who +was very lazy as a rule, sound asleep in bed; but, to her astonishment, +the room was empty. Where could she be? + +"What can be the matter?" thought Audrey; and in some alarm she ran +down-stairs. + +The first person she saw was Evelyn, who was making straight for her +uncle's room, intending to go out with the well-loaded gun. Evelyn +scowled when she saw her cousin, and a look of anger swept over her +face. + +"What are you doing up so early, Evelyn?" asked Audrey. + +"May I ask what are _you_ doing up so early," retorted Evelyn. + +"I got up early on purpose to talk to you." + +"I don't want to talk just now." + +"Do come with me, Evelyn--please do. Why should you turn against me and +be so disagreeable? Oh, dear! oh dear! I am so terribly sorry for you! +Do you know that I was awake all night thinking of you?" + +"Then you were very silly," said Evelyn, "for certainly I was not awake +thinking of you. What is it you want to say?" she continued. + +She recognized that she must give up her sport. How more than provoking! +for the next morning she would be no longer at Wynford Castle; she would +be under the safe shelter of her beloved Jasper's wing. + +"The morning is quite fine," said Audrey; "do come out and let us walk." + +Evelyn looked very cross, but finally agreed, and they went out +together. Audrey wondered how she should proceed. What could she say to +influence Evelyn? In truth, they were not the sort of girls who would +ever pull well together. Audrey had been brought up in the strictest +school, with the highest sense of honor. Evelyn had been left to grow up +at her own sweet will; honorable actions had never appealed to her. +Tricks, cheating, smart doings, clever ways, which were not the ways of +righteousness, were the ways to which she had been accustomed. It was +impossible for her to see things with Audrey's eyes. + +"What do you want to say to me?" said Evelyn. "Why do you look so +mysterious?" + +"I want to say something--something which I must say. Evelyn, do not ask +me any questions, but do just listen. You know what is going to happen +to-morrow morning at school?" + +"Lessons, I suppose," said Evelyn. + +"Please don't be silly; you must know what I mean." + +"Oh, you allude to the row about that stupid, stupid book. What a fuss! +I used to think I liked school, but I don't now. I am sure mistresses +don't go on in that silly way in Tasmania, for mothery said she loved +school. Oh, the fun she had at school! Stolen parties in the attics; +suppers brought in clandestinely; lessons shirked! Oh dear! oh dear! she +had a time of excitement. But at this school you are all so proper! I do +really think you English girls have no spunk and no spirit." + +"But I'll tell you what we have," said Audrey; and she turned and faced +her cousin. "We have honor; we have truth. We like to work straight, not +crooked; we like to do right, not wrong. Yes, we do, and we are the +better for it. That is what we English girls are. Don't abuse us, +Evelyn, for in your heart of hearts--yes, Evelyn, I repeat it--in your +heart of hearts you must long to be one of us." + +There was something in Audrey's tone which startled Evelyn. + +"How like Uncle Edward you look!" she said; and perhaps she could not +have paid her cousin a higher compliment. + +The look which for just a moment flitted across the queer little face of +the Tasmanian girl upset Audrey. She struggled to retain her composure, +but the next moment burst into tears. + +"Oh dear!" said Evelyn, who hated people who cried, "what is the +matter?" + +"You are the matter. Oh, why--_why_ did you do it?" + +"I do what?" said Evelyn, a little startled, and turning very pale. + +"Oh! you know you did it, and--and---- There is Sylvia Leeson coming across +the grass. Do let Sylvia speak to you. Oh, you know--you know you did +it!" + +"What is the matter?" said Sylvia, running up, panting and breathless. +"I have been asked to breakfast here. Such fun! I slipped off without +father knowing. But are not you two going to school? Why was I asked? +Audrey, what are you crying about?" + +"About Evelyn. I am awfully unhappy----" + +"Have you told, Evelyn?" asked Sylvia breathlessly. + +"No," said Evelyn; "and if you do, Sylvia----" + +"Sylvia, do you know about this?" cried Audrey. + +"About what?" asked Sylvia. + +"About the book which got injured at Miss Henderson's school." + +Sylvia glanced at Evelyn; then her face flushed, her eyes brightened, +and she said emphatically: + +"I know; and dear little Evelyn will tell you herself.--Won't you, +darling--won't you?" + +Evelyn looked from one to the other. + +"You are enough, both of you, to drive me mad," she said. "Do you think +for a single moment that I am going to speak against myself? I hate you, +Sylvia, as much as I ever loved you." + +Before either girl could prevent her she slipped away, and flying round +the shrubberies, was lost to view. + +"Then she did do it?" said Audrey. "She told you?" + +Sylvia shut her lips. + +"I must not say any more," she answered. + +"But, Sylvia, it is no secret. Miss Henderson knows; there is +circumstantial evidence. Mother told me last night. Evelyn will be +exposed before the whole school." + +Now Jasper, for wise reasons, had said nothing to Sylvia of Evelyn's +proposed flight to The Priory, and consequently she was unaware that the +naughty girl had no intention of exposing herself to public disgrace. + +"She must be brought to confess," continued Audrey, "and you must find +her and talk to her. You must show her how hopeless and helpless she is. +Show her that if she tells, the disgrace will not be quite so awful. Oh, +do please get her to tell!" + +"I can but try," said Sylvia; "only, somehow," she added, "I have not +yet quite fathomed Evelyn." + +"But I thought she was fond of you?" + +"You see what she said. She did confide something to me, only I must not +tell you any more; and she is angry with me because she thinks I have +not respected her confidence. Oh, what is to be done? Yes, I will go and +have a talk with her. Go in, please, Audrey; you look dead tired." + +"Oh! as if anything mattered," said Audrey. "I could almost wish that I +were dead; the disgrace is past enduring." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII.--THE STRANGE VISITOR IN THE BACK BEDROOM. + + +In vain Sylvia pleaded and argued. She brought all her persuasions to +bear; she brought all her natural sweetness to the fore. She tried love, +with which she was so largely endowed; she tried tact, which had been +given to her in full measure; she tried the gentle touch of scorn and +sarcasm; finally she tried anger, but for all she said and did she might +as well have held her peace. Evelyn put on that stubbornness with which +she could encase herself as in armor; nowhere could Sylvia find a crack +or a crevice through which her words might pierce the obdurate and +naughty little heart. What was to be done? At last she gave up in +despair. Audrey met her outside Evelyn's room. Sylvia shook her head. + +"Don't question me," she said. "I am very unhappy. I pity you from my +heart. I can say nothing; I am bound in honor to say nothing. Poor +Evelyn will reap her own punishment." + +"If," said Audrey, "you have failed I give up all hope." + +After lunch Evelyn and Audrey went back to school. There were a good +many classes to be held that afternoon--one for deportment, another for +dancing, another for recitation. Evelyn could recite extremely well when +she chose. She looked almost pretty when she recited some of the +spirited ballads of her native land for the benefit of the school. Her +eyes glowed, darkened, and deepened; the pallor of her face was +transformed and beautified by a faint blush. There was a heart somewhere +within her; as Audrey watched her she was obliged to acknowledge that +fact. + +"She is thinking of her dead mother now," thought the girl. "Oh, if only +that mother had been different we should not be placed in our present +terrible position!" + +It was the custom of the school for the girls on recitation afternoons +to do their pieces in the great hall. Miss Henderson, Miss Lucy, and a +few visitors generally came to listen to the recitations. Miss Thompson +was the recitation mistress, and right well did she perform her task. If +a girl had any dramatic power, if a girl had any talent for seeing +behind the story and behind the dream of the poet, Miss Thompson was the +one to bring that gift to the surface. Evelyn, who was a dramatist by +nature, became like wax in her hands; the way in which she recited that +afternoon brought a feeling of astonishment to those who listened to +her. + +"What remarkable little girl is that?" said a lady of the neighboring +town to Miss Henderson. + +"She is a Tasmanian and Squire Edward Wynford's niece," replied Miss +Henderson; but it was evident that she was not to be drawn out on the +subject, nor would she allow herself to express any approbation of +Evelyn's really remarkable powers. + +Audrey's piece, compared with Evelyn's, was tame and wanting in spirit. +It was well rendered, it is true, but the ring of passion was absent. + +"Really," said the same lady again, "I doubt whether recitations such as +Miss Evelyn Wynford has given are good for the school; surely girls +ought not to have their minds overexcited with such things!" + +Miss Henderson was again silent. + +The time passed by, and the close of the day arrived. Just as the girls +were putting on their cloaks and hats preparatory to going home, and +some were collecting round and praising Evelyn for her remarkable +performance of the afternoon, Miss Henderson appeared on the scene. She +touched the little girl on the arm. + +"One moment," she said. + +"What do you want?" said Evelyn, backing. + +"To speak to you, my dear." + +Audrey gave Evelyn a beseeching look. Perhaps if Audrey had refrained +from looking at that moment, Evelyn, excited by her triumph, touched by +the plaudits of her companions, might have done what she was expected to +do, and what immediately followed need not have taken place. But Evelyn +hated Audrey, and if for no other reason but to annoy her she would +stand by her guns. + +Miss Henderson took her hand, and entered a room adjoining the +cloakroom. She closed the door, and said: + +"The week is nearly up. You know what will happen to-morrow?" + +"Yes," said Evelyn, lowering her eyes. + +"You will be present?" + +Evelyn was silent. + +"I shall see that you are. You must realize already what a pitiable +figure you will be, how deep and lasting will be your disgrace. You have +just tasted the sweets of success; why should you undergo that which +will be said of you to-morrow, that which no English girl can ever +forgive? It will not be forgotten in the school that owing to you much +enjoyment has been cut short, that owing to you a cloud has rested on +the entire place for several days--prizes forgone, liberty curtailed, +amusements debarred; and, before and above all these things, the fearful +stigma of disgrace resting on every girl at Chepstow House. But even +now, Evelyn, there is time; even now, by a full confession, much can be +mitigated. You know, my dear, how strong is the case against you. +To-morrow morning both Miss Thompson and I proclaim before the entire +school what has occurred. You are, in short, as a prisoner at the bar. +The school will be the judges; they will declare whether you are +innocent or guilty." + +"Let me go," said Evelyn. "Why do you torture me? I said I did not do +it, and I mean to stick to what I said. Let me go." + +"Unhappy child! I shall not be able to retain you in the school after +to-morrow morning. But go now--go. God help you!" + +Evelyn walked across the hall. Her school companions were still standing +about; many wondered why her face was so pale, and asked one another +what Miss Henderson had to say in especial to the little girl. + +"It cannot be," said Sophie, "that she did it. Why, of course she did +not do it; she would have no motive." + +"Don't let us talk about it," said her companion. "For my part I rather +like Evelyn--there is something so quaint and out-of-the-common about +her--only I wish she would not look so angry sometimes." + +"But how splendidly she recited that song of the ranch!" said Sophie. "I +could see the whole picture. We must not expect her to be quite like +ourselves; before she came here she was only a wild little savage." + +The governess-cart had come for the two girls. They drove home in +silence. Audrey was thinking of the misery of the following morning. +Evelyn was planning her escape. She meant to go before dinner. She had +asked Jasper to meet her at seven o'clock precisely. She had thought +everything out, and that seemed to be the best hour; the family would be +in their different rooms dressing. Evelyn would make an excuse to send +Read away--indeed, she seldom now required her services, preferring to +dress alone. Read would be busy with her mistress and her own young +lady, and Evelyn would thus be able to slip away without her prying eyes +observing it. + +Tea was ready for the girls when they got home. They took it almost +without speaking. Evelyn avoided looking at Audrey. Audrey felt that it +was now absolutely hopeless to say a word to Evelyn. + +"I should just like to bid Uncle Edward good-by," thought the child. +"Perhaps I may never come back again. I do not suppose Aunt Frances will +ever allow me to live at the Castle again. I should like to kiss Uncle +Edward; he is the one person in this house whom I love." + +She hesitated between her desire and her frantic wish to be out of reach +of danger as soon as possible, but in the end the thought that her uncle +might notice something different from usual about her made her afraid of +making the attempt. She went up to her room. + +"It is not necessary to dress yet," said Audrey, who was going slowly in +the direction of the pretty schoolroom. + +"No; but I have a slight headache," said Evelyn. "I will lie down for a +few minutes before dinner. And, oh! please, Audrey, tell Read I do not +want her to come and dress me this evening. I shall put on my white +frock, and I know how to fasten it myself." + +"All right; I will tell her," replied Audrey. + +She did not say any more, but went on her way. Evelyn entered her room. +There she packed a few things in a bag; she was not going to take much. +In the bottom of the bag she placed for security the two little rolls of +gold. These she covered over with a stout piece of brown paper; over the +brown paper she laid the treasures she most valued. It did not occur to +her to take any of the clothes which her Aunt Frances had bought for +her. + +"I do not need them," she said to herself. "I shall have my own dear old +things to wear again. Jasper took my trunks, and they are waiting for me +at The Priory. How happy I shall be in a few minutes! I shall have +forgotten the awful misery of my life at Castle Wynford. I shall have +forgotten that horrid scene which is to take place to-morrow morning. I +shall be the old Evelyn again. How astonished Sylvia will be! Whatever +Sylvia is, she is true to Jasper; and she will be true to me, and she +will not betray me." + +The time flew on; soon it was a quarter to seven. Evelyn could see the +minute and hour hand of the pretty clock on her mantelpiece. The time +seemed to go on leaden wings. She did not dare to stir until a few +minutes after the dressing-gong had sounded; then she knew she should +find the coast clear. At last seven silvery chimes sounded from the +little clock, and a minute later the great gong in the central hall +pealed through the house. There was the gentle rustle of ladies' silk +dresses as they went to their rooms to dress--for a few visitors had +arrived at the Castle that day. Evelyn knew this, and had made her plans +accordingly. The family had a good deal to think of; Read would be +specially busy. She went to the table where she had put her little bag, +caught it up, took a thick shawl on her arm, and prepared to rush +down-stairs. She opened the door of her room and peeped out. All was +stillness in the corridor. All was stillness in the hall below. She +hoped that she could reach the side entrance and get away into the +shrubberies without any one seeing her. Cautiously and swiftly she +descended the stairs. The stairs were made of white marble, and of +course there was no sound. She crossed the big hall and went down by a +side corridor. Once she looked back, having a horrible suspicion that +some one was watching her. There was no one in sight. She opened the +side door, and the next instant had shut it behind her. She gave a gasp +of pleasure. She was free; the horrid house would know her no more. + +"Not until I go back as mistress and pay them all out," thought the +angry little girl. "Never again will I live at Castle Wynford until I am +mistress here." + +Then she put wings to her feet and began to run. But, alas for Evelyn! +the best-laid plans are sometimes upset, and at the moment of greatest +security comes the sudden fall. For she had not gone a dozen yards +before a hand was laid on her shoulder, and turning round and trying to +extricate herself, she saw her Aunt Frances. Lady Frances, who she +supposed was safe in her room was standing by her side. + +"Evelyn," she said, "what are you doing?" + +"Nothing," said Evelyn, trying to wriggle out of her aunt's grasp. + +"Then come back to the house with me." + +She took the little girl's hand, and they re-entered the house side by +side. + +"You were running away," said Lady Frances, "but I do not permit that. +We will not argue the point; come up-stairs." + +She took Evelyn up to her room. There she opened the door and pushed her +in. + +"Doubtless you can do without dinner as you intended to run away," said +Lady Frances. "I will speak to you afterwards; for the present you stay +in your room." She locked the door and put the key into her pocket. + +The angry child was locked in. To say that Evelyn was wild with passion, +despair, and rage is but lightly to express the situation. For a time +she was almost speechless; then she looked round her prison. Were there +any means of escape? Oh! she would not stand it; she would burst open +the door. Alas, alas for her puny strength! the door was of solid oak, +firmly fastened, securely locked; it would defy the efforts of twenty +little girls of Evelyn's size and age. The window--she would escape by +the window! She rushed to it, opened it, and looked out. Evelyn's room +was, it is true, on the first floor, but the drop to the ground beneath +seemed too much for her. She shuddered as she looked below. + +"If I were on the ranch, twenty Aunt Franceses would not keep me," she +thought; and then she ran into her sitting-room. + +Of late she had scarcely ever used her sitting-room, but now she +remembered it. The windows here were French; they looked on the +flower-garden. To drop down here would not perhaps be so difficult; the +ground at least would be soft. Evelyn wondered if she might venture; but +she had once seen, long ago in Tasmania, a black woman try to escape. +She had heard the thud of the woman's body as it alighted on the ground, +and the shriek which followed. This woman had been found and brought +back to the house, and had suffered for weeks from a badly-broken leg. +Evelyn now remembered that thud, and that broken leg, and the shriek of +the victim. It would be worse than folly to injure herself. But, oh, was +it not maddening? Jasper would be waiting for her--Jasper with her big +heart and her great black eyes and her affectionate manner; and the +little white bed would be made, and the delicious chocolate in +preparation; and the fun and the delightful escapade and the daring +adventure must all be at an end. But they should not--no, no, they should +not! + +"What a fool I am!" thought Evelyn. "Why should I not make a rope and +descend in that way? Aunt Frances has locked me in, but she does not +know how daring is the nature of Evelyn Wynford. I inherit it from my +darling mothery; I will not allow myself to be defeated." + +Her courage and her spirits revived when she thought of the rope. She +must wait, however, at least until half-past seven. The great gong +sounded once more. Evelyn rushed to her door, and heard the rustle of +the silken dresses of the ladies as they descended. She had her eye at +the keyhole, and fancied that she detected the hated form of her aunt +robed in ruby velvet. A slim young figure in white also softly +descended. + +"My cousin Audrey," thought the girl. "Oh dear! oh dear! and they leave +me here, locked up like a rat in a trap. They leave me here, and I am +out of everything. Oh, I cannot, will not stand it!" + +She ran to her bed, tore off the sheets, took a pair of scissors, and +cut them into strips. She had all the ways and quick knowledge of a girl +from the wilds. She knew how to make a knot which would hold. Soon her +rope was ready. It was quite strong enough to bear her light weight. She +fastened it to a heavy article of furniture just inside the French +windows of her sitting-room, and then dropping her little bag to the +ground below, she herself swiftly descended. + +"Free! free!" she murmured. "Free in spite of her! She will see how I +have gone. Oh, won't she rage? What fun! It is almost worth the misery +of the last half-hour to have escaped as I have done." + +There was no one now to watch the little culprit as she stole across the +grass. She ran up to the stile where Jasper was still waiting for her. + +"My darling," said Jasper, "how late you are! I was just going back; I +had given you up." + +"Kiss me, Jasper," said Evelyn. "Hug me and love me and carry me a bit +of the way in your strong arms; and, oh! be quick--be very quick--for we +must hide, you and I, where no one can ever, ever find us. Oh Jasper, +Jasper, I have had such a time!" + +It was not Jasper's way to say much in moments of emergency. She took +Evelyn up, wrapped her warm fur cloak well round the little girl, and +proceeded as quickly as she could in the direction of The Priory. Evelyn +laid her head on her faithful nurse's shoulder, and a ray of warmth and +comfort visited her miserable little soul. + +"Oh, I am lost but for you!" she murmured once or twice. "How I hate +England! How I hate Aunt Frances! How I hate the horrid, horrid school, +and even Audrey! But I love you, darling, darling Jasper, and I am happy +once more." + +"You are not lost with me, my little white Eve," said Jasper. "You are +safe with me; and I tell you what it is, my sweet, you and I will part +no more." + +"We never, never will," said the little girl with fervor; and she +clasped Jasper still more tightly round the neck. + +But notwithstanding all Jasper's love and good-will, the little figure +began to grow heavy, and the way seemed twice as long as usual; and when +Evelyn begged and implored of her nurse to hurry, hurry, hurry, poor +Jasper's heart began to beat in great thumps, and finally she paused, +and said with panting breath: + +"I must drop you to the ground, my dearie, and you must run beside me, +for I have lost my breath, pet, and I cannot carry you any farther." + +"Oh, how selfish I am!" said Evelyn at once. "Yes, of course I will run, +Jasper. I can walk quite well now. I have got over my first fright. The +great thing of all is to hurry. And you are certain, certain sure they +will not look for me at The Priory?" + +"Well, now, darling, how could they? Nobody but Sylvia knows that I live +at The Priory, and why should they think that you had gone there? No; it +is the police they will question, and the village they will go to, and +the railway maybe. But it is fun to think of the fine chase we are +giving them, and all to no purpose." + +Evelyn laughed, and the two, holding each other's hands, continued on +their way. By and by they reached the back entrance to The Priory. +Jasper had left the gate a little ajar. Pilot came up to show +attentions; he began to growl at Evelyn, but Jasper laid her hand on his +big forehead. + +"A friend, good dog! A little friend, Pilot," was Jasper's remark; and +then Pilot wagged his tail and allowed his friend Jasper--to whom he was +much attached, as she furnished him with unlimited chicken-bones--to go +to the house. Two or three minutes later Evelyn found herself +established in Jasper's snug, pretty little bedroom. There the fire +blazed; supper was in course of preparation. Evelyn flung herself down +on a chair and panted slightly. + +"So this is where you live?" she said. + +"Yes, my darling, this is where I live." + +"And where is Sylvia?" asked Evelyn. + +"She is having supper with her father at the present moment." + +"Oh! I should like to see her. How excited and astonished she will be! +She won't tell--you are sure of that, Jasper?" + +"Tell! Sylvia tell!" said Jasper. "Not quite, my dearie." + +"Well, I should like to see her." + +"She'll be here presently." + +"You have not told that I was coming?" + +"No, darling; I thought it best not." + +"That is famous, Jasper; and do you know, I am quite hungry, so you +might get something to eat without delay." + +"You did not by any chance forget the money?" said Jasper, looking +anxiously at Evelyn. + +"Oh no; it is in my little black bag; you had better take it while you +think of it. It is in two rolls; Uncle Edward gave it to me. It is all +gold--gold sovereigns; and there are twenty of them." + +"Are not you a darling, a duck, and all the rest!" said Jasper, much +relieved at this information. "I would not worry you for the money, +darling," she continued as she bustled about and set the milk on to boil +for Evelyn's favorite beverage, "but that my own funds are getting +seriously low. You never knew such a state as we live in here. But we +have fun, darling; and we shall have all the more fun now that you have +come." + +Evelyn leant back in her chair without replying. She had lived through a +good deal that day, and she was tired and glad to rest. She felt secure. +She was hungry, too; and it was nice to be petted by Jasper. She watched +the preparations for the chocolate, and when it was made she sipped it +eagerly, and munched a sponge-cake, and tried to believe that she was +the happiest little girl in the world. But, oh! what ailed her? How was +it that she could not quite forget the horrid days at the Castle, and +the dreadful days at school, and Audrey's face, and Lady Frances's +manner, and--last but not least--dear, sweet, kind Uncle Edward? + +"And I never proved to him that I could shoot a bird on the wing," she +thought. "What a pity--what a sad pity! He will find the gun loaded, and +how astonished he will be! And he will never, never know that it was his +Evelyn loaded it and left it ready. Oh dear! I am sorry that I am not +likely to see Uncle Edward for a long time again. I am sorry that Uncle +Edward will be angry; I do not mind about any one else, but I am sorry +about him." + +Just then there came the sound of a high-pitched and sweet voice in the +kitchen outside. + +"There is Sylvia," said Jasper. "I am going to tell her now, and to +bring her in." + +She went into the outside kitchen. Sylvia, in her shabbiest dress, with +a pinched, cold look on her face, was standing by the embers of the +fire. + +"Oh Jasper," she said eagerly, "I do not know what to make of my father +to-night! He has evidently had bad news by the post to-day--something +about his last investments. I never saw him so low or so irritable, and +he was quite cross about the nice little hash you made for his supper. +He says that he will cut down the fuel-supply, and that I am not to have +big fires for cooking; and, worst of all, Jasper, he threatens to come +into the kitchen to see for himself how I manage. Do you know, I feel +quite frightened to-night. He is very strange in his manner, and +suspicious; and he looks so cold, too. No fire will he allow in the +sitting-room. He gets worse and worse." + +"Well, darling," said Jasper as cheerfully as she could, "this is an old +story, is it not? He did eat his hash, when all is said and done." + +"Yes; but I don't like his manner. And you know he discovered about the +boxes in the box-room." + +"That is over and done with too," said Jasper. "He cannot say much about +that; he can only puzzle and wonder, but it would take him a long time +to find out the truth." + +"I don't like his way," repeated Sylvia. + +"And perhaps you don't like my way either, Sylvia," said a strange +voice; and Sylvia uttered a scream, for Evelyn stood before her. + +"Evelyn!" cried the girl. "Where have you come from? Oh, what is the +matter? Oh, I do declare my head is going round!" + +She clasped her hands to her forehead in absolute bewilderment. Jasper +went and locked the kitchen door. + +"Now we are safe," she said; "and you two had best go into the bedroom. +Yes, you had, for when he comes along it is the wisest plan for him to +find the kitchen locked and the place in darkness. He will never think +of my bedroom; and, indeed, when the curtains are drawn and the shutters +shut you cannot get a blink of light from the outside, however hard you +try." + +"Come, Sylvia," said Evelyn. She took Sylvia's hand and dragged her into +the bedroom. + +"But why have you come, Evelyn? Why is it?" said poor Sylvia, in great +distress and alarm. + +"You will have to welcome me whether you like it or not," said Evelyn; +"and what is more, you will have to be true to me. I came here because I +have run away--run away from the school and the fuss and the disgrace of +to-morrow--run away from horrid Aunt Frances and from the horrid Castle; +and I have come here to dear old Jasper; and I have brought my own +money, so you need not be at any expense. And if you tell you will---- +But, oh, Sylvia, you will not tell?" + +"But this is terrible!" said Sylvia. "I don't understand--I cannot +understand." + +"Sit down, Miss Sylvia, dearie," said Jasper, "and I will try to +explain." + +Sylvia sank down on the side of the little white bed. + +"Now I know why you were getting this ready," she said. "You would not +explain to me, and I thought perhaps it was for me. Oh dear! oh dear!" + +"I longed to tell you, but I dared not," said Jasper. "Would I let my +sweet little lady die or be disgraced? That is not in me. She will hide +here with me for a bit, and afterwards--it will come all right +afterwards, my dear Miss Sylvia. Why, there, darlings! I love you both. +And see what I have been planning. I mean to go up-stairs to-night and +sleep in your room, Miss Sylvia. Yes, darling; and you and Miss Evelyn +can sleep together here. The supper is all ready, and I have had as much +as I want. I mean to go quickly; and then if your father comes along and +rattles at the kitchen door he'll get no answer, and if he peers through +the keyhole, the place will be black as night. Then, being made up of +suspicions, poor man, he'll tramp up-stairs and he'll thunder at your +door; but it will be locked, and after a time I'll answer him in your +voice from the heart of the big bed, and all his suspicions will melt +away like snow when the sun shines on it. That is all, Miss Sylvia; and +I mean to do it, and at once, too; for if we were so careful and chary +and anxious before, we must be twice as careful and twice as chary now +that I have got the precious little Eve to look after." + +Jasper's plan was carried out to the letter. Sylvia did not like it, but +at the same time she did not know how to oppose it; and when Evelyn put +her arms round her neck and was soft and gentle--she who was so hard with +most, and so difficult to manage--and when she pleaded with tears in her +big brown eyes and a pathetic look on her white face, Sylvia yielded for +the present. Whatever happened, she would not betray her. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII.--THE ROOM WITH THE LIGHT THAT FLICKERED. + + +Now, all might have gone well for the little conspirators but for Evelyn +herself. But when the girls, tired with talking, tired with the spirit +of adventure, had lain down--Sylvia in Jasper's bed, and Evelyn in the +new little white couch which had been got so lovingly ready for +her--Sylvia, tired out, soon fell asleep; but Evelyn could not rest. She +was pleased, excited, relieved, but at the same time she had a curious +sense of disappointment about her. Her heart beat fast; she wondered +what was happening. It seemed to her that in this tiny room at the back +of the kitchen she was in a sort of prison. The sense of being in prison +was anything but pleasant to this child of a free country and of an +untrained mother. She slipped softly out of bed, and going to the +window, unbarred the heavy shutters and looked out. + +There was a moon in the sky, and the garden stood in streaks of bright +light, and of dense shadow where the thick yew-hedge shut away the cold +rays of the moon. Evelyn's white little face was pressed against the +pane. Pilot stalked up and down outside, now and then baying to the +moon, now and then uttering a suspicious bark, but he never glanced in +the direction of the window out of which Evelyn looked. To the right of +the window lay the hens' run and hen-house which have already been +mentioned in these pages. Evelyn knew nothing about them, however; she +thought the view ugly and uninteresting. She disliked the thick +yew-hedge and the gnarled old yew-tree, and grumbling under her breath, +she turned from the window, having quite forgotten to close the +shutters. She got into bed now and fell asleep, little knowing what +mischief she had done. + +For it was on that very same night that Mr. Leeson determined, not to +bury his bags of gold, but to dig them up. He was in a weak and +trembling condition, and what he considered the most terrible misfortune +had overpowered him, for the large sums which he had lately invested in +the Kilcolman Gold-mines had been irretrievably lost; the gold-mines +were nothing more nor less than a huge fraud, and all the shareholders +had lost their money. The daily papers were full of the fraudulent +scheme, and indignation was rife against the promoters of the company. +But little cared Mr. Leeson for that; one fact alone concerned him. He, +who grudged a penny to give his only child warmth and comfort, had by +one fell blow lost thousands of pounds. He was almost like a man bereft +of his senses. When Sylvia had left him that evening he had stood for +some time in the cold and desolate parlor; then he sat down and began to +think. His money was invested in more than one apparently promising +speculation. He meant to call it all in--to collect it all and leave the +country. He would not trust another sovereign in any bank in the +kingdom; he would guard his own money; above all things, he would guard +his precious savings. He had saved during his residence at The Priory +something over twelve hundred pounds. This money, which really +represented income, not capital, had been taken from what ought to have +been spent on the necessaries of life. More and more had he saved, until +a penny saved was more valuable in his eyes than any virtue under the +sun; and as he saved and added sovereign to sovereign, he buried his +money in canvas bags in the garden. But the time had come now to dig up +his gold and fly. There were three trunks in the box-room; he would +divide the money between the three. They were strong, covered with +cow-hide, old-fashioned, safe to endure even such a weight as was to be +put into them. He had made all his plans. He meant to take Sylvia, leave +The Priory, and go. What further savings he could effect in a foreign +land he knew not; he only wanted to be up and doing. This night, just +when the moon set, would be the very time for his purpose. He was +anxious--very anxious--about those fresh trunks which had been put into +the attic; there was something also about Sylvia which aroused his +suspicions. He felt certain that she was not quite so open with him as +formerly. Those suppers were too good, too delicate, too tasty to be +eaten without suspicion. At the best she was burning too much fuel. He +would go round to the kitchen this very night and see for himself that +the fire was out--dead out. Why should Sylvia warm herself by the kitchen +fire while he shivered fireless and almost candleless in the desolate +parlor? Soon after ten o'clock, therefore, he started on his rounds. He +went through room after room, looking into each; he had never been so +restless. He felt that a great and terrible task lay before him, and so +bewildered was his mind, so much was his balance shaken, that he thought +more of the twelve hundred pounds which he had saved than of the +thousands which he had lost by foolish investment. The desolate rooms in +the old Priory were all as they had ever been--scarcely any furniture in +some, no furniture at all in others; they were bare and bleak and ugly. +He went to the kitchen; the door was locked. He shook it and called +aloud; there was no answer. + +"The child has gone to bed," he said to himself. "That is well." + +He stooped down and tried to look through the keyhole; only darkness met +his gaze. He turned and shambled up-stairs. He turned the handle of +Sylvia's door. How wise had been Jasper when she had guessed that the +master of the house would do just what he did do! + +"Sylvia!" he called aloud--"Sylvia!" + +"Yes, father," said a voice which seemed to be quite the voice of his +daughter. + +"Are you in bed?" + +"Yes. Do you want me?" + +"No; stay where you are. Good night." + +"Good night," answered the pretended Sylvia. + +But Mr. Leeson, as he went down-stairs, did not hear the stifled +laughter which was smothered in the pillows. He waited until the moon +was on the wane, and then, armed with the necessary implements, went +into the garden. He would certainly remove half the bags that night; the +remainder might wait until to-morrow. + +He reached the garden; he arrived at the spot where his treasure was +buried, and then he stood still for a moment, and looked around him. +Everything seemed all right--silent as the grave--still as death. It was a +windless night; the moon would very soon set and there would be +darkness. He wanted darkness for his purpose. Pilot came shuffling up. + +"Good dog! guard--guard. Good dog!" said his master. + +Pilot had been trained to know what this meant, and he went immediately +and stood within a foot or two of the main entrance. Mr. Leeson did not +know that a gate at the back entrance was no longer firmly secured and +chained, as he imagined it to be. He thought himself safe, and began to +work. + +He had dug up six of the bags, and there were six more yet to be +unearthed, when, suddenly raising his head, he saw a light in a window +on the ground floor. It was a very faint light, and seemed to come and +go. + +He was much puzzled. His heart beat strangely; suspicion visited him. +Had any one seen him? If so he was lost. He dared not wait another +moment; he took two of the bags of gold and dragged them as best he +could into the house. He went out again to fetch another two, and yet +another two. He put the six canvas bags in the empty hall, and then +returning to the garden, he pressed down the earth and covered it with +gravel, and tried to make it look as if no one had been there--as if no +one had disturbed it. But he was trembling all over, and as he did so he +looked again at the flickering, broken light which came dimly, like +something gray and uncertain, from within the room. + +He went on tiptoe softly, very softly, up to the window and peered in. +He could not see much--nothing, in fact, except one thing. The room had a +fire. That was enough for him. + +Furious anger shook the man to his depths. He hurried into the house. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX.--WHAT COULD IT MEAN? + + +Anger gave Mr. Leeson a false strength. He put the canvas bags of gold +into a large cupboard in the parlor; he locked the door and put the key +into his pocket. Then he went gingerly and on tiptoe to another +cupboard, and took down out of the midst of an array of dirty empty +bottles one which contained a very little brandy. He kept this brandy +here so that no one should guess at its existence. He poured himself out +about a thimbleful of the potent spirit and drank it off. He then +returned the bottle to its place, and fumbling in a lower shelf, +collected some implements together. With these he went out into the open +air. + +He now approached the window where the light shone--the faint, dim light +which flickered against the blind and seemed almost to go out, and then +shone once more. Slowly and dexterously he cut, with a diamond which he +had brought for the purpose, a square of glass out of the lower pane. He +put the glass on the ground, and slipping in his hand, pushed back the +bolt. All his movements were quiet. He said "Ah!" once or twice under +his breath. When he had gently and very softly lifted the sash, he took +a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away some drops which stood on +his forehead. Then he said "Ah!" once more, and slipped softly, deftly, +and quietly into the room. He had made no noise whatsoever. The young +sleepers never moved. He stood in the fire-lit, and in his opinion +lavishly furnished, room. Here was a small white bed and an occupant; +here a larger bed and another occupant. He crept on tiptoe towards the +two beds. He bent down over the little occupant of the smaller bed. + +A girl--a stranger! A girl with long, fair hair, and light lashes lying +on a white cheek. A curious-looking girl! She moaned once or twice in +her sleep. He did not want to awaken her. + +He looked towards the other bed, in which lay Sylvia, pretty, debonair, +rosy in her happy, warm slumber. She had flung one arm outside the +counterpane. Her lips parted; she uttered the words: + +"Darling father! Poor, poor father!" + +The man who listened started back as though something had struck him. + +Sylvia in that bed--Sylvia who had spoken to him not two hours ago +up-stairs? What did it mean? What could it mean? And who was this +stranger? And what did the fire mean, and all the furniture? A carpet on +the floor, too! A carpet on his floor--his! And a fire which he had never +warranted in his grate, and beds which he had never ordered in his room! +Oh! was it not enough to strike a man mad with fury? And yet again! what +was this? A table and the remains of supper! Good living, warmth, +luxuries, under the roof of the man who was fireless and cold and, as he +himself fondly and foolishly believed, a beggar! + +He stood absolutely dumb. He would not awaken the sleepers. A strange +sensation visited him. He was determined not to give way to his +passions; he was determined, before he said a word to Sylvia, to regain +his self-control. + +"Once I said bitter things to her mother; I will not err in that +direction any more," he said to himself. "And in her sleep she called me +'Father' and 'Poor father.' But all the same I shall cast her away. She +is no longer my Sylvia. I disown her; I disinherit her. She goes out +into the cold. She is ruining her father. She has deceived me; she shall +never be anything to me again. Paw! how I hate her!" + +He went to the window, got out just as he had got in, drew down the +sash, and stepped softly across the dark lawn. + +He was very cold now, and he felt faint; the effect of the tiny supply +of brandy which he had administered to himself had worn off. He went +into his desolate parlor. How cold it was! He thought of the big fire in +the bedroom which he had left. How poor and desolate was this room by +contrast! What a miserable bed he reposed on at night--absolutely not +enough blankets--but Sylvia lay like a bird in its nest, so warm, so +snug! Oh! how bad she was! + +"Her mother was never as bad as that," he muttered to himself. "She was +extravagant, but she was not like Sylvia. She never willingly deceived +me. Sylvia to have a strange and unknown girl--a stranger--in the house! +All my suspicions are verified. My doubts are certainties. God help me! +I am a miserable old man." + +He cowered down, and the icy cold of the room struck through his bones. +He looked at the grate, and observed that a fire had been laid there. + +"Sylvia did that," he said to himself. "The little minx did not like to +feel that she was so warm and I so cold, so she laid the fire; she +thought that I would indulge myself. I! But am I not suffering for her? +While she lies in the lap of luxury I die of cold and hunger, and all +for her. But I will do it no longer. I will light the fire; I will have +a feast; I will eat and drink and be merry, and forget that I had a +daughter." + +So the unfortunate man, half-mad with bewilderment and the grief of his +recent losses, lit a blazing fire, and going to his cupboard, took out +his brandy and drank what was left in the bottle. He was warm now, and +his pulse beat more quickly. He remembered his six bags of gold, and the +other six bags in the garden, and he resolved that if necessary he would +fly without Sylvia. Sylvia could stay behind. If she managed to have +such luxuries without his aid, she could go on having them; he would +leave her a trifle--yes, a trifle--and save the rest for himself, and be +no longer tortured by an unworthy and deceitful daughter. But as he +thought these things he became more and more puzzled. The Sylvia lying +on that bed was undoubtedly his daughter; but his daughter had spoken to +him from her own room at a reasonable hour--between ten and eleven +o'clock--that same night. How could there be two Sylvias? + +"The mystery thickens," he muttered to himself. "This is more than I can +stand. I will ferret the thing out--yes, and to the very bottom. Those +trunks in the attic! I suppose they belong to that ugly child. That +voice in Sylvia's room! Well, of course it was Sylvia's voice; but what +about the other Sylvia down-stairs? I must see into this matter without +delay." + +He went up-stairs and found himself outside Sylvia's door. He turned the +handle, but it was locked. There was a light in the room, doubtless +caused by another fire. He looked through the keyhole; the door was +locked from within, for the key was in the lock. + +More and more remarkable! How could Sylvia lock the door from within if +she was not in the room? Really the matter was enough to daze any man. +Suddenly he made up his mind. It was now five o'clock in the morning; in +a short time the day would break. Sylvia was an early riser. If Sylvia +or any one else was in that room he would wait on the threshold to +confront that person. Oh, of course it was Sylvia; she had slipped back +again and was in bed, and thought he would never discover her. How +astonished she would be when she saw him seated outside her door! + +So Mr. Leeson fetched a broken-down chair from his own bedroom, placed +it softly just outside the door of the room where Jasper was reposing, +and prepared himself to watch. He was far too excited to sleep, and the +hours dragged slowly on. There was an old eight-day clock in the hall, +and it struck solemnly hour after hour. Six o'clock--seven o'clock. +Sylvia rose soon after seven. He waited now impatiently. The days were +beginning to lengthen, and it was light--not full daylight, but nearly +so. He heard a stir in the room. + +"Ha, ha, Miss Sylvia!" he said to himself, "I shall catch you, take you +by the hand, bring you down to my parlor, tell you exactly what I think +of----Hullo! she is making a good deal of noise. How strong she is! How +she bounded out of bed!" + +He listened impatiently. His heart warmed now to the work which lay +before him. He was, on the whole, enjoying himself at the thought of +discovering to Sylvia how black he thought her iniquities. + +"No child of my own any more!" he said to himself. "'Poor father,' +indeed! 'Darling father, forsooth!' No, no, Sylvia; acts speak louder +than words, and you were convicted out of your own mouth, my daughter." + +Jasper dressed with despatch. She washed; she arranged her toilet. She +came to the door; she opened it. Mr. Leeson looked up. + +Jasper fell back. + +"Merciful heavens!" cried the woman; and then Mr. Leeson grasped her +hand and dragged her out of the room. + +"Who are you, woman?" he said. "How dare you come into my house? What +are you doing in my daughter's room?" + +"Ah, Mr. Leeson," said Jasper quietly, "discovered at last. Well, sir, +and I am not sorry." + +"But who are you? What are you? What are you doing in my daughter's +room?" + +"Will you come down to the parlor with me, Mr. Leeson, or shall I +explain here?" + +"You do not stir a step from this place until you tell me." + +"Then I will, sir--I will. I have been living in this house for the last +six weeks. During that time I have paid Miss Sylvia, and she has had +money enough to keep the breath of life within her. Be thankful that I +came, Mr. Leeson, for you owe me much, and I owe you nothing. Ah! do you +recognize me now? The gipsy--forsooth!--the gipsy who gave you a recipe +for making the old hen tender! Ha, ha! I laugh as I thought never to +laugh again when I recall that day." + +Mr. Leeson stood cold and white, looking full at Jasper. Suddenly a +great dizziness took possession of him; he stretched out his hand +wildly. + +"There is something wrong with me," he said. "I don't think I am well." + +"Poor old gentleman!" said Jasper--"no wonder!" and her voice became +mild. "The shock of it all, and the confusion! Sakes alive! I am not +going to take you into that icy bedroom of yours. Lean on me. There now, +sir. You have not lost a penny by me; you have saved, on the contrary, +and I have kept your daughter alive, and I have given you the best food, +made out of the tenderest chickens, out of my own money, mark you--out of +my own money--for weeks and weeks. Come down-stairs, sir; come and I will +get you a bit of breakfast." + +"I--cannot--see," muttered Mr. Leeson again. + +"Well then, sir, I suppose you can feel. Anyhow, here is a good, strong +right arm. Lean on it--all your weight if you like. Now then, we will get +down-stairs." + +Mr. Leeson was past resistance. Jasper pulled his shaky old hand through +her arm, and half-carried, half-dragged him down to the parlor. There +she put him in a big armchair near the fire, and was bustling out of the +room to get breakfast when he called her back. + +"So you really are the woman who had the recipe for making old hens +tender?" + +"Bless you, Mr. Leeson!--bless you!--yes, I am the woman." + +"You will let me buy it from you?" + +"Certainly--yes," replied Jasper, not quite knowing whether to laugh or +to cry. "But I am going to get you some breakfast now." + +"And who is the other girl?" + +"Does he know about her too?" thought Jasper. "What can have happened in +the night?" + +"If you mean my dear little Miss Eve, why, no one has a better right to +be here, for she belongs to me and I pay for her--yes, every penny; and, +for the matter of that, she only came last night. But do not fash +yourself now, my good sir; you are past thought, I take it, and you want +a hearty meal." + +Jasper bustled away; Mr. Leeson lay back in his chair. Was the world +turning upside down? What had happened? Oh, if only he could feel well! +If only that giddiness would leave him! What was the matter? He had been +so well and so fierce and so strong a few hours ago, and now--now even +his anger was slipping away from him. He had felt quite comforted when +he leaned on Jasper's strong arm; and when she pushed him into the +armchair and wrapped an old blanket round him, he had enjoyed it rather +than otherwise. Oh! he ought to be nearly mad with rage; and yet +somehow--somehow he was not. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX.--THE LOADED GUN. + + +Now, it so happened that the fuss and confusion incident on Evelyn's +departure had penetrated to every individual in the Castle with the +exception of the Squire; but the Squire had been absent all day on +business. He had been attending a very important meeting in a +neighboring town, and, as his custom was, told his wife that he should +probably not return until the early morning. When this was the case the +door opening into his private apartments was left on the latch. He could +himself open it with his latch-key and let himself in, go to bed in a +small room prepared for the purpose, and not disturb the rest of the +family. Lady Frances had many times during the previous evening lamented +her husband's absence, but when twelve o'clock came and the police who +had been sent to search for Evelyn could nowhere find the little girl, +and when the different servants had searched the house in vain, and all +that one woman could think of had been done, Lady Frances, feeling +uncomfortable, but also convinced in her own mind that Evelyn and Jasper +were quite safe and snug somewhere, resolved to go to bed. + +"It is no use, Audrey," she said to her daughter; "you have cried +yourself out of recognition. My dear child, you must go to bed now, and +to sleep. That naughty, naughty girl is not worth our all being ill." + +"But, oh, mother! what has happened to her?" + +"She is with Jasper, of course." + +"But suppose she is not, mother?" + +"I do not suppose what is not the case, Audrey. She is beyond doubt with +that pernicious woman, and as far as I am concerned I wash my hands of +her." + +"And--the disgrace to-morrow?" said poor Audrey. + +"My darling, you at least shall not be subjected to it. If I could find +Evelyn I would take her myself to the school, and make her stand up +before the scholars and tell them all that she had done; or if she +refused I would tell for her. But as she is not here you are not going +to be disgraced, my precious. I shall write a line to Miss Henderson +telling her that the guilty party has flown, and that you are far too +distressed to go to school; and I shall beg her to take any steps she +thinks best. Really and truly that girl has made the place too hot to +live in; I shall ask your father to take us abroad for the winter." + +"But surely, mother, you will not allow poor little Evelyn to get quite +lost; you will try to find her?" + +"Oh, my dear! have I not been trying? Do not say any more to me about +her to-night. I am really so irritated that I may say something I shall +be sorry for afterwards." + +So Audrey went to bed, and being young, she soon dropped asleep. Lady +Frances, being dead tired, also slept; and the Squire, who knew nothing +of all the fuss and trouble, came in at an early hour in the morning. + +He lay down to sleep, and awoke after a short slumber. He then got up, +dressed, and went into his grounds. + +Lady Frances and Audrey were at breakfast--Lady Frances very pale, and +Audrey with traces of her violent weeping the night before still on her +face--when a servant burst in great terror and excitement into the room. + +"Oh, your ladyship," he exclaimed, "the Squire is lying in the copse +badly shot with his own gun! One of the grooms is with him, and Jones +has gone for the doctor, and I came at once to tell your ladyship." + +Poor Lady Frances in her agony scarcely knew what she was doing. Audrey +asked a frenzied question, and soon the two were bending over the +stricken man. The Squire was shot badly in the side. A new fowling-piece +lay a yard or two away. + +"How did it happen?" said Lady Frances. "What can it mean?" + +Audrey knelt by her father, took his icy-cold hand in hers, and held it +to her lips. Was he dead? + +As he lay there the young girl for the first time in all her life +learned how passionately, how dearly she loved him. What would life be +without him? In some ways she was nearer to her mother than to her +father, but just now, as he lay looking like death itself, he was all in +all to her. + +"Oh, when will the doctor come?" said Lady Frances, raising her haggard +face. "Oh, he is bleeding to death--he is bleeding to death!" + +With all her knowledge--and it was considerable--with all her +common-sense, on which she prided herself, Lady Frances knew very little +about illness and still less about wounds. She did not know how to stop +the bleeding, and it was well the doctor, a bright-faced young man from +the neighboring village, was soon on the spot. He examined the wounds, +looked at the gun, did what was necessary to stop the immediate +bleeding, and soon the Squire was carried on a hastily improvised litter +back to his stately home. + +An hour ago in the prime of life, in the prime of strength; now, for all +his terrified wife and daughter could know, he was already in the shadow +of death. + +"Will he die, doctor?" asked Audrey. + +The young doctor looked at her pitifully. + +"I cannot tell," he replied; "it depends upon how far the bullet has +penetrated. It is unfortunate that he should have been shot in such a +dangerous part of the body. How did it happen?" + +A groom now came up and told a hasty tale. + +"The Squire called me this morning," he said, "and told me to go into +his study and bring him out his new fowling-piece, which had been sent +from London a few days ago. I brought it just as it was. He took it +without noticing it much. I was about to turn round and say to him, 'It +is at full cock--perhaps you don't know, sir,' but I thought, of course, +he had loaded it and prepared it himself; and the next minute he was +climbing a hedge. I heard a report, and he was lying just where you +found him." + +The question which immediately followed this recital was, "Who had +loaded the gun?" + +Another doctor was summoned, and another telegraphed for from London, +and great was the agitation and misery. By and by Audrey found herself +alone. She could scarcely understand her own sensations. In the first +place, she was absolutely useless. Her mother was absorbed in the +sickroom; the servants were all occupied--even Read was engaged as +temporary nurse until a trained one should arrive. Poor Audrey put on +her hat and went out. + +"If only my dear Miss Sinclair were here!" she thought. "Even if Evelyn +were here it would be better than nothing. Oh, no wonder we quite forget +Evelyn in a time of anguish like the present!" + +Then a fearful thought stabbed her to the heart. + +"If anything happens----" She could not get her lips to form the word she +really thought of. Once again she used the conventional phrase: + +"If anything happens, Evelyn will be mistress here." + +She looked wildly around her. + +"Oh! I must find some one; I must speak to some one," she thought. "I +will go to Sylvia; it is no great distance to The Priory. I will go over +there at once." + +She walked quickly. She was glad of the exercise--of any excuse to keep +moving. She soon reached The Priory, and was just about to put her hand +on the latch to open the big gates when a girl appeared on the other +side--a girl with a white face, somewhat sullen in outline, with big +brown eyes, and a quantity of fair hair falling over her shoulders. Even +in the midst of her agitation Audrey gave a gasp. + +"Evelyn!" she said. + +"I am not going with you," said Evelyn. She backed away, and a look of +apprehension crossed her face. "Why have you come here? You never come +to The Priory. What are you doing here? Go away. You need not think you +will have anything to do with me in the future. I know it is all up with +me. I suppose you have come from the school to--to torture me!" + +"Don't, Evelyn--don't," said Audrey. "Oh, the misery you caused us last +night! But that is nothing to what has happened now. Listen, and forget +yourself for a minute." + +Poor Audrey tottered forward; her composure gave way. The next moment +her head was on her cousin's shoulder; she was sobbing as if her heart +would break. + +"Why, how strange you are!" said Evelyn, distressed and slightly +softened, but, all the same, much annoyed at what she believed would +frustrate all her plans. For things had been going so well! The poor, +silly old man who lived at The Priory was too ill to take any notice. +She and Sylvia could do as they pleased. Jasper was Mr. Leeson's nurse. +Mr. Leeson was delirious and talking wild nonsense. Evelyn was in a +scene of excitement; she was petted and made much of. Why did Audrey +come to remind her of that world from which she had fled? + +"I suppose it was rather bad this morning at school," she said. "I can +imagine what a fuss they kicked up--what a shindy--all about nothing! But +there! yes, of course, I do not mind saying now that I did do it. I was +sorry afterwards; I would not have done it if I had known--if I had +guessed that everybody would be so terribly miserable. But you do not +suppose--you do not suppose, Audrey, that I, who am to be the owner of +Castle Wynford some day----" + +But at these words Audrey gave a piercing cry: + +"Some day! Oh, Evelyn, it may be to-day!" + +"What do you mean?" said Evelyn, her face turning very white. She pushed +Audrey, who was a good deal taller than her cousin, away and looked up +at her. Audrey had now ceased crying; she wiped the tears from her +cheeks. + +"I must tell you," she said. "It is my father. He shot himself by +accident this morning. His new gun from London was loaded. I suppose he +did not know it; anyhow, he knocked the gun against something and it +went off, and--he is at death's door." + +"What--do--you say?" asked Evelyn. + +A complete change had come over her. Her eyes looked dim and yet wild. +She took Audrey by the arm and shook her. + +"The gun from London loaded, and it went off, and---- Is he hurt +much--much? Speak, Audrey--speak!" + +She took her cousin now and shook her frantically. + +"Speak!" she said. "You are driving me mad!" + +"What is the matter with you, Evelyn?" + +"Speak! Is he--hurt--much?" + +"Much!" said Audrey. "The doctor does not know whether he will ever +recover. Oh, what have I done to you?" + +"Nothing," said Evelyn. "Get out of my way." + +Like a wild creature she darted from her cousin, and, fast and fleet as +her feet could carry her, rushed back to Castle Wynford. + +It took a good deal to touch a heart like Evelyn's, but it was touched +at last; nay, more, it was wounded; it was struck with a blow so deep, +so sudden, so appalling, that the bewildered child reeled as she ran. +Her eyes grew dark with emotion. She was past tears; she was almost past +words. By and by, breathless, scared, bewildered, carried completely out +of herself, she entered the Castle. There was no one about, but a +doctor's brougham stood before the principal entrance. Evelyn looked +wildly around her. She knew her uncle's room. She ran up-stairs. Without +waiting for any one to answer, she burst open the door. The room was +empty. + +"He must be very badly hurt," she whispered to herself. "He must be in +his little room on the ground floor." + +She went down-stairs again. She ran down the corridor where often, when +in her best moments, she had gone to talk to him, to pet him, to love +him. She entered the sitting-room where the gun had been. A great +shudder passed through her frame as she saw the empty case. She went +straight through the sitting-room, and, unannounced, undesired, +unwished-for, entered the bedroom. + +There were doctors round the bed; Lady Frances was standing by the head; +and a man was lying there, very still and quiet, with his eyes shut and +a peaceful smile on his face. + +"He is dead," thought Evelyn--"he is dead!" She gave a gasp, and the next +instant lay in an unconscious heap on the floor. + +When the unhappy child came to herself she was lying on a sofa in the +sitting-room. A doctor was bending over her. + +"Now you are better," he said. "You did very wrong to come into the +bedroom. You must lie still; you must not make a fuss." + +"I remember everything," said Evelyn. "It was I who did it. It was I who +killed him. Don't--don't keep me. I must sit up; I must speak. Will he +die? If he dies I shall have killed him. You understand, I--I shall have +done it!" + +The doctor looked disturbed and distressed. Was this poor little girl +mad? Who was she? He had heard of an heiress from Australia: could this +be the child? But surely her brain had given way under the extreme +pressure and shock! + +"Lie still, my dear," he said gently; and he put his hand on the excited +child's forehead. + +"I will be good if you will help me," said the girl; and she took both +his hands in hers and raised her burning eyes to his face. + +"I will do anything in my power." + +"Don't you see what it means to me?--and I must be with him. Is he dead?" + +"No, no." + +"Is he in great danger?" + +"I will tell you, if you are good, after the doctor from London comes." + +"But I did it." + +"Excuse me, miss--I do not know your name--you are talking nonsense." + +"Let me explain. Oh! there never was such a wicked girl; I do not mind +saying it now. I loaded the gun just to show him that I could shoot a +bird on the wing, and--and I forgot all about it; I forgot I had left the +gun loaded. Oh, how can I ever forgive myself?" + +The doctor asked her a few more questions. He tried to soothe her. He +then said if she would stay where she was he would bring her the very +first news from the London doctor. The case was not hopeless, he assured +her; but there was danger--grave danger--and any shock would bring on +hemorrhage, and hemorrhage would be fatal. + +The little girl listened to him, and as she listened a new and wonderful +strength was given to her. At that instant Evelyn Wynford ceased to be a +child. She was never a child any more. The suffering and the shock had +been too mighty; they had done for her what perhaps nothing else could +ever do--they had awakened her slumbering soul. + +How she lived through the remainder of that day she could never tell to +any one. No one saw her in the Squire's sitting-room. No one wanted the +room; no one went near it. Audrey was back again at the Castle, +comforting her mother and trying to help her. When she spoke of Evelyn, +Lady Frances shuddered. + +"Don't mention her," she said. "She had the impertinence to rush into +the room; but she also had the grace to----" + +"What, mother?" + +"She was really fond of her uncle, Audrey; I always said so. She +fainted--poor, miserable girl--when she saw the state he was in." + +But Lady Frances did not know of Evelyn's confession to the young +doctor; nor did Dr. Watson tell any one. + +It was late and the day had passed into night when the doctor came in +and sat down by Evelyn's side. + +"Now," he said, "you have been good, and have kept your word, and have +obliterated yourself." + +She did not ask him the meaning of the word, although she did not +understand it. She looked at him with the most pathetic face he had ever +seen. + +"Speak," she said. "Will he live?" + +"Dr. Harland thinks so, and he is the very best authority in the world. +He hopes in a day or two to remove the pellets which have done the +mischief. The danger, as I have already told you, lies in renewed +hemorrhage; but that I hope we can prevent. Now, are you going to be a +very good girl?" + +"What can I do?" asked Evelyn. "Can I go to him and stay with him?" + +"I wonder," said the doctor--"and yet," he added, "I scarcely like to +propose it. There is a nurse there; your aunt is worn out. I will see +what I can do." + +"If I could do that it would save me," said Evelyn. "There never, never +has been quite such a naughty girl; and I--I did it--oh! not meaning to +hurt him, but I did it. Oh! it would save me if I might sit by him." + +"I will see," said the doctor. + +He felt strangely interested in this queer, erratic, lost-looking child. +He went back again to the sickroom. The Squire was conscious. He was +lying in comparative ease on his bed; a trained nurse was within reach. + +"Nurse," said the doctor. + +The woman went with him across the room. + +"I am going to stay here to-night." + +"Yes, sir; I am glad to hear it." + +"It is quite understood that Lady Frances is to have her night's rest?" + +"Her ladyship is quite worn out, sir. She has gone away to her room. She +will rest until two in the morning, when she will come down-stairs and +help me to watch by the patient." + +"Then I will sit with him until two o'clock," said the doctor. "At two +o'clock I will lie down in the Squire's sitting-room, where I can be +within call. Now, I want to make a request." + +"Yes, sir." + +"I am particularly anxious that a little girl who is in very great +trouble, but who has learnt self-control, should come in and sit in the +armchair by the Squire's side. She will not speak, but will sit there. +Is there any objection?" + +"Is it the child, sir, who fainted when she came into the room to-day?" + +"Yes; she was almost mad, poor little soul; but I think she is all right +now, and she has learnt her lesson. Nurse, can you manage it?" + +"It must be as you please, sir." + +"Then I will risk it," said the doctor. + +He went back to Evelyn, and said a few words to her. + +"You must wash your face," he said, "and tidy yourself; and you must +have a good meal." + +Evelyn shook her head. + +"If you do not do exactly what I tell you I cannot help you." + +"Very well; I will eat and eat until you tell me to stop," she answered. + +"Go, and be quick, then," said the doctor, "for we are arranging things +for the night." + +So Evelyn went, and returned in a few minutes; then the doctor took her +hand and led her into the sickroom, and she sat by the side of the +patient. + +The room was very still--not a sound, not a movement. The sick man slept; +Evelyn, with her eyes wide open, sat, not daring to move a finger. + +What she thought of her past life during that time no one knows; but +that soul within her was coming more and more to the surface. It was a +strong soul, although it had been so long asleep, and already new +desires, unselfish and beautiful, were awakening in the child. Between +twelve and one that night the Squire opened his eyes and saw a little +girl, with a white face and eyes big and dark, seated close to him. + +He smiled, and his hand just went out a quarter of an inch to Evelyn. +She saw the movement, and immediately her own small fingers clasped his. +She bent down and kissed his hand. + +"Uncle Edward, do not speak," she said. "It was I who loaded the gun. +You must get well, Uncle Edward, or I shall die." + +He did not answer in any words, but his eyes smiled at her; and the next +moment she had sunk back in her chair, relieved to her heart's core. Her +eyes closed; she slept. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI.--FOR UNCLE EDWARD'S SAKE. + + +The Squire was a shade better the next morning; but Mr. Leeson, not two +miles away, lay at the point of death. Fever had claimed him for its +prey, and he continued to be wildly delirious, and did not know in the +least what he was doing. Thus two men, each unknown to the other, but +who widely influenced the characters of this story, lay within the Great +Shadow. + +Evelyn Wynford continued to efface herself. This was the first time in +her whole life she had ever done so; but when Lady Frances appeared, +punctual to the hour, to take her place at her husband's side, the +little girl glided from the room. + +It was early on the following morning, when the mistress of the Castle +was standing for a few bewildered moments in her sitting-room, her hand +pressed to her forehead, her eyes looking across the landscape, tears +dimming their brightness, that a child rushed into her presence. + +"Go away, Evelyn," she said. "I cannot speak to you." + +"Tell me one thing," said Evelyn; "is he better?" + +"Yes." + +"Is he out of danger?" + +"The doctors think so." + +"Then, Aunt Frances, I can thank God; and what is more, I--even I, who am +such an awfully naughty girl--can love God." + +"I don't like cant," said Lady Frances; and she turned away with a +scornful expression on her lips. + +Evelyn sprang to her, clutched both her hands, and said excitedly: + +"Listen; you must. I have something to say. It was I who did it!" + +"You, Evelyn--you!" + +Lady Frances pushed the child from her, and moved a step away. There was +such a look of horror on her face that Evelyn at another moment must +have recoiled from it; but nothing could daunt her now in this hour of +intense repentance. + +"I did it," she repeated--"oh, not meaning to do it! I will tell you; you +must listen. Oh, I have been so--so wicked, so--so naughty, so stubborn, +so selfish! I see myself at last; and there never, never was such a +horrid girl before. Aunt Frances, you shall listen. I loaded the gun, +for I meant to go out and shoot some birds on the wing. Uncle Edward +doubted that I could do it, and I wanted to prove to him that I could; +but I was prevented from going, and I forgot about the gun; and the +night before last I ran away. I ran to Jasper. When you locked me up in +my room I got out of my sitting-room window." + +"I know all that," said Lady Frances. + +"I went to Jasper, and Jasper took me to The Priory--to Sylvia's home. +Jasper has been staying in the house with Sylvia for a long time, and I +went to Sylvia and to Jasper, and I hid there. Audrey came yesterday +morning and told me what had happened; and, oh! I thought my heart would +break. But Uncle Edward has forgiven me." + +"What! Have you dared to see him?" + +"The doctor gave me leave. I stayed with him half last night, until you +came at two o'clock; and I told Uncle Edward, and he smiled. He has +forgiven me. Oh! I love him better than any one in all the world; I +could just die for him. And, Aunt Frances, I did tear the book, and I +did behave shockingly at school; and I will go straight to Miss +Henderson and tell her, and I will do everything--everything you wish, if +only you will let me stay in the house with Uncle Edward. For +somehow--somehow," continued Evelyn in a whisper, her voice turning husky +and almost dying away, "I think Uncle Edward has made religion and _God_ +possible to me." + +As Evelyn said the last words she staggered against the table, deadly +white. She put one hand on a chair to steady herself, and looked up with +pathetic eyes at her aunt. + +What was there in that scared, bewildered, and yet resolved face which +for the first time since she had seen it touched Lady Frances? + +"Evelyn," she said, "you ask me to forgive you. What you have said has +shocked me very much, but your manner of saying it has opened my eyes. +If you have done wrong, doubtless I am not blameless I never showed +you----" + +"Neither sympathy nor understanding," said Evelyn. "I might have been +different had you been different. But please--please, do anything with me +now--anything--only let me stay for Uncle Edward's sake." + +Lady Frances sat down. + +"I am a mother," she said, "and I am not without feeling, and not +without sympathy, and not without understanding." + +And then she opened her arms. Evelyn gave a bewildered cry; the next +moment she was folded in their embrace. + +"Oh, can I believe it?" she sobbed. + + * * * * * + +Thus Evelyn Wynford found the Better Part, and from that moment, +although she had struggles and difficulties and trials, she was in the +very best sense of the word a new creature; for Love had sought her out, +and Love can lead one by steep ascents on to the peaks of self-denial, +unselfishness, truth, and honor. + +Sylvia's father, after a mighty struggle with severe illness, came back +again slowly, sadly to the shores of life; and Sylvia managed him and +loved him, and he declared that never to his dying day could he do +without Jasper, who had nursed him through his terrible illness. The +instincts of a miser had almost died out during his illness, and he was +willing that Sylvia should spend as much money as was necessary to +secure good food and the comforts of life. + +The Squire got slowly better, and presently quite well; and when another +New Year dawned upon the world, and once again the Wynfords of Wynford +Castle kept open house, Sylvia was there, and also Mr. Leeson; and all +the characters in this story met under the same roof. Evelyn clung fast +to her uncle's hand. Audrey glanced at her cousin, and then she looked +at Sylvia, and said in a low voice: + +"Never was any one so changed; and, do you know, since the accident she +has never once spoken of being the heiress. I believe if any thing +happened to father Evelyn would die." + + THE END. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Very Naughty Girl, by L. T. 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T. Meade + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Very Naughty Girl + +Author: L. T. Meade + +Release Date: July 25, 2011 [EBook #36853] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A VERY NAUGHTY GIRL *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<div class='center'> +<p><span style='font-size:1.4em;font-weight:bold;'>A VERY NAUGHTY GIRL</span></p> +<p> </p> +<p>By L. T. MEADE</p> +<p> </p> +<p>Author of “Palace Beautiful,” “Sweet Girl Graduate,”</p> +<p>“Wild Kitty,” “World of Girls,” etc., etc.</p> +<p> </p> +<p>A. L. BURT COMPANY,</p> +<p>PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK.</p> +</div> +<p> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> +</p> +<div class='center'> +<p><span style='font-size:larger;'>CONTENTS</span></p> +</div> +<table class='c' summary='table of contents'> +<tr><td style='font-size:smaller'>CHAPTER</td><td></td><td style='font-size:smaller'>PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>I.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Sylvia and Audrey</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chI'>1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>II.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Arrival of Evelyn</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chII'>10</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>III.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Cradle Life of Wild Eve</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chIII'>25</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>IV.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“I Draw the Line at Uncle Ned”</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chIV'>36</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>V.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Frank’s Eyes</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chV'>43</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>VI.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Hungry Girl</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chVI'>57</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>VII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Staying to Dinner</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chVII'>68</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>VIII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Evening-Dress</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chVIII'>78</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>IX.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Breakfast in Bed</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chIX'>106</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>X.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Jasper was to Go</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chX'>117</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XI.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>I Cannot Alter my Plans</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXI'>126</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Hunger</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXII'>143</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XIII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Jasper to the Rescue</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXIII'>163</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XIV.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Change of Plans</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXIV'>169</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XV.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>School</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXV'>184</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XVI.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Sylvia’s Drive</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXVI'>198</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XVII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Fall in the Snow</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXVII'>213</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XVIII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Red Gipsy Cloak</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXVIII'>228</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XIX.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“Why Did you Do it?”</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXIX'>242</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XX.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“Not Good Nor Honourable”</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXX'>253</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXI.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Torn Book</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXI'>264</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“Stick to your Colors, Evelyn”</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXII'>276</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXIII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>One Week of Grace</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXIII'>281</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXIV.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“Who is E.W.?”</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXIV'>295</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXV.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Uncle Edward</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXV'>311</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXVI.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Tangles</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXVI'>330</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXVII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Strange Visitor in the Back Bedroom</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXVII'>343</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXVIII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Room with the Light that Flickered</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXVIII'>362</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXIX.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>What Could it Mean?</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXIX'>368</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXX.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Loaded Gun</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXX'>377</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXXI.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>For Uncle Edward’s Sake</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXXI'>391</a></td></tr> +</table> +<p> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> +</p> +<h1>A VERY NAUGHTY GIRL</h1> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_1'></a>1</span><a name='chI' id='chI'></a>CHAPTER I.—SYLVIA AND AUDREY.</h2> +<p> +It was a day of great excitement, and Audrey Wynford +stood by her schoolroom window and looked +out. She was a tall girl of sixteen, with her hair +hanging in a long, fair plait down her back. She +stood with her hands folded behind her and an expectant +expression on her face. +</p> +<p> +Up the avenue a stream of people were coming. +Some came in cabs, some on bicycles; some walked. +They all turned in the direction of the front entrance, +and Audrey heard their voices rising and falling as +they entered the house, walked down the hall, and +disappeared into some region at the other end. +</p> +<p> +“It is all detestable,” she muttered; “and just +when Evelyn is coming, too. How strange she will +think it! I wish father would drop this horrid custom. +I do not approve of it at all.” +</p> +<p> +Just then her governess, a bright-looking girl +about six years Audrey’s senior, came into the room. +</p> +<p> +“Well,” she cried, “and what are you doing here? +I thought you were going to ride this afternoon.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_2'></a>2</span> +</p> +<p> +“How can I?” said Audrey, shrugging her shoulders. +“I shall be met at every turn.” +</p> +<p> +“And why not?” said Miss Sinclair. “You are +not ashamed of being seen.” +</p> +<p> +“It is quite detestable,” said Audrey. +</p> +<p> +She crossed the room, flung herself into a deep +straw armchair in front of a blazing log fire, and +took up a magazine. +</p> +<p> +“It is all horrid,” she continued as she rapidly +turned the pages; “you know it, Miss Sinclair, as +well as I do.” +</p> +<p> +“If I were you,” said Miss Sinclair, “I should be +proud—very proud—to belong to an old family who +had kept a custom like this in vogue.” +</p> +<p> +“If you belonged to the old family you would not,” +said Audrey. “Every one laughs at us. I call it +perfectly horrid. What possible good can it do that +all the people of the neighborhood, and the strangers +who come to stay in the town, should make free of +Wynford Castle on New Year’s Day? It makes me +cross anyhow. I am sorry to be cross to you, Miss +Sinclair; but I am, and that is a fact.” +</p> +<p> +Miss Sinclair sat down on another chair. +</p> +<p> +“I like it,” she said after a pause. +</p> +<p> +“Why?” asked Audrey. +</p> +<p> +“There were some quite hungry people passing +through the hall as I came to you just now.” +</p> +<p> +“Let them be hungry somewhere else, not here,” +said the angry girl. “It was all very well when +some ancestor of mine first started the custom; but +that father, a man of the present day, up-to-date in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3'></a>3</span> +every sense of the word, should carry it on—that he +should keep open house for every individual who +chooses to come here on New Year’s Day—is past +endurance. Last year between two and three hundred +people dined or supped or had tea at the Castle, +and I believe, from the appearance of the avenue, +there will be still more to-day. The house gets so +dirty, for one thing, for half of them don’t think of +wiping their feet; and then we run a chance of being +robbed, for how do we know that there are not +adventurers in the throng? If I were the country-folk +I would be too proud to come; but they are not—not +a bit.” +</p> +<p> +“I cannot agree with you,” said Miss Sinclair. +“It is a splendid old custom, and I hope it will not be +abolished.” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps Evelyn will abolish it when she comes in +for the property,” said Audrey in a low tone. Her +face looked scarcely amiable as she said the words. +</p> +<p> +Miss Sinclair regarded her with a puzzled expression. +</p> +<p> +“Audrey dear,” she said after a pause, “I am very +fond of you.” +</p> +<p> +“And I of you,” said Audrey a little unwillingly. +“You are more friend than governess. I should +like best to go to school, of course; but as father +says that that is quite impossible, I have to put up +with the next best; and you are a very good next +best.” +</p> +<p> +“Then if I am, may I just as a friend, and one +who loves you very dearly, make a remark?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4'></a>4</span> +</p> +<p> +“It is going to be something odious,” said Audrey—“that +goes without saying—but I suppose I’ll +listen.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t you think you are just a wee bit in danger +of becoming selfish, Audrey?” said her governess. +</p> +<p> +“Am I? Perhaps so; I am afraid I don’t +care.” +</p> +<p> +“You would if you thought it over; and this is +New Year’s Day, and it is a lovely afternoon, and +you might come for a ride—I wish you would.” +</p> +<p> +“I will not run the chance of meeting those folks +on any consideration whatever,” said Audrey; “but +I will go for a walk with you, if you like.” +</p> +<p> +“Done,” said Miss Sinclair. “I have to go on a +message for Lady Wynford to the lodge; will you +come by the shrubberies and meet me there?” +</p> +<p> +“All right,” replied Audrey; “I will go and get +ready.” +</p> +<p> +She left the room. +</p> +<p> +After her pupil had left her, Miss Sinclair sat for a +time gazing into the huge log fire. +</p> +<p> +She was a very pretty girl, with a high-bred look +about her. She had received all the advantages +which modern education could afford, and at the age +of three-and-twenty had left Girton with the assurance +from all her friends that she had a brilliant +future before her. The first step in that future +seemed bright enough to the handsome, high-spirited +girl. Lady Wynford met her in town, took a fancy +to her on the spot, and asked her to conduct Audrey’s +education. Miss Sinclair received a liberal salary +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5'></a>5</span> +and every comfort and consideration. Audrey fell +quickly in love with her, and a more delightful pupil +governess never had. The girl was brimming over +with intelligence, was keenly alive to the responsibilities +of her own position, was absolutely original, +and as a rule quite unselfish. +</p> +<p> +“Poor Audrey! she has her trials before her, all +the same,” thought the young governess now. +“Well, I am very happy here, and I hope nothing +will disturb our present arrangement for some time. +As to Evelyn, we have yet to discover what sort of +girl she is. She comes this evening. But there, I +am forgetting all about Audrey, and she must be +waiting for me.” +</p> +<p> +It so happened that Audrey Wynford was doing +nothing of the sort. She had hastily put on her warm +jacket and fur cap and gone out into the grounds. +The objectionable avenue, with its streams of people +coming and going, was to be religiously avoided, and +Audrey went in the direction of a copse of young +trees, which led again through a long shrubbery in +the direction of the lodge gates. +</p> +<p> +It was the custom from time immemorial in the +Wynford family to keep open house on New Year’s +Day. Any wayfarer, gentle or simple, man or +woman, boy or girl, could come up the avenue and +ring the bell at the great front-door, and be received +and fed and refreshed, and sent again on his or her +way with words of cheer. The Squire himself as a +rule received his guests, but where that was impossible +the steward of the estate was present to conduct them +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6'></a>6</span> +to the huge hall which ran across the +back of the house, where unlimited refreshments +were provided. No one was sent away. No one +was refused admission on this day of all days. The +period of the reception was from sunrise to sundown. +At sundown the hospitality came to an end; the +doors of the house were shut and no more visitors +were allowed admission. An extra staff of servants +was generally secured for the occasion, and the one +and only condition made by the Squire was, that as +much food as possible might be eaten, that each male +visitor might drink good wine or sound ale to his +heart’s content, that each might warm himself thoroughly +by the huge log fires, but that no one should +take any food away. This, in the case of so promiscuous +an assemblage, was necessary. To Audrey, +however, the whole thing was more or less a subject +of dislike. She regarded the first day of each year +as a penance; she shrank from the subject of the +guests, and on this special New Year’s Day was more +aggrieved and put out than usual. More guests had +arrived than had ever come before, for the people of +the neighborhood enjoyed the good old custom, and +there was not a villager, not a trades-person, nor +even a landed proprietor near who did not make it a +point of breaking bread at Wynford Castle on New +Year’s Day. The fact that a man of position sat +down side by side with a tramp or a laborer made no +difference; there was no distinction of rank amongst +the Squire’s guests on this day. +</p> +<p> +Audrey heard the voices now as she disappeared +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7'></a>7</span> +into the shelter of the young trees. She heard also +the rumble of wheels as the better class of guests +arrived or went away again. +</p> +<p> +“It is horrid,” she murmured for about the +twentieth time to herself; and then she began to +run in order to get away from what she called the +disagreeable noise. +</p> +<p> +Audrey could run with the speed and grace of a +young fawn, but she had not gone half-through the +shrubbery before she stopped dead-short. A girl of +about her own age was coming hurriedly to meet +her. She was a very pretty girl, with black eyes +and a quantity of black hair and a richly colored +dark face. The girl was dressed somewhat fantastically +in many colors. Peeping out from beneath +her old-fashioned jacket was a scarf of deep yellow; +the skirt of her dress was crimson, and in her hat +she wore two long crimson feathers. Audrey regarded +her with not only wonder but also disfavor. +Who was she? What a vulgar, forward, insufferable +young person! +</p> +<p> +“I say,” cried the girl, coming up eagerly; “I +have lost my way, and it is so important! Can you +tell me how I can get to the front entrance of the +Castle?” +</p> +<p> +“You ought not to have come by the shrubbery,” +said Audrey in a very haughty tone. “The visitors +who come to the Castle to-day are expected to use +the avenue. But now that you have come,” she +added, “if you will take this short cut you will find +yourself in the right direction. You have then but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8'></a>8</span> +to follow the stream of people and you will reach +the hall door.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, thank you!” said the girl. “I am so awfully +hungry! I do hope I shall get in before sunset. +Good-by, and thank you so much! My name is +Sylvia Leeson; who are you?” +</p> +<p> +“I am Audrey Wynford,” replied Audrey, speaking +more icily than ever. +</p> +<p> +“Then you are the young lady of the Castle?” +</p> +<p> +“I am Audrey Wynford.” +</p> +<p> +“How strange! One would think to meet you +here, and one would think to see me here, that we +both belonged to Shakespeare’s old play <em>As You +Like It</em>. But I must not stay another minute. It +is so sweet of your father to invite us all, and if I +am not quick I shall lose the fun.” +</p> +<p> +She nodded with a flash of bright eyes and white +teeth at the amazed Audrey, and the next moment +was lost to view. +</p> +<p> +“What a girl!” thought Audrey as she pursued +her walk. “How dared she! She did not treat me +with one scrap of respect, and she seemed to think—a +girl of that sort!—that she was my equal; she +absolutely spoke of us in the same breath. It was +almost insulting. Sylvia and Audrey! We meet in +a wood, and we might be characters out of <em>As You +Like It</em>. Well, she is awfully pretty, but—— Oh +dear! what a creature she is when all is said and done—that +wild dress, and those dancing eyes, and that +free manner! And yet—and yet she was scarcely +vulgar; she was only—only different from anybody +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9'></a>9</span> +else. Who is she, and where does she come from? +Sylvia Leeson. Rather a pretty name; and certainly +a pretty girl. But to think of her partaking +of hospitality—all alone, too—with the <em>canaille</em> of +Wynford!” +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10'></a>10</span><a name='chII' id='chII'></a>CHAPTER II.—ARRIVAL OF EVELYN.</h2> +<p> +Audrey met her governess at the lodge gates, +and the two plunged down a side-path, and were +soon making for the wonderful moors about a mile +away from Wynford Castle. +</p> +<p> +“What are you thinking about, Audrey?” said +Miss Sinclair. +</p> +<p> +“Do you happen to know,” said Audrey, “any +people in the village or neighborhood of the name of +Leeson?” +</p> +<p> +“No, dear, certainly not. I do not think any +people of the name live here. Why do you ask?” +</p> +<p> +“For such a funny reason!” replied Audrey. “I +met a girl who had come by mistake through the +shrubberies. She was on her way to the Castle to +get a good meal. She told me her name was Sylvia +Leeson. She was pretty in an <em>outré</em> sort of style; +she was also very free. She had the cheek to compare +herself with me, and said that as my name was +Audrey and hers Sylvia we ought to be two of +Shakespeare’s heroines. There was something uncommon +about her. Not that I liked her—very far +from that. But I wonder who she is.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know,” said Miss Sinclair. “I certainly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11'></a>11</span> +have not the least idea that there is any one of that +name living in our neighborhood, but one can never +tell.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, but you know everybody round here,” said +Audrey. “Perhaps she is a stranger. I think on +the whole I am glad.” +</p> +<p> +“I heard a week ago that some people had taken +The Priory,” said Miss Sinclair. +</p> +<p> +“The Priory!” cried Audrey. “It has been uninhabited +ever since I can remember.” +</p> +<p> +“I heard the rumor,” continued Miss Sinclair, +“but I know no particulars, and it may not be +true. It is just possible that this girl belongs to +them.” +</p> +<p> +“I should like to find out,” replied Audrey. +“She certainly interested me although——Oh, +well, don’t let us talk of her any more. Jenny +dear”—Audrey in affectionate moments called her +governess by her Christian name—“are you not +anxious to know what Evelyn is like?” +</p> +<p> +“I suppose I am,” replied Miss Sinclair. +</p> +<p> +“I think of her so much!” continued Audrey. +“It seems so odd that she, a stranger, should be the +heiress, and I, who have lived here all my days, +should inherit nothing. Oh, of course, I shall have +plenty of money, for mother had such a lot; but +it does seem so unaccountable that all father’s property +should go to Evelyn. And now she is to live +here, and of course take the precedence of me, I do +not know that I quite like it. Sometimes I feel that +she will rub me the wrong way; if she is very +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12'></a>12</span> +masterful, for instance. She can be—can’t she, +Jenny?” +</p> +<p> +“But why should we suppose that she will be?” +replied Miss Sinclair. “There is no good in getting +prejudiced beforehand.” +</p> +<p> +“I cannot help thinking about it,” said Audrey. +“You know I have never had any close companions +before, and although you make up for everybody +else, and I love you with all my heart and soul, yet +it is somewhat exciting to think of a girl just my +own age coming to live with me.” +</p> +<p> +“Of course, dear; and I am so glad for your +sake!” +</p> +<p> +“But then,” continued Audrey, “she does not +come quite as an ordinary guest; she comes to the +home which is to be hers hereafter. I wonder what +her ideas are, and what she will feel about things. +It is very mysterious. I am excited; I own it. +You may be quite sure, though, that I shall not +show any of my excitement when Evelyn does come. +Jenny, have you pictured her yet to yourself? Do +you think she is tall or short, or pretty or ugly, or +what?” +</p> +<p> +“I have thought of her, of course,” replied Miss +Sinclair; “but I have not formed the least idea. +You will soon know, Audrey; she is to arrive in +time for dinner.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said Audrey; “mother is going in the +carriage to meet her, and the train is due at six-thirty. +She will arrive at the Castle a little before +seven. Mother says she will probably bring a maid, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13'></a>13</span> +and perhaps a French governess. Mother does not +know herself what sort she is. It is odd her having +lived away from England all this time.” +</p> +<p> +Audrey chatted on with her governess a little +longer, and presently they turned and went back to +the house. The sun had already set, and the big +front-door was shut; the family never used it except +on this special day or when a wedding or a +funeral left Wynford Castle. The pretty side-door, +with its sheltered porch, was the mode of exit and +ingress for the inhabitants of Wynford Castle. Audrey +and her governess now entered, and Audrey +stood for a few moments to warm her hands by the +huge log fire on the hearth. Miss Sinclair went +slowly up-stairs to her room; and Audrey, finding +herself alone, gave a quick sigh. +</p> +<p> +“I wonder—I do wonder,” she said half-aloud. +</p> +<p> +Her words were evidently heard, for some one +stirred, and presently a tall man with a slight stoop +came forward and stood where the light of the big +fire fell all over him. +</p> +<p> +“Why, dad!” cried Audrey as she put her hand +inside her father’s arm. “Were you asleep?” she +asked. “How was it that Miss Sinclair and I did +not see you when we came in?” +</p> +<p> +“I was sound asleep in that big chair. I was +somewhat tired. I had received three hundred +guests; don’t forget that,” replied Squire Wynford. +</p> +<p> +“And they have gone. What a comfort!” said +Audrey. +</p> +<p> +“My dear little Audrey, I have fed them and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14'></a>14</span> +warmed them and sent them on their way rejoicing, +and I am a more popular Squire Wynford of Castle +Wynford than ever. Why should you grumble because +your neighbors, every mother’s son of them, +had as much to eat and drink as they could desire +on New Year’s Day?” +</p> +<p> +“I hate the custom,” said Audrey. “It belongs +to the Middle Ages; it ought to be exploded.” +</p> +<p> +“What! and allow the people to go hungry?” +</p> +<p> +“Those who are likely to go hungry,” continued +Audrey, “might have money given to them. We do +not want all the small squires everywhere round to +come and feed at the Castle.” +</p> +<p> +“But the small squires like it, and so do the poor +people, and so do I,” said Squire Wynford; and now +he frowned very slightly, and Audrey gave another +sigh. +</p> +<p> +“We must agree to differ, dad,” she said. +</p> +<p> +“I am afraid so, my dear. Well, and how are you, +my pet? I have not seen you until now. Very +happy at the thought of your cousin’s arrival?” +</p> +<p> +“No, dad, scarcely happy, but excited all the same. +Are not you a little, wee bit excited too, father? It +seems so strange her coming all the way from Tasmania +to take possession of her estates. I wonder—I +do wonder—what she will be like.” +</p> +<p> +“She takes possession of no estates while I live,” +said the Squire, “but she is the next heiress.” +</p> +<p> +“And you are sorry it is not I; are you not, +father?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t think of it,” said the Squire. “No,” he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15'></a>15</span> +added thoughtfully a moment later, “that is not the +case. I do think of it. You are better off without +the responsibility; you would never be suited to a +great estate of this sort. Evelyn may be different. +Anyhow, when the time comes it is her appointed +work. Now, my dear”—he took out his watch—“your +cousin will arrive in a moment. Your mother +has gone to meet her. Do you intend to welcome +her here or in one of the sitting-rooms?” +</p> +<p> +“I will stay in the hall, of course,” said Audrey a +little fretfully. +</p> +<p> +“I will leave you, then, my love. I have neglected +a sheaf of correspondence, and would like to look +through my letters before dinner.” +</p> +<p> +The Squire moved away, walking slowly. He +pushed aside some heavy curtains and vanished. +Audrey still stood by the fire. Presently a restless +fit seized her, and she too flitted up the winding white +marble stairs and disappeared down a long corridor. +She entered a pretty room daintily furnished in blue +and silver. A large log fire burned in the grate; +electric light shed its soft gleams over the furniture; +there was a bouquet of flowers and a little pot of ivy +on a small table, also a bookcase full of gaily-bound +story-books. Nothing had been neglected, even to +the big old Bible and the old-fashioned prayer-book. +</p> +<p> +“I wonder how she will like it,” thought Audrey. +“This is one of the prettiest rooms in the house. +Mother said she must have it. I wonder if she will +like it, and if I shall like her. Oh, and here is her +dressing-room, and here is a little boudoir where she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16'></a>16</span> +may sit and amuse herself and shut us out if she +chooses. Lucky Evelyn! How strange it all seems! +For the first time I begin to appreciate my darling, +beloved home. Why should it pass away from me +to her? Oh, of course I am not jealous; I would +not be mean enough to entertain feelings of that sort, +and—— I hear the sound of wheels. She is coming; +in a moment I shall see her. Oh, I do wonder—I do +wonder! I wish Jenny were with me; I feel quite +nervous.” +</p> +<p> +Audrey dashed out of the room, rushed down the +winding stairs, and had just entered the hall when a +footman pushed aside the heavy curtains, and Lady +Frances Wynford, a handsome, stately-looking +woman, entered, accompanied by a small girl. +</p> +<p> +The girl was dragging in a great pile of rugs and +wraps. Her hat was askew on her head, her jacket +untidy. She flung the rugs down in the center of a +rich Turkey carpet; said, “There, that is a relief;” +and then looked full at Audrey. +</p> +<p> +Audrey was a head and shoulders taller than the +heiress, who had thin and somewhat wispy flaxen +hair, and a white face with insignificant features. +Her eyes, however, were steady, brown, large, and +intelligent. She came up to Audrey at once. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t introduce me, please, Aunt Frances,” she +said. “I know this is Audrey.—I am Evelyn. You +hate me, don’t you?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I am sure I do not,” said Audrey. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I should if I were you. It would be much +more interesting to be hated. So this is the place. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17'></a>17</span> +It looks jolly, does it not? Aunt Frances, do you +know where my maid is? I must have her—I must +have her at once. Please tell Jasper to come here,” +continued the girl, turning to a man-servant who +lingered in the background. +</p> +<p> +“Desire Miss Wynford’s maid to come into the +hall,” said Lady Frances in an imperious tone; “and +bring tea, Davis. Be quick.” +</p> +<p> +The man withdrew, and Evelyn, lifting her hand, +took off her ugly felt hat and flung it on the pile of +rugs and cushions. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t touch them, please,” she said as Audrey +advanced. “That is Jasper’s work.—By the way, +Aunt Frances, may Jasper sleep in my room? I +have never slept alone, not since I was born, and I +could not survive it. I want a little bed just the ditto +of my own for Jasper. I cannot live without Jasper. +May she sleep close to me, please, Aunt Frances? +And, oh! I do hope and trust this house is not +haunted. It does look eerie. I am terrified at the +thought of ghosts. I know I shall not be a very +pleasant inmate, and I am sorry for you all—and for +you in special, Audrey. What a grand, keep-your-distance +sort of air you have! But I am not going +to be afraid of you. I do not forget that the place +will belong to me some day. Hullo, Jasper!” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn flitted in a curious, elf-like way across the +hall, and went up to a dark woman who stood just +by the velvet curtain. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t be shy, Jasper,” she said. “You have +nothing to be afraid of here. It is all very grand, I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18'></a>18</span> +know; but then it is to be mine some day, and you +are never to leave me—never. I was speaking to my +aunt, Lady Frances, and you are to have your little +bed near mine. See that it is arranged for to-night. +And now, please, pick up these rugs and cushions +and my old hat, and take them to my room. Don’t +stare so, Jasper; do what I tell you.” +</p> +<p> +Jasper somewhat sullenly obeyed. She was as +graceful and deft in all her actions as Evelyn was +the reverse. Evelyn stood and watched her. When +she went slowly up the marble stairs, the heiress +turned with a laugh to her two companions. +</p> +<p> +“How you stare!” she said; and she looked full at +Audrey. “Do you regard me as barbarian, or a +wild beast, or what?” +</p> +<p> +“I am interested in you,” said Audrey in her low +voice. “You are decidedly out of the common.” +</p> +<p> +“Come,” said Lady Frances, “we have no time +for analyzing character just now. Audrey, take +your cousin to her room, and then go yourself and +get dressed for dinner.” +</p> +<p> +“Will you come, Evelyn?” said Audrey. +</p> +<p> +She crossed the hall, Evelyn following her slowly. +Once or twice the heiress stopped to examine a +mailed figure in armor, or an old picture on which +the firelight cast a fitful gleam. She said, “How +ugly! A queer old thing, that!” to the figure in +armor, and she scowled up at the picture. +</p> +<p> +“You are not going to frighten me, you old scarecrow,” +she said; and then she ran up-stairs by +Audrey’s side. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19'></a>19</span> +</p> +<p> +“So this is what they call English grandeur!” she +remarked. “Is not this house centuries old?” +</p> +<p> +“Parts of the house are,” answered Audrey. +</p> +<p> +“Is this part?” +</p> +<p> +“No; the hall and staircase were added about +seventy years ago.” +</p> +<p> +“Is my room in the old part or the new part?” +</p> +<p> +“Your room is in what is called the medium part. +It is a lovely room; you will be charmed with it.” +</p> +<p> +“I by no means know that I shall. But show it +to me.” +</p> +<p> +Audrey walked a little quicker. She began to feel +a curious sense of irritation, and knew that there +was something about Evelyn which might under +certain conditions try her temper very much. They +reached the lovely blue-and-silver room, and Audrey +flung open the door, expecting a cry of delight from +Evelyn. But the heiress was not one to give herself +away; she cast cool and critical eyes round the +chamber. +</p> +<p> +“Dear, dear!” she said—“dear, dear! So this is +your idea of an English bedroom!” +</p> +<p> +“It is an English bedroom; there is no idea about +it,” said Audrey. +</p> +<p> +“You are cross, are you not, Audrey?” was +Evelyn’s remark. “It is very trying for you my coming +here. I know that, of course; Jasper has told me. +I should be ignorant and quite lost were it not for +Jasper, but Jasper puts me up to things. I do not +think I could live without her. She has often described +you—often and often. It would make you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20'></a>20</span> +scream to listen to her. She has taken you off +splendidly. Really, all things considered, you are +very like what she has pictured you. I say, Audrey, +would you like to come up here after your next meal, +whatever you call it, and watch Jasper as she takes +you off? She is the most splendid mimic in all the +world. In a day or two she will be able to imitate +Aunt Frances and every one in the house. Oh, it is +killing to watch her and to listen to her! You +would like to see yourself through Jasper’s eyes, +would you not, Audrey?” +</p> +<p> +“No, thank you,” replied Audrey. +</p> +<p> +“How you kill me with that ‘No, thank you,’ of +yours! Why, they are the very words Jasper said +you would be certain to say. Oh dear! this is quite +amusing.” Evelyn laughed long and loud, wiping +her eyes with her handkerchief as she did so. “Oh +dear! oh dear!” she said. “Don’t look any crosser, +Audrey, or I shall die with laughing! Why, you +will make me scream.” +</p> +<p> +“That would be bad for you after your journey,” +said Audrey. “I see you have hot water, and your +maid is in the dressing-room. I will leave you now. +That is the dressing-bell; the bell for dinner will ring +in half an hour. I must go and dress.” +</p> +<p> +Audrey rushed out of the room, very nearly, but +not quite, banging the door after her. +</p> +<p> +“If I stayed another moment I should lose my +temper. I should say something terrible,” thought +the girl. Her heart was beating fast; she pressed +her hand to her side. “If it were not for Jenny +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21'></a>21</span> +I do not believe I could endure the house with that +girl,” was her next ejaculation. “To think that +she is a Wynford, and that the Castle—the lovely, +beautiful Castle—is to belong to her some day. Oh, +it is maddening! Our darling knight in armor—Sir +Galahad I have always called him—and our +Rembrandt: one is a scarecrow, and the other a +queer old thing. Oh Evelyn, you are almost past +bearing!” +</p> +<p> +Audrey ran away to her room, where her maid, +Eleanor, was waiting to attend on her. Audrey was +never in the habit of confiding in her maid; and the +girl, who was brimful of importance, curiosity, and +news, did not dare to express any of her feelings to +Miss Audrey in her present mood. +</p> +<p> +“Put on my very prettiest frock to-night, please, +Eleanor,” said the young lady. “Dress my hair to +the best advantage. My white dress, did you say? +No, not white, but that pale, very pale, rose-colored +silk with all the little trimmings and flounces.” +</p> +<p> +“But that is one of your gayest dresses, Miss +Audrey.” +</p> +<p> +“Never mind; I choose to look gay and well +dressed.” +</p> +<p> +The girl proceeded with her young mistress’s toilet, +and a minute or two before the second bell rang +Audrey was ready. She made a lovely and graceful +picture as she looked at herself for a moment in +the long mirror. Her figure was already beautifully +formed; she was tall, graceful, dignified. The set +of her young head on her stately neck was superb. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22'></a>22</span> +Her white shoulders gleamed under the transparent +folds of her lovely frock. Her rounded arms were +white as alabaster. She slipped a small diamond +ring on one of her fingers, looked for a moment longingly +at a pearl necklace, but finally decided not to +wear any more adornment, and ran lightly down-stairs. +</p> +<p> +The big drawing-room was lit with the softest +light. The Squire stood by the hearth, on which a +huge log blazed. Lady Frances, in full evening-dress, +was carelessly turning the leaves of a novel. +</p> +<p> +“What a quiet evening we are likely to have!” +she said, looking up at the Squire as she spoke. +“To-morrow there are numbers of guests coming; +we shall be a big party, and Audrey and Evelyn will, +I trust, have a pleasant time.—My dear Audrey, why +that dress this evening?” +</p> +<p> +“I took a fancy to wear it, mother,” said Audrey +in a light tone. +</p> +<p> +There was more color than usual in her cheeks, +and her eyes were brighter than her mother had +ever seen them. Lady Frances was not a woman +of any special discernment. She was an excellent +mother and a splendid hostess. She was good to +look at, and was just the sort of <em>grande dame</em> to keep +up all the dignity of Wynford Castle, but she never +even pretended to understand her only child. The +Squire, a sensitive man in many ways, was also more +or less a stranger to Audrey’s real character. He +looked at her, it is true, a little anxiously now, and +a slight curiosity stirred his breast as to the possible +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23'></a>23</span> +effect Evelyn’s presence in the house might have on +his beautiful young daughter. As to Evelyn herself, +he had not seen her, and did not even care to inquire +of his wife what sort of girl she was. He was +deeply absorbed over the silver currency question, +and was writing an exhaustive paper on it for the +<em>Nineteenth Century</em>; he had not time, therefore, +to worry about domestic matters. Just then the +drawing-room door was flung open, and the footman +announced, as though she were a stranger: +</p> +<p> +“Miss Evelyn Wynford.” +</p> +<p> +If Audrey was, according to Lady Frances’s ideas, +slightly overdressed for so small a party, she was +quite outshone by Evelyn, whose dress was altogether +unsuitable for her age. She wore a very thick silk, +bright blue in color, with a quantity of colored embroidery +thrown over it. Her little fat neck was +bare, and her sleeves were short. Her scanty fair +hair was arranged on the top of her head, two diamond +pins supporting it in position; a diamond +necklace was clasped round her neck, and she had +bracelets on her arms. She was evidently intensely +pleased with herself, and looked with the utmost +confidence from Lady Frances to her uncle. With +a couple of long strides the Squire advanced to meet +her. He looked into her queer little face and all his +indifference vanished. She was his only brother’s +only child. He had loved his brother better than +any one on earth, and, come what might, he would +give that brother’s child a welcome. So he took +both of Evelyn’s tiny hands, and suddenly stooping, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24'></a>24</span> +he lifted her an inch or so from the ground and +kissed her twice. Something in his manner made +the little girl give a sort of gasp. +</p> +<p> +“Why, it is just as if you were father come to +life,” she said. “I am glad to see you, Uncle Ned.” +</p> +<p> +Still holding her hand, the Squire walked up to +the hearth and stood there facing Audrey and his +wife. +</p> +<p> +“You have been introduced to Audrey, have you +not, Evelyn?” he said. +</p> +<p> +“I did not need to be introduced. I saw a girl +in the hall, and I guessed it must be Audrey. ’Cute +of me, was it not? Do you know, Uncle Ned, I +don’t much like this place, but I like you. Yes, I +am right-down smitten with you, but I don’t think +I like anything else. You don’t mind if I am frank, +Uncle Ned; it always was my way. We are +brought up like that in Tasmania—Audrey, don’t +frown at me; you don’t look pretty when you frown. +But, oh! I say, the bell has gone, has it not?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my dear,” said Lady Frances. +</p> +<p> +“And it means dinner, does it not?” +</p> +<p> +“Certainly, Evelyn,” said her uncle, bending towards +her with the most polished and stately grace. +“Allow me, my niece, to conduct you to the dining-room.” +</p> +<p> +“How droll you are, uncle!” said Evelyn. “But +I like you all the same. You are a right-down good +old sort. I am awfully peckish; I shall be glad of a +round meal.” +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25'></a>25</span><a name='chIII' id='chIII'></a>CHAPTER III.—THE CRADLE LIFE OF WILD EVE.</h2> +<p> +Eighteen years before the date of this story, two +brothers had parted with angry words. They were +both in love with the same woman, and the younger +brother had won. The elder brother, only one year +his senior, could not stand defeat. +</p> +<p> +“I cannot stay in the old place,” he said. “You +can occupy the Castle during my absence.” +</p> +<p> +To this arrangement Edward Wynford agreed. +</p> +<p> +“Where are you going?” he said to his brother +Frank. +</p> +<p> +“To the other side of the world—Australia probably. +I don’t know when I shall return. It does +not much matter. I shall never marry. The estate +will be yours. If Lady Frances has a son, it will +belong to him.” +</p> +<p> +“You must not think of that,” said Edward. “I +will live at the Castle for a few years in order to +keep it warm for you, but you will come back; you +will get over this. If she had loved you, old man, do +you think I would have taken her from you? But +she chose me from the very first.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t blame you, Ned,” said Frank. “You are +as innocent of any intention of harm to me as the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26'></a>26</span> +unborn babe, but I love her too well to stay in the +old country. I am off. I don’t want her ever to +know. You will promise me, won’t you, that you +will never tell her why I have skulked off and +dropped my responsibilities on to your shoulders? +Promise me that, at least, will you not?” +</p> +<p> +Edward Wynford promised his brother, and the +brother went away. +</p> +<p> +In the former generation father and son had agreed +to break off the entail, and although there was no +intention of carrying this action into effect, and +Frank, as eldest son, inherited the great estates of +Wynford Castle, yet at his father’s death he was in +the position of one who could leave the estates to +any one he pleased. +</p> +<p> +During his last interview with his brother he said +to him distinctly: +</p> +<p> +“Remember, if Lady Frances has a son I wish +him to be, after yourself, the next heir to the property.” +</p> +<p> +“But if she has not a son?” said Edward. +</p> +<p> +“In that case I have nothing to say. It is most +unlikely that I shall marry. The property will come +to you in the ordinary way, and as the entail is out +off, you can leave it to whom you please.” +</p> +<p> +“Do not forget that at present you can leave the +estate and the Castle to whomever you please, even +to an utter stranger,” said Edward, with a slight +smile. +</p> +<p> +To this remark Frank made no answer. The next +day the brothers parted—as it turned out, for life. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27'></a>27</span> +Edward married Lady Frances, and they went to +live at Wynford Castle. Edward heard once from +Frank during the voyage, and then not at all, until +he received a letter which must have been written a +couple of months before his brother’s death. It was +forwarded to him in a strange hand, and was full of +extraordinary and painful tidings. Frank Wynford +had died suddenly of acute fever, but before his +death he had arranged all his affairs. His letter +ran as follows: +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +“<span class='sc'>My dear Edward</span>,—If I live you will never get +this letter; if I die it reaches you all in good time. +When last we parted I told you I should never +marry. So much for man’s proposals. When I got +to Tasmania I went on a ranch, and now I am the husband +of the farmer’s daughter. Her name is Isabel. +She is a handsome woman, and the mother of a daughter. +Why I married her I can not tell you, except that +I can honestly say it was not with any sense of affection. +But she is my wife, and the mother of a little +baby girl. Edward, when I last heard from you, +you told me that you also had a daughter. If a son +follows all in due course, what I have to say will +not much signify; but if you have no son I should +wish the estates eventually to come to my little girl. +I do not believe in a woman’s administration of +large and important estates like mine, but what I +say to myself now is, as well my girl as your girl. +Therefore, Edward, my dear brother, I leave all my +estates to you for your lifetime, and at your death all +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28'></a>28</span> +the property which came to me by my father’s will +goes to my little girl, to be hers when you are no +longer there. I want you to receive my daughter, +and to ask your wife to bring her up. I want her +to have all the advantages that a home with Lady +Frances must confer on her. I want my child and +your child to be friends. I do no injustice to your +daughter, Edward, when I make my will, for she +inherits money on her mother’s side. I will acquaint +my wife with particulars of this letter, and in case +I catch the fever which is raging here now she will +know how to act. My lawyer in Hobart Town will +forward this, and see that my will is carried into +effect. There is a provision in it for the maintenance +of my daughter until she joins you at Castle Wynford. +Whenever that event takes place she is your +care. I have only one thing to add. The child +might go to you at once (I have a premonition that I +am about to die very soon), and thus never know +that she had an Australian mother, but the difficulty +lies in the fact that the mother loves the child and +will scarcely be induced to part with her. You +must not receive my poor wife unless indeed a radical +change takes place in her; and although I have +begged of her to give up the child, I doubt if she +will do it. I cannot add any more, for time presses. +My will is legal in every respect, and there will be +no difficulty in carrying it into effect.” +</p> +<p> +This strange letter was discovered by Frank +Wynford’s widow a month after his death. It was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29'></a>29</span> +sealed and directed to his brother in England. She +longed to read it, but restrained herself. She sent +it on to her husband’s lawyer in Hobart Town, and +in due course it arrived at Castle Wynford, causing +a great deal of consternation and distress both in +the minds of the Squire and Lady Frances. +</p> +<p> +Edward immediately went out to Tasmania. He +saw the little baby who was all that was left of his +brother, and he also saw that brother’s wife. The +coarse, loud-voiced woman received him with almost +abuse. What was to be done? The mother refused +to part with the child, and Edward Wynford, for +his own wife’s sake and his own baby daughter’s +sake, could not urge her to come to Castle Wynford. +</p> +<p> +“I do not care twopence,” she remarked, “whether +the child has grand relations or not. I loved her +father, and I love her. She is my child, and so she +has got to put up with me. As long as I live she +stays with me here. I am accustomed to ranch life, +and she will get accustomed to it too. I will not +spare money on her, for there is plenty, and she will +be a very rich woman some day. But while I live +she stays with me; the only way out of it is, that +you ask me to your fine place in England. Even if +you do, I don’t think I should be bothered to go to +you, but you might have the civility to ask me.” +</p> +<p> +Squire Wynford went away, however, without +giving this invitation. He spoke to his wife on the +subject. In that conversation he was careful to adhere +to his brother’s wish not to reveal to her that +that brother’s deep affection for herself had been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30'></a>30</span> +the cause of his banishment. Lady Frances was an +intensely just and upright woman. She had gone +through a very bad quarter of an hour when she +was told that her little girl was to be supplanted by +the strange child of an objectionable mother, but +she quickly recovered herself. +</p> +<p> +“I will not allow jealousy to enter into my life,” +she said; and she even went the length of writing +herself to Mrs. Wynford in Tasmania, and invited +her with the baby to come and stay at Wynford +Castle. Mrs. Wynford in Tasmania, however, much +to the relief of the good folks at home, declined the +invitation. +</p> +<p> +“I have no taste for English grandeur,” she said. +“I was brought up in a wild state, and I would +rather stay as I was reared. The child is well; you +can have her when she is grown up or when I am +dead.” +</p> +<p> +Years passed after this letter and there was no +communication between little Evelyn Wynford, in +the wilds of Tasmania, and her rich and stately relatives +at Castle Wynford. Lady Frances fervently +hoped that God would give her a son, but this hope +was not to be realized. Audrey was her only child, +and soon it seemed almost like a dim, forgotten fact +that the real heiress was in Tasmania, and that +Audrey had no more to do in the future with the +stately home of her ancestors than she would have +had had she possessed a brother. But when she was +sixteen there suddenly came a change. Mrs. Wynford +died suddenly. There was now no reason why +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31'></a>31</span> +Evelyn should not come home, and accordingly, untutored, +uncared for, a passionate child with a curious, +wilful strain in her, she arrived on New Year’s Day +at Castle Wynford. +</p> +<p> +Evelyn Wynford’s nature was very complex. She +loved very few people, but those she did love she +loved forever. No change, no absence, no circumstances +could alter her regard. In her ranch life +and during her baby days she had clung to her +mother. Mrs. Wynford was fierce and passionate +and wilful. Little Evelyn admired her, whatever +she did. She trotted round the farm after her; she +learnt to ride almost as soon as she could walk, and +she followed her mother barebacked on the wildest +horses on the ranch. She was fearless and stubborn, +and gave way to terrible fits of passion, but with +her mother she was gentle as a lamb. Mrs. Wynford +was fond of the child in the careless, selfish, and yet +fierce way which belonged to her nature. Mrs. +Wynford’s sole idea of affection was that her child +should be with her morning, noon, and night; that +for no education, for no advantages, should she be +parted from her mother for a moment. Night after +night the two slept in each other’s arms; day after +day they were together. The farmer’s daughter +was a very strong woman, and as her father died a +year or two after her husband, she managed the +ranch herself, keeping everything in order, and not +allowing the slightest insubordination on the part of +her servants. Little Evelyn, too, learnt her mother’s +masterful ways. She could reprimand; she could +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32'></a>32</span> +insist upon obedience; she could shake her tiny fists +in the faces of those who dared to oppose her; and +when she was disporting herself so Mrs. Wynford +stood by and laughed. +</p> +<p> +“Hullo!” she used to cry. “See the spirit in the +young un. She takes after me. A nice time her +English relatives will have with her! But she will +never go to them—never while I live.” +</p> +<p> +Although Mrs. Wynford had long ago made up +her mind that Evelyn was to have none of the immediate +advantages of her birth and future prospects, +she was fond of talking to the child about +the grandeur which lay before her. +</p> +<p> +“If I die, Eve,” she said, “you will have to go +across the sea in a big ship to England. You would +have a rough time of it, perhaps, on board, but you +won’t mind that, my beauty.” +</p> +<p> +“I am not a beauty, mother,” answered Evelyn. +“You know I am not. You know I am a very +plain girl.” +</p> +<p> +“Hark to the child!” shrieked Mrs. Wynford. +“It is as good as a play to hear her. If you are not +beautiful in body, my darling, you are beautiful in +your spirit. Yes, you have inherited from your +proud English father lots of gold and a lovely castle, +and all your relations will have to eat humble-pie to +you; but you have got your spirit from me, Eve—don’t +forget that.” +</p> +<p> +“Tell me about the Castle, mother, and about my +father,” said Evelyn, nestling up close to her parent, +as they sat by the roaring fire in the winter evenings. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33'></a>33</span> +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Wynford knew very little, and what she +did know she exaggerated. She gave Evelyn vivid +pictures, however, in each and all of which the principal +figure was Evelyn herself—Evelyn claiming +her rights, mastering her relations, letting her unknown +cousin know that she, Evelyn, was the heiress, +and that the cousin was nobody. Only one person +in the group of Evelyn’s future relations did Mrs. +Wynford counsel her to be civil to. +</p> +<p> +“The worst of it all is this, Eve,” she said—“while +your uncle lives you do not own a pennypiece +of the estate; and he may hold out for many +a long day, so you had best be agreeable to him. +Besides, he is like your father. Your father was a +very handsome man and a very fine man, and I loved +him, child. I took a fancy to him from the day he +arrived at the ranch, and when he asked me to marry +him I thought myself in rare good luck. But he +died soon after you were born. Had he lived I’d +have been the lady of the Castle, but I’d not go +there without him, and you shall never go while I +live.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t want to, mother. You are more to me +than twenty castles,” said the enthusiastic little girl. +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Wynford had one friend whom Evelyn tolerated +and presently loved. That friend was a +woman, partly of French extraction, who had come +to stay at the ranch once during a severe illness of +its owner. Her name was Jasper—Amelia Jasper; +but she was known on the ranch by the title of +Jasper alone. She was not a lady in any sense of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34'></a>34</span> +the word, and did not pretend that she was one; +but she was possessed of a certain strange fascination +which she could exercise at will over those with +whom she came in contact, and she made herself so +useful to Mrs. Wynford and so necessary to Evelyn +that she was never allowed to leave the ranch again. +She soon obtained a great power over the curious, +uneducated woman who was Evelyn’s mother; and +when at last Mrs. Wynford found that she was +smitten with an incurable disease, and that at any +moment death would come to fetch her, she asked +her dear friend Jasper to take the child to England. +</p> +<p> +“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said Jasper. “I’ll +take Evelyn to England, and stay with her there.” +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Wynford laughed. +</p> +<p> +“You are clever enough, Jasper,” she said; “but +what a figure of fun you would look in the grand +sort of imperial residence that my dear late husband +has described to me! You are not a lady, you +know, although you are smart and clever enough to +beat half the ladies out of existence.” +</p> +<p> +“I shall know how to manage,” said Jasper. “I, +too, have heard of the ways of English grandees. +I’ll be Evelyn’s maid. She cannot do without a +maid, can she? I’ll take Evelyn back, and I will +stay with her as her maid.” +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Wynford hailed this idea as a splendid one, +and she even wrote a very badly spelt letter to Lady +Frances, which Jasper was to convey and deliver +herself, if possible, to her proud ladyship, as the +widow called her sister-in-law. In this letter Mrs. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35'></a>35</span> +Wynford demanded that Jasper was to stay with +Evelyn as long as Evelyn wished for her, and she +finally added: +</p> +<p> +“I dare you, Lady Frances, fine lady as you are, +to part the child from her maid.” +</p> +<p> +When Mrs. Wynford died Evelyn gave way to the +most terrible grief. She refused to eat; she refused +to leave her mother’s dead body. She shrieked herself +into hysterics on the day of the funeral, and +then the poor little girl was prostrated with nervous +fever. Finally, she became so unwell that it was +impossible for her to travel to England for some +months. And so it happened that nearly a year +elapsed between the death of the mother and the +arrival of the child at Castle Wynford. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36'></a>36</span><a name='chIV' id='chIV'></a>CHAPTER IV.—“I DRAW THE LINE AT UNCLE NED.”</h2> +<p> +“Well, Jasper,” said Evelyn in a very eager voice +to her maid that first night, “and how do you like +it all?” +</p> +<p> +“How do you like it, Evelyn?” was the response. +</p> +<p> +“That is so like you, Jasper!” replied the spoilt +little girl. “When all is said and done, you are not +a scrap original. You make me like you—I cannot +help myself—but in some ways you are too +cautious to please me. You don’t want to say what +you think of the place until you know my opinion. +Well, I don’t care; I’ll tell you out plump what I +think of everything. The place is horrid, and so +are the people. I wish—oh! I wish I was back +again on the ranch with mother.” +</p> +<p> +Jasper looked down rather scornfully at the small +girl, who, in a rich and elaborately embroidered +dressing-gown, was kneeling by the fire. Evelyn’s +handsome eyes, the only really good feature she +possessed, were fixed full upon her maid’s face. +</p> +<p> +“The Castle is too stiff for me,” she said, “and +too—too airified and high and mighty. Mother was +quite right when she spoke of Castle Wynford. I +don’t care for anybody in the place except Uncle +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37'></a>37</span> +Ned. I don’t know how I shall live here. Oh Jasper, +don’t you remember the evenings at home? +Cannot you recall that night when Whitefoot was +ill, and you and mothery and I had to sit up all +through the long hours nursing her, and how we +thought the dear old moo-cow would die! Don’t +you remember the mulled cider and the gingerbread +and the doughnuts and the apple-rings? How we +toasted the apple-rings by the fire, and how they +spluttered, and how good the hot cider was? And +don’t you remember how mothery sang, and how +you and I caught each other’s hands and danced, +and dear old Whitefoot looked up at us with her +big, sorrowful eyes? It is true that she died in the +morning, but we had a jolly night. We’ll never +have such times any more. Oh, I do wish my own +mothery had not died and gone to heaven! Oh, I +do wish it—I do!” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn crossed her arms tightly on her breast +and began to sway herself backwards and forwards. +Tears streamed from her eyes; she did not attempt +to wipe them away. +</p> +<p> +“Now then, it is my turn to speak,” said Jasper. +“I tell you what it is, Eve; you are about the biggest +goose that was ever born in this world. Who +would compare that stupid, rough old ranch with +this lovely, magnificent house? And it is your own, +Eve—or rather it will be your own. I took a good +stare at the Squire, and I do not believe he will live +to be very old; and whenever he dies you are to +take possession—you and I together, Eve love—and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38'></a>38</span> +out will go her ladyship, and out will go proud Miss +Audrey. That will be a fine day, darling—a day +worth living for.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said Evelyn slowly; “and then we’ll alter +things. We’ll make the Castle something like the +ranch. We’ll get over some of our friends, and +they shall live in the house. Mr. and Mrs. Petrie, +who keep the egg-farm not a mile from the ranch, +and Mr. Thomas Longchamp and Pete and Dick +and Tom and Michael. I told them all when I was +going away that when I was mistress of the Castle +they should come, and we’ll go on much as we went +on at the ranch. If mothery up in heaven can see +me she will be glad. But, Jasper, why do you speak +in that scornful way of my cousin Audrey? I think +she is very beautiful. I think she is quite the most +beautiful girl I have ever looked at. As to her +being stately, she cannot help being stately. I wish +I could walk like her, and talk like her, and speak +like her; I do, Jasper—I do really.” +</p> +<p> +“Let me see,” said Jasper in a contemplative tone. +“You are learning to love her, ain’t you?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t love easily. I love my own darling +mothery, who is not dead at all, for she is in heaven +with father; and I love you, Jasper, and my uncle +Edward.” +</p> +<p> +“My word! and why him?” +</p> +<p> +“I cannot help it; I love him already, and I’ll +love him more and more the longer I see him and +the more I know him. My father must have been +like that—a gentleman—a perfect gentleman. Oh! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39'></a>39</span> +I was happy at the ranch, and mothery was like no +one else on the wide earth, but it gave me a sort of +quiver down my spine when Uncle Edward took +my hand, and when he kissed me. He is like what +father was. Had father lived I’d have spent all my +days here, and I’d have been perhaps quite as graceful +as Audrey, and nearly as beautiful.” +</p> +<p> +“You will never be like her, so you need not +think it. You are squat like your mother, and you +ain’t got a decent feature in your face except your +eyes, and even they are only big, not dark; and +your hair is skimpy and your face white. You are +a sort of mix’um-gather’um—a sort of betwixt-and-between—neither +very fair nor very dark, neither +very short nor very tall. You are thick-set, just +the very image of your mother, and you will always +be thick-set and always mix’um-gather’um as long +as you live. There! I have spoken. I ain’t going +to be afraid of you. You had better get into bed +now, for it is late. You want your beauty-sleep, +and you won’t get it unless you are quick. Now +march! Put on your night-dress and step into +bed.” +</p> +<p> +“I have got to say my prayers first,” said Evelyn, +“and——” She paused and looked full at her +maid. “I have got to say something else. If you +talk like that I won’t love you any more. You are +not to do it. I won’t have it.” +</p> +<p> +“Won’t she, then?” said Jasper. Her whole +manner changed. “And have I hurt her—have I—the +little dear? Come to me, my darling. Why, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40'></a>40</span> +you are all trembling! Did you think I meant a +word I said? Don’t you know that you are the +jewel of my eyes and the core of my heart and all +the rest? Did your mother leave you to me for +nothing, and would I ever leave you, sweetest and +best? And if it is squat you are, there is no one +like you for determination and fire of spirit. Eh, +now, come to my arms and I’ll rock the bitterness +out of you, for it is puzzled you are, and fretted you +are, and you shall not be—no, you shall not be either +one or the other ever again while old Jasper lives.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn’s eyes, which had flashed an almost ugly +fire, now softened. She looked at Jasper as if she +meant to resist her. Then she wavered, and came +almost totteringly across the room, and the next +moment the strange woman had clasped the girl to +her embrace and was rocking her backwards and +forwards, Evelyn’s head lying on her breast just as +if she were a baby. +</p> +<p> +“Now then, that’s better,” said Jasper. “I’ll +undress you as though we were back again on the +ranch, and when you are snug and safe in your little +white bed we’ll have a bit of fun.” +</p> +<p> +“Fun!” said Evelyn. “What?” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t you know how you like a stolen supper? +I have got chocolate here, and a little pot, and a jug +of cream, and a saucepan, and I’ll make a rich cup +for you and another for myself; and here’s a box +of cakes, all sorts and very good. While you are +sipping your chocolate I’ll take off Miss Audrey and +Lady Frances for you. The door is locked; no one +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41'></a>41</span> +can see us. We’ll be as snug as snug can be, and +we’ll have our fun just as if we were back at the +ranch.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn was now all laughter and high spirits. +She had no idea of restraining herself. She called +Jasper her honey and her honey-pot, and kissed the +good woman several times. She superintended the +making of the chocolate with eager words and many +directions. Finally, a cup of the rich beverage was +handed to her, and she sipped it, luxuriously curled +up against her snowy pillows, and ate the sweet +cakes, and watched Jasper with happy eyes. +</p> +<p> +“So it is Miss Audrey you’d like to take after?” +said Jasper. “You think you are not a patch on +her. To be sure not—wait and we’ll see.” +</p> +<p> +In an instant Jasper had transformed her features +to a comical resemblance of Audrey’s. She spoke +in mincing tones, with just sufficient likeness to +Audrey to cause Evelyn to scream with mirth. She +took light, quick steps across the room, and imitated +Audrey’s very words. All of a sudden she changed +her manner. She now resembled Miss Sinclair, +putting on the slightly precise language of the governess, +adjusting her shoulders and arranging her +hands as she had seen Miss Sinclair do for a brief +moment that evening. Her personation of Miss Sinclair +was as good as her personation of Audrey, and +Evelyn became so excited that she very nearly spilt +her chocolate. But her crowning delight came when +all of a sudden, without the slightest warning, Jasper +became Lady Frances herself. She now sailed rather +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42'></a>42</span> +than walked across the apartment; her tones were +stately and slow; her manner was the sort which +might inspire awe; her very words were those of +Lady Frances. But the delighted maid believed +that she had a further triumph in store, for, with a +quick change of mien, she now had the audacity to +personate the Squire himself; but in one instant, +like a flash, Evelyn was out of bed. She put down +her chocolate-cup and rushed towards Jasper. +</p> +<p> +“The others as much as you like,” she said, “but +not Uncle Ned. You dare not. You sha’n’t. I’ll +turn you away if you do. I’ll hate you if you do. +The others over and over again—they are lovely, +splendid, grand—it puts heart in me to see you—but +not Uncle Ned.” +</p> +<p> +Jasper looked in astonishment at the little girl. +</p> +<p> +“So you love him as much as that already?” she +said. “Well, as you please, of course.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t be cross, Jasper,” said Evelyn. “I can +stand all the others; I can even like them. I told +Audrey to-night how splendidly you can mimic, and +you shall mimic her to her face when I know her +better. Oh, it is killing—it is killing! But I draw +the line at Uncle Ned.” +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43'></a>43</span><a name='chV' id='chV'></a>CHAPTER V.—FRANK’S EYES.</h2> +<p> +Evelyn did not get up to breakfast the following +morning. Breakfast at the Castle was a rather +stately affair. A loud, musical gong sounded to +assemble the family at a quarter to nine; then all +those who were not really ill were expected to appear +in the small chapel, where the Squire read +prayers morning after morning before the assembled +household. After prayers, visitors and family alike +trooped into the comfortable breakfast-room, where +a merry and hearty meal ensued. To be absent +from breakfast was to insure Lady Frances’s displeasure; +she had no patience with lazy people. And +as to lazy girls, her horror of them was so great that +Audrey would rather bear the worst cold possible +than announce to her mother that she was too ill +to appear. Evelyn’s absence, therefore, was commented +on with a very grave expression of face by +both the Squire and his wife. +</p> +<p> +“I must speak to her,” said Lady Frances. “It +is the first morning, and she does not understand +our ways, but it must not occur again.” +</p> +<p> +“You will not be too hard on the child, dear,” +said her husband. “Remember she has never had +the advantage of your training.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44'></a>44</span> +</p> +<p> +“Poor little creature!” said Lady Frances. +“That, indeed, my dear Edward, is plain to be +seen.” +</p> +<p> +She bridled very slightly. Lady Frances knew +that there was not a more correct trainer of youth +in the length and breadth of the county than herself. +Audrey, who looked very bright and handsome +that morning, ventured to glance at her mother. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps Evelyn is dressed and does not know +that we are at breakfast,” she said. “May I go to +her room and find out?” +</p> +<p> +“No, Audrey, not this morning. I shall go to see +Evelyn presently. By the way, I hope you are ready +for your visitors?” +</p> +<p> +“I suppose so, mother. I don’t really quite know +who are coming.” +</p> +<p> +“The Jervices, of course—Henrietta, Juliet, and +their brothers; there are also the Claverings, Mary +and Sophie. I think those are the only young people, +but with six in addition to you and Evelyn, you will +have your hands full, Audrey.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I don’t mind,” replied Audrey. “It will be +fun.—You will help me all you can, won’t you, +Jenny?” +</p> +<p> +“Certainly, dear,” replied Miss Sinclair. +</p> +<p> +“It is the greatest possible comfort to me to have +you in the house, Miss Sinclair,” said Lady Frances, +now turning to the pretty young governess. “You +have not yet had an interview with Evelyn, have +you?” +</p> +<p> +“I talked to her a little last night,” replied Miss +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45'></a>45</span> +Sinclair. “She seems to me to be a child with a +good deal of character.” +</p> +<p> +“She is like no child I ever met before,” said Lady +Frances, with a shudder. “I must frankly say I +never looked forward with any pleasure to her arrival, +but my worst fears did not picture so thoroughly +objectionable a little girl.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, come, Frances—come!” said her husband. +</p> +<p> +“My dear Edward, I do not give myself away as +a rule; but it is just as well that Miss Sinclair should +see how much depends on her guidance of the poor +little girl, and that Audrey should know how objectionable +she is, and how necessary it is for us all to +do what we can to alter her ways. The first step, +of course, is to get rid of that terrible woman whom +she calls Jasper.” +</p> +<p> +“But, mother,” said Audrey, “that would hurt +Evelyn’s feelings very much—she is so devoted to +Jasper.” +</p> +<p> +“You must leave the matter to me, Audrey,” said +Lady Frances, rising. “You may be sure that I +will do nothing really cruel or unkind. But, my +dear, it is as well that you should learn sooner or +later that spoiling a person is never true kindness.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Frances left the room as she spoke; and +Audrey, turning to her governess, said a few words +to her, and they also went slowly in the direction +of the conservatory. +</p> +<p> +“What do you think of her, Jenny?” asked the +girl. +</p> +<p> +“Just what I said, dear. The child is full of originality +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46'></a>46</span> +and strong feelings, but of course, brought +up as she has been, she will be a trial to your +mother.” +</p> +<p> +“That is just it. Mother has never seen any one +in the least like Evelyn. She won’t understand her; +and if she does not there will be mischief.” +</p> +<p> +“Evelyn must learn to subdue her will to that of +Lady Frances,” said Miss Sinclair. “You and I, +Audrey, will try to be very patient with her; we +will put up with her small impertinences, knowing +that she scarcely means them; and we will try to +make things as happy for her as we can.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know about that,” said Audrey. “I +cannot see why she should be rude and chuff and +disagreeable. I don’t altogether dislike her. She +certainly amuses me. But she will not have a very +happy time at the Castle until she knows her place.” +</p> +<p> +“That is it,” said Miss Sinclair. “She has evidently +been spoken to most injudiciously—told that +she is practically mistress of the place, and that she +may do as she likes here. Hence the result. But +at the worst, Audrey, I am certain of one thing.” +</p> +<p> +“What is that, Jenny? How wise you look, and +how kind!” +</p> +<p> +“I believe your father will be able to manage her, +whoever else fails. Did you not notice how her eyes +followed him round the room last night, and how, +whenever he spoke to her, her voice softened and +she always replied in a gentle tone?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I did not,” answered Audrey. “Oh dear! +it is very puzzling, and I feel rather cross myself. I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47'></a>47</span> +cannot imagine why that horrid little girl should +ever own this lovely place. It is not that I am +jealous of her—I assure you I am anything but that—but +it hurts me to think that one who can appreciate +things so little should come in for our lovely +property.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, darling, let us hope she will be quite a +middle-aged woman before she possesses Castle +Wynford,” said the governess. “And now, what +about your young friends?” +</p> +<p> +Audrey slipped her hand inside Miss Sinclair’s +arm, and the two paced the conservatory, talking +long and earnestly. +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile Evelyn, having partaken of a rich and +unwholesome breakfast of pastry, game-pie, and chocolate, +condescended slowly to rise. Jasper waited +on her hand and foot. A large fire burned in the +grate; no servant had been allowed into the apartment +since Evelyn had taken possession of it the +night before, and it already presented an untidy +and run-to-seed appearance. White ashes were piled +high in the untidy grate; dust had collected on the +polished steel of the fire-irons; dust had also mounted +to the white marble mantelpiece covered with velvet +of turquoise-blue, but neither Evelyn nor Jasper +minded these things in the least. +</p> +<p> +“And now, pet,” said the maid, “what dress will +you wear?” +</p> +<p> +“I had better assert myself as soon as possible,” +said Evelyn. “Mothery told me I must. So I had +better put on something striking. I saw that horrid +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48'></a>48</span> +Audrey walking past just now with her governess; +she had on a plain, dark-blue serge. Why, any +dairymaid might dress like that. Don’t you agree +with me, Jasper?” +</p> +<p> +“There is your crimson velvet,” said Jasper. “I +bought it for you in Paris. You look very handsome +in it.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, come, Jasper,” said her little mistress, “you +said I was squat last night.” +</p> +<p> +“The rich velvet shows up your complexion,” +persisted Jasper. “Put it on, dear; you must make +a good impression.” +</p> +<p> +Accordingly Evelyn allowed herself to be arrayed +in a dress of a curious shade between red and crimson. +Jasper encircled her waist with a red silk +sash; and being further decked with numerous rows +of colored beads, varying in hue from the palest +green to the deepest rose, the heiress pronounced +herself ready to descend. +</p> +<p> +“And where will you go first, dear?” said +Jasper. +</p> +<p> +“I am going straight to find my Uncle Edward. +I have a good deal to say to him. And there is +mother’s note; I think it is all about you. I will +give it to Uncle Edward to give to my Aunt Frances. +I don’t like my Aunt Frances at all, so I will see +Uncle Edward first.” +</p> +<p> +Accordingly Evelyn, in her heavy red dress, her +feet encased in black shoes and white stockings, ran +down-stairs, and having inquired in very haughty +tones of a footman where the Squire was likely to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49'></a>49</span> +be found, presently opened the door of his private +sanctum and peeped in. +</p> +<p> +Even Lady Frances seldom cared to disturb the +Squire when he was in his den, as he called it. +When he raised his eyes, therefore, and saw Evelyn’s +pale face, her light flaxen hair falling in thin strands +about her ears, her big, somewhat light-brown eyes +staring at him, he could not help giving a start of +annoyance. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Uncle Ned, you are not going to be cross +too?” said the little girl. She skipped gaily into +the room, ran up to him, put one arm round his +neck, and kissed him. +</p> +<p> +The Squire looked in a puzzled way at the queer +little figure. Like most men, he knew little or nothing +of the details of dress; he was only aware that his +own wife always looked perfect, that Audrey was +the soul of grace, and that Miss Sinclair presented a +very pretty appearance. He was now, therefore, +only uncomfortable in Evelyn’s presence, not in the +least aware of what was wrong with her, but being +quite certain that Lady Frances would not approve +of her at all. +</p> +<p> +“I have come first to you, Uncle Edward,” said +Evelyn, “because we must transact some business +together.” +</p> +<p> +“Transact some business!” repeated her uncle. +“What long words you use, little girl!” +</p> +<p> +“I have heard my dear mothery talk about transacting +business, so I have picked up the phrase,” replied +Evelyn in thoughtful tones. “Well, Uncle +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50'></a>50</span> +Edward, shall we transact? It is best to have things +on a business footing; don’t you think so—eh?” +</p> +<p> +“I think that you are a very strange little person,” +said her uncle. “You are too young to know anything +of business matters; you must leave those +things to your aunt and to me.” +</p> +<p> +“But I am your heiress, don’t forget. This room +will be mine, and all that big estate outside, and +the whole of this gloomy old house when you die. +Is not that so?” +</p> +<p> +“It is so, my child.” The Squire could not help +wincing when Evelyn pronounced his house gloomy. +“But at the same time, my dear Evelyn, things of +that sort are not spoken about—at least not in +England.” +</p> +<p> +“Mothery and I spoke a lot about it; we used to +sit for whole evenings by the fireside and discuss the +time when I should come in for my property. I +mean to make changes when my time comes. You +don’t mind my saying so, do you?” +</p> +<p> +“I object to the subject altogether, Evelyn.” The +Squire rose and faced his small heiress. “In England +we don’t talk of these things, and now that +you have come to England you must do as an English +girl and a lady would. On your father’s side +you are a lady, and you must allow your aunt and +me to train you in the observances which constitute +true ladyhood in England.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn’s brown eyes flashed a very angry fire. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t wish to be different from my mother,” +she said. “My mother was one of the most splendid +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51'></a>51</span> +women on earth. I wish to be exactly like her. I +will not be a fine lady—not for anybody.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, dear, I respect you for being fond of +your mother.” +</p> +<p> +“Fond of her!” said Evelyn; and a strange +and intensely tragic look crossed the queer little +face. +</p> +<p> +She was quite silent for nearly a minute, and +Edward Wynford watched her with curiosity and +pain mingled in his face. Her eyes reminded him +of the brother whom he had so truly loved; in every +other respect Evelyn was her mother over again. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose,” she said after a pause, “although I +may not speak about what lies before me in the +future, and you must die some time, Uncle Edward, +that I may at least ask you to supply me with the +needful?” +</p> +<p> +“The what, dear?” +</p> +<p> +“The needful. Chink, you know—chink.” +</p> +<p> +Squire Wynford sank slowly back again into his +chair. +</p> +<p> +“You might ask me to sit down,” said Evelyn, +“seeing that the room and all it contains will +be——” Here she broke off abruptly. “I beg your +pardon,” she continued. “I really and truly do not +want you to die a minute before your rightful hour. +We all have our hour—at least mothery said so—and +then go we must, whether we like it or not; so, +as you must go some day, and I must——Oh +dear! I am always being drawn up now by that +horrid wish of yours that I should try to be an English +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52'></a>52</span> +girl. I will try to be when I am in your presence, +for I happen to like you; but as for the others, +well, we shall see. But, Uncle Ned, what about the +chink? Perhaps you call it money; anyhow, it +means money. How much may I have out of what +is to be all my own some day to spend now exactly +as I like?” +</p> +<p> +“You can have a fair sum, Evelyn. But, first of +all, tell me what you want it for and how you mean +to spend it.” +</p> +<p> +“I have all kinds of wants,” began Evelyn. +“Jasper had plenty of money to spend on me until I +came here. She manages very well indeed, does +Jasper. We bought lots of things in Paris—this +dress, for instance. How do you like my dress, +Uncle Ned?” +</p> +<p> +“I am not capable of giving an opinion.” +</p> +<p> +“Aren’t you really? I expect you are about +stunned. You never thought a girl like me could +dress with such taste. Do you mind my speaking +to Audrey, Uncle Ned, about her dress? It does +not seem to me to be correct.” +</p> +<p> +“What is wrong with it?” asked the Squire. +</p> +<p> +“It is so awfully dowdy; it is not what a lady +ought to wear. Ladies ought to dress in silks and +satins and brocades and rich embroidered robes. +Mothery always said so, and mothery surely knew. +But there, I am idling you, and I suppose you are +busy directing the management of your estates, +which are to be——Oh, there! I am pulled up +again. I want my money for Jasper, for one thing. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53'></a>53</span> +Jasper has got some poor relations, and she and I +between us support them.” +</p> +<p> +“She and you between you,” said the Squire, +“support your maid’s relations!” +</p> +<p> +“Oh dear me, Uncle Ned, how stiffly you speak! +But surely it does not matter; I can do what I like +with my own.” +</p> +<p> +“Listen to me, Evelyn,” said her uncle. “You are +only a very young girl; your mind may in some +ways be older than your body, but you are nothing +more than a child.” +</p> +<p> +“I am not such a child as I look. I was sixteen +a month ago. I am sixteen, and that is not very +young.” +</p> +<p> +“We must agree to differ,” said her uncle. “You +are young and you are not wise; and although there +is some money which is absolutely your own coming +from the ranch in Tasmania, yet I have the charge +of it until you come of age.” +</p> +<p> +“When I come of age I suppose I shall be very, +very rich?” +</p> +<p> +“Not at all. You will be my care, and I will +allow you what is proper, but as long as I live you +will only have the small sum which will come to you +yearly from the rent of the ranch. As the ranch +may possibly be sold some day, we may be able to +realize a nice little capital for you; but you are too +young to know much of these things at present. +The matter in hand, therefore, is all-sufficient. I +will allow you as pocket-money five pounds a +quarter. I give precisely the same sum to Audrey. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54'></a>54</span> +Your aunt will buy your clothes, and you will live +here and be treated in all respects as my daughter. +Now, that is my side of the bargain.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn’s face turned white. +</p> +<p> +“Five pounds a quarter!” she said. “Why, that +is downright penury!” +</p> +<p> +“No, dear; for the use you require it for it is +downright riches. But, be it riches or be it penury, +you get no more.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn looked full at her uncle; her uncle looked +back at her. +</p> +<p> +“Come here, little girl,” he said. +</p> +<p> +Her heart was beating with furious anger, but +there was something in his tone which subdued her. +She went slowly to him, and he put his arm round +her waist. +</p> +<p> +“Your eyes are like—very like—one whom I +loved best on earth.” +</p> +<p> +“You mean my father,” said the girl. +</p> +<p> +“Your father. He left you to me to care for, and +to love and to train—to train for a high position +eventually.” +</p> +<p> +“He left me to mothery; you are quite mistaken +there. Mothery has trained me; father left me to +her. She often and often and often told me so.” +</p> +<p> +“That is true, dear. While your mother lived she +had the prior claim over you, but now you belong +to me.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said Evelyn. She felt fascinated. She +snuggled comfortably inside her uncle’s arm; her +strange brown eyes were fixed on his face. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55'></a>55</span> +</p> +<p> +“I give you,” he continued, “the love and care of +a father, but I expect a return.” +</p> +<p> +“What? I don’t mind. I have two diamonds—beauties. +You shall have them to make into studs; +you shall, because I—yes, I love you.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t want your diamonds, my little girl, but +I want other things—your love and your obedience. +I want you, if you like me, and if you like your Aunt +Frances, and if you like your cousin, to follow in our +steps, for we have been brought up to approve of +courteous manners and quiet dress and gentle +speech; and I want that brain of yours, Evelyn, to +be educated to high and lofty thoughts. I want you +to be a grand woman, worthy of your father, and I +expect this return from you for all that I am going +to do for you.” +</p> +<p> +“Are you going to teach me your own self?” +asked Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“You can come to me sometimes for a talk, but it +is impossible for me to be your instructor. You will +have a suitable governess.” +</p> +<p> +“Jasper knows a lot of things. Perhaps she +could teach both Audrey and me. She might if you +paid her well. She has got some awfully poor relations; +she must have lots of money, poor Jasper +must.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, dear, leave me now. We will talk of +your education and who is to instruct you, and all +about Jasper too, within a few days. You have got +to see the place and to make Audrey’s acquaintance; +and there are some young friends coming to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56'></a>56</span> +Castle for a week. Altogether, you have arrived at +a gay time. Now run away, find your cousin, and +make yourself happy.” +</p> +<p> +Squire Wynford rose as he spoke, and taking +Evelyn’s hand, he led her to the door. He opened +the door wide for her, and saw her go out, and then +he kissed his hand to her and closed the door again. +</p> +<p> +“Poor little mite!” he said to himself. “As +strange a child as I ever saw, but with Frank’s +eyes.” +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57'></a>57</span><a name='chVI' id='chVI'></a>CHAPTER VI.—THE HUNGRY GIRL.</h2> +<p> +Now, the Squire had produced a decidedly softening +effect upon Evelyn, and if she had not had the +misfortune to meet Lady Frances just as she left his +room, much that followed need never taken place. +But Lady Frances, who had never in the very least +returned poor Frank Wynford’s affection for her, +and who had no sentimental feelings with regard to +Evelyn—Lady Frances, who simply regarded the +little girl as a troublesome and very tiresome member +of the family—was not disposed to be too soothing +in her manner. +</p> +<p> +“Come here, my dear,” she said. “Come over +here to the light. What have you got on?” +</p> +<p> +“My pretty red velvet dress,” replied Evelyn, +tossing her head. “A suitable dress for an heiress +like myself.” +</p> +<p> +“Come, this is quite beyond enduring. I want +to speak to you, Evelyn. I have several things to +say. Come into my boudoir.” +</p> +<p> +“But, if you please,” said Evelyn, “I have nothing +to say to you, and I have a great deal to do in other +directions. I am going back to Jasper; she wants +me.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58'></a>58</span> +</p> +<p> +“Oh, that reminds me,” began Lady Frances. +“Come in here this moment, my dear.” +</p> +<p> +She took Evelyn’s hand and dragged the unwilling +child into her private apartment. A bright fire +burned in the grate. The room looked cozy, cheerful, +orderly. Lady Frances was a woman of method. +She had piles of papers lying neatly docketed on her +writing-table; a sheaf of unanswered letters lay on +one side. A Remington typewriter stood on a table +near, and a slim-looking girl was standing by the +typewriter. +</p> +<p> +“You will leave me for the present, Miss Andrews,” +she said, turning to her amanuensis. “I +shall require you here again in a quarter of an +hour.” +</p> +<p> +Miss Andrews, with a low bow, instantly left the +room. +</p> +<p> +“You see, Evelyn,” said her aunt, “you are taking +up the time of a very busy woman. I manage the +financial part of several charities—in short, we are +very busy people in this house—and in the morning +I, as a rule, allow no one to interrupt me. When +the afternoon comes I am ready and willing to be +agreeable to my guests.” +</p> +<p> +“But I am not your guest. The house belongs +to me—or at least it will be mine,” said +Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“You are quite right in saying you are not my +guest. You are my husband’s niece, and in the +future you will inherit his property; but if I hear +you speaking in that rude way again I shall be forced +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59'></a>59</span> +to punish you. I can see for myself that you are an +ill-bred girl and will require a vast lot of breaking-in.” +</p> +<p> +“And you think you can do it?” said Evelyn, +her eyes flashing. +</p> +<p> +“I intend to do it. I am going to talk to you +for a few minutes this morning, and after I have +spoken I wish you to clearly understand that you +are to do as I tell you. You will not be unhappy +here; on the contrary, you will be happy. At first +you may find the necessary rules of a house like +this somewhat irksome, but you will get into the +way of them before long. You need discipline, and +you will have it here. I will not say much more on +that subject this morning. You can find Audrey, +and she and Miss Sinclair will take you round the +grounds and amuse you, and you must be very much +obliged to them for their attentions. Audrey is my +daughter, and I think I may say without undue +flattery that you will find her a most estimable companion. +She is well brought up, and is a charming +girl in every sense of the word. Miss Sinclair is +her governess; she will also instruct you, but time +enough for that in the future. Now, when you leave +here go straight to your room and desire your servant—Jasper, +I think, you call her—to dress you in +a plain and suitable frock.” +</p> +<p> +“A frock!” said Evelyn. “I wear dresses—long +dresses. I am not a child; mothery said I had the +sense of several grown-up people.” +</p> +<p> +“The garment you are now in you are not to wear +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60'></a>60</span> +again; it is unsuitable, and I forbid you to be even +seen in it. Do you understand?” +</p> +<p> +“I hear you,” said Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“Go up-stairs and do what I tell you, and then you +can go into the grounds. Audrey is having holidays +at present; you will find her with her governess in +the shrubbery. Now go; the time I can devote to +you for the present is up.” +</p> +<p> +“I had better give you this first,” said Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +She thrust her hand into her pocket and took out +the ill-spelt and now exceedingly dirty note which +poor Mrs. Wynford in Tasmania had written to +Lady Frances before her death. +</p> +<p> +“This is from mothery, who is dead,” continued +the child. “It is for you. She wrote it to you. I +expect she is watching you now; she told me that +she would come back if she could and see how +people treated me. I am going. Don’t lose the +note; it was written by mothery, and she is dead.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn laid the dirty letter on the blotting-pad +on Lady Frances’s table. It looked strangely out of +keeping with the rest of her correspondence. The +little girl left the room, banging the door behind her. +</p> +<p> +“A dreadful child!” thought Lady Frances. +“How are we to endure her? My poor, sweet +Audrey! I must get Edward to allow me to send +Evelyn to school; she really is not a fit companion +for my young daughter.” +</p> +<p> +Miss Andrews came back. +</p> +<p> +“Please direct these envelopes, and answer some +of these letters according to the notes which I have +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61'></a>61</span> +put down for you,” said Lady Frances; and her +secretary began to work. But Lady Frances did +not ask Miss Andrews to read or reply to the dirty +little note. She took it up very much as though she +would like to drop it into the fire, but finally she +opened it and read the contents. The letter was +rude and curt, and Lady Frances’s fine black eyes +flashed as she read the words. Finally, she locked +the letter up in a private bureau, and sitting down, +calmly proceeded with her morning’s work. +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile Evelyn, choking with rage and utterly +determined to disobey Lady Frances, left the room. +She stood still for a moment in the long corridor +and looked disconsolately to right and to left of +her. +</p> +<p> +“How ugly it all is!” she said to herself. “How +I hate it! Mothery, why did you die? Why did +I ever leave my darling, darling ranch in Tasmania?” +</p> +<p> +She turned and very slowly walked up the white +marble staircase. Presently she reached her own +luxurious room. It was in the hands of a maid, +however, who was removing the dust and putting +the chamber in order. +</p> +<p> +“Where is Jasper?” asked the little girl. +</p> +<p> +“Miss Jasper has gone out of doors, miss.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you know how long she has been out?” asked +Evelyn in a tone of keen interest. +</p> +<p> +“About half an hour, miss.” +</p> +<p> +“Then I’ll follow her.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn went to her wardrobe. Jasper had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62'></a>62</span> +already unpacked her young lady’s things and laid +them higgledy-piggledy in the spacious wardrobe. +It took the little girl a long time to find a tall +velvet hat trimmed with plumes of crimson feathers. +This she put on before the glass, arranging her hair +to look as thick as possible, and smirking at her face +while she arrayed herself. +</p> +<p> +“I would not wear this hat, for I got it quite for +Sunday best, but I want her to see that she cannot +master me,” thought the child. She then wrapped +a crimson silk scarf round her neck and shoulders, +and so attired looked very much like a little lady of +the time of Vandyck. Once more she went down-stairs. +</p> +<p> +Audrey she did not wish to meet; Miss Sinclair +she intended to be hideously rude to; but Jasper—where +was Jasper? +</p> +<p> +Evelyn looked all round. Suddenly she saw a +figure on the other side of a small lake which +adorned part of the grounds. The figure was too +far off for her to see it distinctly. It must be Jasper, +for it surely was not in the least like the tall, fair, +and stately Aubrey, not like Miss Sinclair. +</p> +<p> +Picking up her skirts, which were too long for her +to run comfortably, the small figure now skidded +across the grass. She soon reached the side of the +lake, and shouted: +</p> +<p> +“Jasper! Oh Jasper! Jasper, I have news for +you! You never knew anything like the——” +</p> +<p> +The next instant she had rushed into the arms of +Sylvia Leeson. Sylvia cried out eagerly: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63'></a>63</span> +</p> +<p> +“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn stared for a moment at the strange girl, +then burst into a hearty laugh. +</p> +<p> +“Do tell me—quick, quick!—are you one of the +Wynfords?” she asked. +</p> +<p> +“I a Wynford!” cried Sylvia. “I only wish I +were. Are you a Wynford? Do you live at the +Castle?” +</p> +<p> +“Do I live at the Castle!” cried Evelyn. “Why, +the Castle is mine—I mean it will be when Uncle +Ned dies. I came here yesterday; and, oh! I am +miserable, and I want Jasper?” +</p> +<p> +“Who is Jasper?” +</p> +<p> +“My maid. Such a darling!—the only person +here who cares in the least for me. Oh, please, +please tell me your name! If you do not live at the +Castle, and if you can assure me from the bottom of +your heart that you do not love any one—any one +who lives in the Castle—why, I will love you. You +are sweetly pretty! What is your name?” +</p> +<p> +“Sylvia Leeson. I live three miles from here, but +I adore the Castle. I should like to come here +often.” +</p> +<p> +“You adore it! Then that is because you know +nothing about it. Do you adore Audrey?” +</p> +<p> +“Is Audrey the young lady of the Castle?” +</p> +<p> +“She is not the young lady of the Castle. <em>I</em> am +the young lady of the Castle. But have you ever +seen her?” +</p> +<p> +“Once; and then she was rude to me.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! I thought so. I don’t think she could be +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64'></a>64</span> +very polite to anybody. Now, suppose you and I +become friends? The Castle belongs to me—or will +when Uncle Ned dies. I can order people to come +or people to go; and I order you to come. You shall +come up to the house with me. You shall have +lunch with me; you shall really. I have got a +lovely suite of rooms—a bedroom of blue-and-silver +and a little sitting-room for my own use; and you +shall come there, and Jasper shall serve us both. +Do you know that you are sweetly pretty?—just +like a gipsy. You are lovely! Will you come with +me now? Do! come at once.” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia laughed. She looked full at Evelyn; then +she said abruptly: +</p> +<p> +“May I ask you a very straight question?” +</p> +<p> +“I love straight questions,” replied Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“Can you give me a right, good, big lunch? Do +you know that I am very hungry? Were you ever +very hungry?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, sometimes,” replied Evelyn, staring very +hard at her. “I lived on a ranch, you know—or +perhaps you don’t know.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know what a ranch is.” +</p> +<p> +“How funny! I thought everybody knew. You +see, I am not English; I am Tasmanian. My father +was an Englishman, but he died when I was a little +baby, and I lived with mothery—the sweetest, the +dearest, the darlingest woman on earth—on a ranch +in Tasmania. Mothery is dead, and I have come +here, and all the place will belong to me—not to +Audrey—some day. Yes, I was hungry when we +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65'></a>65</span> +went on long expeditions, which we used to do in +fine weather, but there was always something handy +to eat. I have heard of people who are hungry and +there is nothing handy to eat. Do you belong to +that sort?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, to that sort,” said Sylvia, nodding. “I +will tell you about myself presently. Yes, take me +to the house, please. I know <em>he</em> will be angry when +he knows it, but I am going all the same.” +</p> +<p> +“Who is he?” +</p> +<p> +“I will tell you about him when you know the +rest. Take me to the house, quick. I was there +once before, on New Year’s Day, when every one—every +one has a right to come. I hope you will keep +up that splendid custom when you get the property. +I ate a lot then. I longed to take some for him, but +it was the rule that I must not do that. I told him +about it afterwards: game-pie, two helpings; venison +pasty, two ditto.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, that is dull!” interrupted Evelyn. “Have +you not forgotten yet about a lunch you had some +days ago?” +</p> +<p> +“You would not if you were in my shoes,” said +Sylvia. “But come; if we stay talking much longer +some one will see us and prevent me from going to +the house with you.” +</p> +<p> +“I should like to find the person who could prevent +me from doing what I like to do!” replied +Evelyn. “Come, Sylvia, come.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn took the tall, dark girl’s hand, and they +both set to running, and entered the house by the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66'></a>66</span> +side entrance. They had the coast clear, as Evelyn +expressed it, and ran up at once to her suite of rooms. +Jasper was not in; the rooms were empty. They +ran through the bedroom and found themselves in +the beautifully furnished boudoir. A fire was blazing +on the hearth; the windows were slightly open; +the air, quite mild and fresh—for the day was like +a spring one—came in at the open casement. Evelyn +ran and shut it, and then turned and faced her companion. +</p> +<p> +“There!” she said. She came close up to Sylvia, +and almost whispered, “Suppose Jasper brings lunch +for both of us up here? She will if I command her. +I will ring the bell and she’ll come. Would you not +like that?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I’d like it much—much the best,” said +Sylvia. “I am afraid of Lady Frances. And Miss +Audrey can be very rude. She was very chuff with +me on New Year’s Day.” +</p> +<p> +“She won’t be chuff with you in my presence,” +said Evelyn. “Ah! here comes Jasper.” +</p> +<p> +Jasper, looking slightly excited, now appeared on +the scene. +</p> +<p> +“Well, my darling!” she said. She rushed up to +Evelyn and clasped her in her arms. “Oh, my own +sweet Eve, and how are you getting on?” she exclaimed. +“I am thinking this is not the place for +you.” +</p> +<p> +“We will talk of that another time, please, Jasper,” +said Evelyn, with unwonted dignity. “I have +brought a friend to lunch with me. This young +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67'></a>67</span> +lady is called Miss Sylvia Leeson, and she is awfully +hungry, and we’d both like a big lunch in this room. +Can you smuggle things up, Jasper?” +</p> +<p> +“Her ladyship will be mad,” exclaimed Jasper. +“I was told in the servants’ hall that she was downright +annoyed at your not going to breakfast; if you +are not at lunch she will move heaven and earth.” +</p> +<p> +“Let her; it will be fun,” said Evelyn. “I am +going to lunch here with my friend Sylvia Leeson. +Bring a lot of things up, Jasper—good things, rich +things, tempting things; you know what sort I +like.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll try if there is a bit of pork and some mincepies +and plum-pudding and cream and such-like +down-stairs. And you’d fancy your chocolate, would +you not?” +</p> +<p> +“Rather! Get all you can, and be as quick as +ever you can.” +</p> +<p> +Jasper accordingly withdrew, and in a short time +appeared with a laden tray in her hands. +</p> +<p> +“I had to run the gauntlet of the footman and +the butler too; and what they will tell Lady Frances +goodness knows, but I do not,” answered Jasper. +“But there, if things have to come to a crisis, why, +they must. You will not forget me when the storm +breaks, will you, Evelyn?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll never forget you,” said Evelyn, with enthusiasm. +“You are the dearest and darlingest thing +left now that mothery is in heaven; and Sylvia +will love you too. I have been telling her all about +you.—Now, Sylvia, you will not be hungry long.” +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68'></a>68</span><a name='chVII' id='chVII'></a>CHAPTER VII.—STAYING TO DINNER.</h2> +<p> +Again at luncheon that day Evelyn was missing. +Lady Frances looked round: Audrey was in her +place; Miss Sinclair was seated not far away; the +Squire took the foot of the table; the servants +handed round the different dishes; but still no +Evelyn had put in an appearance. +</p> +<p> +“I wonder where she can be,” said the Squire. +“She looked a little wild and upset when she left +me. Poor little girl! Do you know, Frances, I +feel very sorry for her.” +</p> +<p> +“More than I do,” said Lady Frances, who at the +same time had an uncomfortable remembrance of +the look Evelyn had given her when she had left +her presence. “Don’t let us talk any more about +her now, Edward,” she said to her husband. “There +is only one thing to be done for the child, and that +I will tell you by and by.” +</p> +<p> +The Squire was accustomed to attend to his wife’s +wishes on all occasions, and he said nothing further. +Audrey felt constrained and uncomfortable. After +a slight hesitation she said: +</p> +<p> +“Do let me find Evelyn, mother. I have been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69'></a>69</span> +expecting her to join me the whole morning. She +does not, of course, know about our rules yet.” +</p> +<p> +“No, Audrey,” said her mother; “I prefer that +you should not leave the table.—Miss Sinclair, perhaps +you will oblige me. Will you go to Evelyn’s +room and tell her that we are at lunch?” +</p> +<p> +Miss Sinclair rose at once. She was absent for +about five minutes. When she came back there was +a distressed look on her face. +</p> +<p> +“Well, Jenny, well?” said Audrey in a voice of +suppressed excitement. “Is she coming?” +</p> +<p> +“I think not,” said Miss Sinclair.—“I will explain +matters to you, Lady Frances, afterwards.” +</p> +<p> +“Dear, dear!” said the Squire. “What a lot of +explanations seem to be necessary with regard to the +conduct of one small girl!” +</p> +<p> +“But she is a very important small girl, is she not, +father?” said Audrey. +</p> +<p> +“Well, yes, dear; and I should like to say now +that I take an interest in her—in fact,” he added, +looking round him, for the servants had withdrawn, +“I am prepared to love little Eve very much indeed.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Frances’s eyes flashed a somewhat indignant +fire. Then she said slowly: +</p> +<p> +“As you speak so frankly, Edward, I must do +likewise. I never saw a more hopeless child. There +seems to be nothing whatever for it but to send her +to school for a couple of years.” +</p> +<p> +“No,” said the Squire, “I will not allow that. We +never sent Audrey to school, and I will have no difference +made with regard to Evelyn’s education. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70'></a>70</span> +All that money can secure must be provided for her, +but I do not care for school-life for girls.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Frances said nothing further. She was a +woman with tact, and would not on any consideration +oppose her husband in public. All the same, +she secretly made up her mind that if Evelyn proved +unmanageable she was not to stay at Wynford Castle. +</p> +<p> +“And there is another thing,” continued the Squire. +“This is her first day in her future home. I do not +wish her to be punished whatever she may have done. +I should like her to have absolute freedom until to-morrow +morning.” +</p> +<p> +“It shall be exactly as you wish, Edward,” said +Lady Frances. “I did intend to seek Evelyn out; +I did intend further to question Miss Sinclair as to +the reason why Evelyn did not appear at lunch; but +I will defer these things. It happens to be somewhat +convenient, as I want to pay some calls this +afternoon; and really, with that child on my brain, +I should not enjoy my visits. You, Audrey dear, +will see to your cousin’s comforts, and when she is +inclined to give you her society you will be ready to +welcome her. Your young friends will not arrive +until just before dinner. Please, at least use your +influence, Audrey, to prevent Evelyn making a too +extraordinary appearance to-night. Now I think +that is all, and I must run off if I am to be in time +to receive my guests.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Frances left the room, and Audrey went to +her governess’s side. +</p> +<p> +“What is it?” she said. “You did look strange, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71'></a>71</span> +Jenny, when you came into the room just now. +Where is Evelyn? Why did she not come to lunch?” +</p> +<p> +“It is the greatest possible mercy,” said Miss Sinclair, +“that Evelyn is allowed to have one free day, +for perhaps—although I feel by no means sure—you +and I may influence her for her own good to-night. +But what do you think has happened? I went to +her room and knocked at the door of the boudoir. +I heard voices within. The door was immediately +opened by the maid Jasper, and I saw Evelyn seated +at a table, eating a most extraordinary kind of lunch, +in the company of a girl whom I have never seen +before.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh Jenny,” cried Audrey, “how frightfully exciting! +A strange girl! Surely Evelyn did not +bring a stranger with her and hide her somewhere +last night?” +</p> +<p> +“No, dear, no,” said Miss Sinclair, laughing; “she +did nothing of that sort. I fancy the girl must live +in the neighborhood, although her face is unfamiliar +to me. She is rather a pretty girl, but by no +means the sort that your mother would approve of +as a companion for your cousin.” +</p> +<p> +“What is she like?” asked Audrey in a grave +voice. +</p> +<p> +Miss Sinclair proceeded to describe Sylvia’s appearance. +She was interrupted in the middle of her +description by a cry from Audrey. +</p> +<p> +“Oh dear!” she exclaimed, “you must have seen +that curious girl, Sylvia Leeson. Your description +is exactly like her. Well, as this is a free day, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72'></a>72</span> +we can do pretty much what we like, I will run +straight up to Evelyn’s room and look for myself.” +</p> +<p> +“Do Audrey; I think on the whole it would be +the best plan.” +</p> +<p> +So Audrey ran up-stairs, and soon her tap was +heard on Evelyn’s door; the next moment she found +herself in the presence of a very untidy, disheveled-looking +cousin, and also in that of handsome Sylvia +Leeson. +</p> +<p> +Sylvia dropped a sort of mock courtesy when she +saw Audrey. +</p> +<p> +“My Shakespearian contemporary!” was her remark. +“Well, Audrey, and how goes the Forest of +Arden? And have you yet met Touchstone?” +</p> +<p> +Audrey colored very high at what she considered +a direct impertinence. +</p> +<p> +“What are you doing here?” she said. “My +mother does not know your mother.” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia gave a ringing laugh. +</p> +<p> +“I met this lady,” she said—and she pointed in +Evelyn’s direction—“and she invited me here. I +have had lunch with her, and I am no longer hungry. +This is her room, is it not?” +</p> +<p> +“I should just think it is,” said Evelyn; “and I +only invite those people whom I care about to come +into it.” She said the words in a very pointed way, +but Audrey had now recovered both her dignity and +good-nature. +</p> +<p> +She laughed. +</p> +<p> +“Really we three are too silly,” she said. “Evelyn, +you cannot mean the ridiculous words you say! As +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73'></a>73</span> +if any room in my father’s house is not free to me +when I choose to go there! Now, whether you like it +or not, I am determined to be friends with you. I +do not want to scold you or lecture you, for it is not +my place, but I intend to sit down although you +have not the civility to offer me a chair; and I intend +to ask again why Miss Leeson is here.” +</p> +<p> +“I came because Evelyn asked me,” said Sylvia; +and then, all of a sudden, an unexpected change +came over her face. Her pretty, bright eyes, with a +sort of robin-redbreast look in them, softened and +melted, and then grew brighter than ever through +tears. She went up to Audrey and knelt at her +feet. +</p> +<p> +“Why should not I come? Why should not I be +happy?” she said. “I am a very lonely girl; why +should you grudge me a little happiness?” +</p> +<p> +Audrey looked at her in amazement; then a +change came over her own face. She allowed her +hand just for an instant to touch the hand of Sylvia, +and her eyes looked into the wild eyes of the shabby +girl who was kneeling before her. +</p> +<p> +“Get up,” she said. “You have no right to take +that attitude to me. As you are here, sit down. I +do not want to be rude to you; far from that. I +should like to make you happy.” +</p> +<p> +“Should you really?” answered Sylvia. “You +can do it, you know.” +</p> +<p> +“Sylvia,” interrupted Evelyn, “what does this +mean? You and I have been talking in a very frank +way about Audrey. We have neither of us been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74'></a>74</span> +expressing any enthusiastic opinions with regard to +her; and yet now—and yet now——” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, let me be, Eve,” replied Sylvia. “I like +Audrey. I liked her the other day. It is true I +was afraid of her, and I was crushed by her, but I +liked her; and I like her better now, and if she will +be my friend I am quite determined to be hers.” +</p> +<p> +“Then you do not care for me?” said Evelyn, +getting up and strutting across the room. +</p> +<p> +Sylvia looked at Audrey, whose eyes, however, +would not smile, and whose face was once more cold +and haughty. +</p> +<p> +“Evelyn,” she said, “I must ask you to try and +remember that you are a lady, and not to talk in +this way before anybody but me. I am your cousin, +and when you are alone with me I give you leave +to talk as you please. But now the question is this: +I do not in the least care what Sylvia said of me behind +my back. I hope I know better than to wish +to find out what I was never meant to hear. This +is a free country, and any girl in England can talk +of me as she pleases—I am not afraid—that is, she +can talk of me as she pleases when I am absent. +But what I want to do now is to answer Sylvia’s +question. She is unhappy, and she has thrown herself +on me.—What can I do, Sylvia, to make you +happy?” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia was standing huddled up against the wall. +Her pretty shoulders were hitched to her ears; her +hair was disheveled and fell partly over her forehead; +her eyes gleamed out under their thick thatch +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75'></a>75</span> +of black hair like wild birds in a nest; her coral lips +trembled, there was just a gleam of snowy teeth, and +then she said impulsively: +</p> +<p> +“You are a darling, and you can do one thing. +Let me for to-day forget that I am poor and hungry +and very lonely and very sad. Let me share your +love and Evelyn’s love for just one whole day.” +</p> +<p> +“But there are people coming to-night, Sylvia,” +said Evelyn. “I heard Jasper speak of it. Lots of +people—grandees, you know.” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia shuddered slightly. +</p> +<p> +“We never say that sort of word now in England,” +she remarked; and she added: “I am well-born too. +There was a time when I should not have been at +all shy of Audrey Wynford.” +</p> +<p> +“You are very queer,” said Evelyn. “I do not +know that I particularly want you for a friend.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, never mind; I think I can get you to love +me,” said Sylvia. “But now the question is this: +Will Audrey let me stay or will she not? Will you, +Audrey—will you—just because my name is Sylvia +and we have met in the Forest of Arden?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh dear,” said Audrey, “what a difficult question +you ask! And how can I answer it? I dare +not give you leave all by myself, but I will go and +inquire.” +</p> +<p> +Audrey ran immediately out of the room. +</p> +<p> +“What a wonderful change has come into my +life!” she said to herself as she flew down-stairs and +looked into different rooms, but all in vain, for Miss +Sinclair. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76'></a>76</span> +</p> +<p> +Her mother was out; it was hopeless to think of +appealing to her. Without the permission of some +one older than herself she could not possibly ask +Sylvia to stay. Sylvia could be more or less lost in +the crowd of children who would be at the Castle +that evening, but her mother’s eyes would quickly +seek out the unfamiliar face, inquiries would be +made, and—in short, Audrey did not dare to take +this responsibility on herself. She was rushing up-stairs +again, prepared to tell Sylvia that she could +not grant her request, when she came plump up +against her father. +</p> +<p> +“My dear girl, what a hurry you are in!” he +exclaimed. +</p> +<p> +“Oh yes, father,” replied Audrey. “I am excited. +The house is full of life and almost mystery.” +</p> +<p> +“Then you like your cousin to be here?” said the +Squire, and his face brightened. +</p> +<p> +“Yes and no,” answered Audrey truthfully. +“But, father, I have a great request to make. You +know you said that Evelyn was to have a free day +to-day in which she could do as she pleased. She +has a guest up-stairs whom she would like to ask to +stay. May she ask her, father? She is a girl, and +lonely and pretty, and, I think, on the whole, a lady. +May we both ask her to dinner and to spend the +evening? And will you, father, take the responsibility?” +</p> +<p> +“Of course—of course,” said the Squire. +</p> +<p> +“Will you explain to mother when she returns?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77'></a>77</span> +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my dear—certainly. Ask anybody you +please; I never restrain you with regard to your +friends. Now do not keep me, my love; I am going +out immediately.” +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78'></a>78</span><a name='chVIII' id='chVIII'></a>CHAPTER VIII.—EVENING-DRESS.</h2> +<p> +When Audrey re-entered Evelyn’s pretty boudoir +she found the two girls standing close together and +talking earnestly. Jasper also was joining in the +conversation. Audrey felt her heart sink. +</p> +<p> +“How can Evelyn make free with Jasper as she +does? And why does Sylvia talk to Evelyn as +though they were having secrets together? Why, +they only met to-day!” was the girl’s thought. +Her tone, therefore, was cold. +</p> +<p> +“I met father, and he says you may stay,” she +remarked in a careless voice. “And now, as doubtless +you will be quite happy, I will run away and +leave you, for I have much to do.” +</p> +<p> +“No, no; not until I have thanked you and +kissed you first,” said Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +Audrey did not wish Sylvia to kiss her, but she +could not make any open objection. She scarcely +returned the girl’s warm embrace, and the next moment +had left the room. +</p> +<p> +“Is she not a horror?” said Evelyn. “I began +by liking her—I mean I rather liked her. She had +a grand sort of manner, and her eyes are handsome, +but I hate her now. She is not half, nor quarter, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79'></a>79</span> +as pretty as you are, Sylvia. And, oh, Sylvia, you +will be my friend—my true, true friend—for I am +so lonely now that mothery is dead!” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia was standing by the fire. There was a +bright color in both her cheeks, and her eyes shone +vividly. +</p> +<p> +“My mother died too,” she said. “I was happy +while she lived. Yes, Eve, I will be your friend if +you like.” +</p> +<p> +“It will be all the better for you,” said Evelyn, +who could never long forget her own importance. +“If I take to you there is no saying what may happen, +for, whatever lies before me in the future, I +am my Uncle Edward’s heiress; and Audrey, for +all her pride, is nobody.” +</p> +<p> +“Audrey looks much more suitable,” said Sylvia, +and then she stopped, partly amused and partly +frightened by the look in Evelyn’s light-brown eyes. +</p> +<p> +“How dare you!” she cried. “How horrid—how +horrid of you! After all, I do not know that +I want to see too much of you. You had better be +careful what sort of things you say to me. And +first of all, if I am to see any more of you, you must +tell me why Audrey would make a better heiress +than I shall.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, never mind,” said Sylvia; but then she +added: “Why should I not tell you? She is tall +and graceful and very, very lovely, and she has the +manners of a <em>grande dame</em> although she is such a +young girl. Any one in all the world can see that +Audrey is to the manner born, whereas you——” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80'></a>80</span> +</p> +<p> +Evelyn looked almost frightened while Sylvia was +talking. +</p> +<p> +“Is that really so?” she answered. “I ought to +be just mad with you, but I’m not. Before the year +is out no one will compare Audrey and me. I shall +be much, much the finest lady—much, much the +grandest. I vow it; I declare it; I will do it; and +you, Sylvia, shall help me.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I have no objection,” said Sylvia. “I am +very glad indeed that you will want my help, and I +am sure you are heartily welcome.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn looked full up at Sylvia. Jasper had left +the two girls together. The only light in the room +now was the firelight, for the short winter day was +drawing to an end. +</p> +<p> +“You, I suppose,” said Evelyn, “are a lady although +you do wear such a shabby dress and you +suffer so terribly from hunger?” +</p> +<p> +“How do you know?” asked Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +“First, because you are not afraid of anything; +and second, because you are graceful and, although +you are so very queer, your voice has a gentle sound. +You are a lady by birth, are you not?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said Sylvia simply. She neither added to +the word not took from it. She became very silent +and thoughtful. +</p> +<p> +“Why do you live in such a funny way? Why +are you not educated like other girls? And why +will you tell me nothing about your home?” +</p> +<p> +“I have nothing to tell. My father and I came +to live at The Priory three months ago. He does +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81'></a>81</span> +not care for society, and he does not wish me to leave +him.” +</p> +<p> +“And you are poor?” +</p> +<p> +“No,” said Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +“Not poor! And yet, why are you almost +in rags? And you did eat up your lunch so +greedily!” +</p> +<p> +“I will answer nothing more, Evelyn. If you do +not like me as I am, let me go now, and I will try +to forget the beautiful, comfortable Castle, and the +lovely meals, and you and your queer maid Jasper, +and the beautiful girl Audrey; for if you do not +want me as I am, you can never get me any other +way. I am a lady, and we are not poor. Now are +you satisfied?” +</p> +<p> +“I burn with curiosity,” said Evelyn; “and if +mothery were alive, would she not get it out of you! +But if you wish it—and your eyes do look as if they +were daggers—I will change the subject. What +shall we do for the rest of the day? Shall we go out +and take a walk in the dark?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes; that would be lovely,” cried Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +Evelyn shouted in an imperious way to Jasper. +</p> +<p> +“Bring my fur cloak,” she said, “and my goloshes. +I won’t wear anything over my head. I am going +out with Miss Sylvia Leeson.” +</p> +<p> +Jasper brought Evelyn’s cloak, which was lined +with the most lovely squirrel inside and covered +with bright crimson outside, and put it over her +shoulders. Sylvia in her very shabby black cloth +jacket, much too short in the waist and in the arms, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82'></a>82</span> +accompanied her. They ran down-stairs and went +out into the grounds. +</p> +<p> +Now, if there was one thing more than another +which would hopelessly displease Lady Frances, it +was the idea of any of her relations wandering about +after dusk. But luckily for Evelyn, and luckily also +for poor Sylvia, Lady Frances was some miles from +Wynford Castle at that moment. The girls rushed +about, and soon Evelyn forgot all her restraints and +shouted noisily. They played hide-and-seek amongst +the trees in the plantation. Sylvia echoed Evelyn’s +shouts; and the Squire, who was returning to the +house in time to meet his guests, paused and listened +in much amazement to these unusual sounds of girlish +laughter. There came a shrill shriek, and then +the cry, “Here I am—seek and find,” and then another +ringing peal of girlish merriment. +</p> +<p> +“Surely that cannot be Audrey!” he said to +himself. “What extraordinary noises!” +</p> +<p> +He went into the house. From his study window +he saw the flash of a lantern, which lit up a red +cloak, and for an instant he observed the very light +hair and white face of his niece. But who was the +girl with her—a tall, shabby-looking girl—about the +height of his Audrey, too? It could not be Audrey! +He sank down into a chair, and a look of perplexity +crossed his face. +</p> +<p> +“What am I to do with that poor child?” he said +to himself. “What extraordinary, unpardonable +conduct! Well, I will not tell Lady Frances. I +determined that the child should have one day of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83'></a>83</span> +liberty, but I am glad I did not make it more than +one.” +</p> +<p> +After Evelyn and Sylvia had quite exhausted +themselves they returned to the house. +</p> +<p> +Jasper was ready for them. She had laid out +several dresses for Evelyn to select from. +</p> +<p> +“I have just had a message from her ladyship,” +she said when the girls came in with their cheeks +glowing and eyes full of laughter. “All the young +people are to dine with the family to-night. As a +rule, when there is company the younger members of +the house dine in the schoolroom, but to-night you +are all to be together. I got the message from that +stuck-up footman Scott. I hate the fellow; he had +the impudence to say that he did not think I was +suited to my post.” +</p> +<p> +“He had better not say it again,” cried Evelyn, +“or he will catch it from me. I mean to have a +talk with each of the servants in turn, and tell them +quite openly that at any moment I may be mistress, +and that they had better look sharp before they +incur my displeasure.” +</p> +<p> +“But, Eve, could you?” exclaimed Sylvia. +“Why, that would mean——” +</p> +<p> +“Uncle Ned’s death. I know that,” said Evelyn. +“I love Uncle Ned. I shall be awfully sorry when +he does die. But however sorry I am, he will die +when his turn comes; and then I shall be mistress. +I was frightfully sorry when mothery died; but +however broken-hearted I was, she did die just the +same. It is so with every one. It is the height of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84'></a>84</span> +folly to shirk subjects of that sort; one has to face +them. I have no one now to take my part except +dear old Jasper, and so I shall have to take my own +part, and the servants had better know.—You can +tell them too, Jasper; I give you leave.” +</p> +<p> +“Not I!” said Jasper. “I declare, Miss Evelyn, +you are no end of a goose for all that you are the +darling of my heart. But now, miss, what dress +will you wear to-night? I should say the white +satin embroidered with the seed pearls. It has a +long train, and you will look like a bride in it, miss. +It is cut low in the neck, and has those sleeves which +open above the elbow, and a watteau back. It is a +very elegant robe indeed; and I have a wreath of +white stephanotis for your hair, miss. You will +look regal in this dress, and like an heiress, I do +assure you, Miss Eve.” +</p> +<p> +“It is perfectly exquisite!” said Evelyn. “Come, +Sylvia; come and look. Oh, those dear little +bunches of chiffon, and white stephanotis in the +middle of each bunch! And, oh, the lace! It is +real lace, is it not, Jasper?” +</p> +<p> +“Brussels lace, and of the best quality; not +too much, and yet enough. It cost a small fortune.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, here are the dear little shoes to match, and +this petticoat with heaps of lace and embroidery! +Well, when I wear this dress Audrey will have to +respect me.” +</p> +<p> +“That is why I bought it, miss. I thought you +should have the best.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85'></a>85</span> +</p> +<p> +“Oh, you are a darling! What would not mothery +say if she could look at me to-night!” +</p> +<p> +“Well, Miss Evelyn, I hope I do my duty. But +you and Miss Sylvia have been very late out, so you +must hurry, miss, if I am to do you justice.” +</p> +<p> +“But, oh, I say!” cried Evelyn, looking for +the first time at her friend. “What is Sylvia to +wear?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know, miss. None of your dresses will +fit her; she is so much taller.” +</p> +<p> +“I will not go down-stairs a fright,” said Sylvia. +“Audrey asked me, and she must lend me something. +Please, Jasper, do go to Miss Wynford’s +room and ask her if she has a white dress she will +lend me to wear to-night. Even a washing muslin +will do. Anything that is long enough in the skirt +and not too short in the waist. I will take it away +and have it washed fresh for her. Do, please, please, +ask her, Jasper!” +</p> +<p> +“I am very sorry, miss,” answered Jasper. “I +would do anything in reason to oblige, but to go +to a young lady whom I don’t know and to make +a request of that sort is more than I can do, miss. +Besides, she is occupied now. A whole lot of visitors +have just arrived—fine young ladies and tall young +gentlemen—and they are all chittering-chattering +as though their lungs would burst. They are all in +the hall, miss, chatting as hard as they can chat. +No, I cannot ask her; I cannot really.” +</p> +<p> +“Then I must stop up-stairs and lose all, all the +fun,” said Sylvia. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86'></a>86</span> +</p> +<p> +The gaiety left her face. She sat down on a +chair. +</p> +<p> +“You will get me something to eat, at any rate, +Jasper?” she said. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, of course, miss; you and I can have a cozy +meal together.” +</p> +<p> +“No, thank you,” said Sylvia proudly. “I don’t +eat with servants.” +</p> +<p> +Jasper’s face turned an ugly green color. She +looked at Evelyn, but Evelyn only laughed. +</p> +<p> +“You want to be put in your place, Jas,” was her +remark. “You are a little uppish, you know. I am +quite pleased with Sylvia. I think she can teach +me one or two things.” +</p> +<p> +“Well,” exclaimed Jasper, “if it is to be cruel and +nasty to your own old Jasper, I wish you joy of your +future, Miss Evelyn; that I do.—And I am sure, +miss,” she added, flashing angry eyes at the unconscious +Sylvia, “I do not want to eat with you—not +one bit. I am sure your dress ain’t fit for any lady +to wear.” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia got up slowly. +</p> +<p> +“I am going to look for Audrey,” she said; and +before Evelyn could prevent her, she left the room. +</p> +<p> +“Ain’t she a spiteful, nasty thing!” said the maid +the moment Sylvia’s back was turned. “Ain’t +she just the very sort that your mother would be +mad at your knowing! And I willing to be kind +to her and all, and to have a dull evening for her +sake, and she ups and cries, ‘I don’t eat with servants.’ +Forsooth! I like her ways! I hope, Miss +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87'></a>87</span> +Evelyn, you won’t have nothing more to do with +her.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh dear!” said Evelyn, lying back in her chair +and going off into one peal of laughter after another. +“You really kill me, Jas, with your silly ways. It +was fun to see Sylvia when she spoke like that. +And didn’t she take a rise out of you! And was +not your pecker up! Oh, it was killing—killing!” +</p> +<p> +“I am surprised to hear you talk, Miss Evelyn, +as you do. You have already forgotten your poor +mother and what she said I was to be to you.” +</p> +<p> +“I have not forgotten her, Jas; but I mean to +have great fun with Sylvia, and whether you like it +or not you will have to lump it. Oh, I say, she has +come back!—Well, Sylvia? Why, you have got a +lovely dress hanging over your arm!” +</p> +<p> +“It is the best I could get,” said Sylvia. “I went +to Audrey’s wardrobe and took it out. I did not +ask her leave; she was not in the room. There were +numbers of dresses, all hanging on pegs, and I took +this one. See, it is only India muslin, and it can be +washed and done up beautifully. I am determined +to have my one happy evening without being docked +of any of it, and I could not come down in my own +frock. See, Evelyn; do you think it will do?” +</p> +<p> +“It looks rather raggy,” said Evelyn, gazing at +the white India muslin, with its lovely lace and chiffon +and numerous little tucks, with small favor; +“but I suppose it is better than nothing.” +</p> +<p> +“I borrowed this white sash too,” said Sylvia, +“and those shoes and stockings. I am certain to be +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88'></a>88</span> +found out. I am certain never to be allowed to +come to the Castle again; but I mean to have one +really great evening of grand fun.” +</p> +<p> +“And I won’t help you to dress,” said Jasper. +</p> +<p> +“But you will, Jasper, because I order it,” cried +the imperious little Evelyn. “Only,” she added, +“you must dress me first; and then, while you are +helping Sylvia to look as smart as she can in that +old rag, I will strut up and down before the glass +and try to imagine myself a bride and the owner of +Wynford Castle.” +</p> +<p> +Jasper was, after all, too much afraid of Evelyn +not to yield to her will, and the dressing of the extraordinary +girl began. She was very particular +about the arranging of her hair, and insisted on +having a dash of powder on her face; finally, she +found herself in the satin robe with its magnificent +adornings. Her hair was once again piled on the +top of her head, a wreath of stephanotis surrounding +it, and she stood in silent ecstasy gazing at her image +in the glass. +</p> +<p> +It was now Sylvia’s turn to be appareled for the +festive occasion, and Jasper at first felt cross and +discontented as she took down the girl’s masses of +raven-black hair and began to brush them out; but +soon the magnificence of the locks, which were tawny +in places, and brightened here and there with threads +of almost gold, interested her so completely that she +could not rest until she had made what she called +the best of Sylvia’s head. +</p> +<p> +With all her faults, Jasper could on occasions have +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89'></a>89</span> +taste enough, and she soon made Sylvia look as she +had seldom looked before. Her thick hair was piled +high on her small and classical head; the white +muslin dress fitted close to her slim young figure; +and when she stood close to Evelyn, and they prepared +to go down-stairs together, Sylvia, even in her +borrowed plumes, even in the dress which was practically +a stolen dress, looked fifty times more the +heiress than the overdressed and awkward little real +heiress. +</p> +<p> +When the girls reached the large central hall they +both stopped. Audrey was standing near the log +fire, and a group of bright and beautifully dressed +children clustered round her. Two of the girls wore +muslin frocks; their hair, bright in color and very +thick in quantity, hung down below their waists. +There were a couple of boys in the proverbial Eton +jackets; and another pair of girls of ordinary appearance, +but with intelligent faces and graceful figures. +Audrey gave a perceptible start when she saw her +cousin and Sylvia coming to meet her. Just for an +instant Sylvia looked awkward. Audrey’s eyes +slightly dilated; then she came slowly forward. +</p> +<p> +“Evelyn,” she said, “may I introduce my special +friends? This is Henrietta Jervice, and this is +Juliet; and here is Arthur, and here Robert. Can +you remember so many names all at once? Oh, +here are Mary Clavering and Sophie.—Now, my +dears,” she added, turning and laughing back at the +group, “you have all heard of Evelyn, have you not? +This young lady is Miss Sylvia——” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90'></a>90</span> +</p> +<p> +“Sylvia Leeson,” said Sylvia. A vivid color came +into her cheeks; she drew herself up tall and erect; +her black eyes flashed an angry fire. +</p> +<p> +Audrey looked at her with a slow and puzzled +expression. She certainly was very handsome; but +where had she got that dress? Sylvia seemed to +read the thoughts in Audrey’s heart. She bent +towards her. +</p> +<p> +“I will send it back next week. You were not +in your room. It was time to dress for dinner. I +ran in and took it. If you cannot forgive me I will +make an excuse to go up-stairs, and I will take it off +and put it back again in your wardrobe, and I will +slip home and no one will be the wiser. I know +you meant to lend me a dress, for I could not come +down in my old rags; but if I have offended you +past forgiveness I will go quietly away and no one +will miss me.” +</p> +<p> +“Stay,” said Audrey coldly. She turned round +and began to talk to Henrietta Jervice. +</p> +<p> +Henrietta laughed and chatted incessantly. She +was a merry girl, and very good-looking; she was +tall for her age, which was between sixteen and +seventeen. Both she and her sister were quite +schoolgirls, however, and had frank, fresh manners, +which made Sylvia’s heart go out to them. +</p> +<p> +“How nice people in my own class of life really +are!” she thought. “How dreadful—oh, how +dreadful it is to have to live as I do! And I see by +Audrey’s face that she thinks that I have not the +slightest idea how a lady ought to act. Oh, it is +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91'></a>91</span> +terrible! But there, I will enjoy myself for the +nonce; I will—I vow it. Poor little Evelyn, however +<em>gauche</em> she is, and however ridiculous, has small +chance against Audrey. Even if she is fifty times +the heiress, Audrey has the manners of one born to +rule. Oh, how I could love her! How happy she +could make me!” +</p> +<p> +“Do you skate?” suddenly asked Arthur Jervice. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” replied Sylvia bluntly. She turned and +looked at him. He looked back at her, and his +eyes laughed. +</p> +<p> +“I wonder what you are thinking about?” he +said. “You look as if——” +</p> +<p> +“As if what?” said Sylvia. She drew back a +little, and Arthur did the same. +</p> +<p> +“As if you meant to run swords into us all. But, +all the same, I like your look. Are you staying +here?” +</p> +<p> +“No,” said Sylvia. “I live not far away. I have +come here just for the day.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, we shall see you to-morrow, of course. +Mr. Wynford says we can skate on the pond to-morrow, +for the ice will be quite certain to bear. I +hope you will come. I love good skating.” +</p> +<p> +“And so do I,” said Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +“Then will you come?” +</p> +<p> +“Probably not.” +</p> +<p> +Arthur was silent for a moment. He was a tall +boy for his age, and was a good half-head above +Sylvia, tall as she also was. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92'></a>92</span> +</p> +<p> +“May I ask you about things?” he said. “Who +is that very, very funny little girl?” +</p> +<p> +“Do you mean Eve Wynford?” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps that is her name. I mean the girl in +white satin—the girl who wears a grown-up +dress.” +</p> +<p> +“She is Audrey Wynford’s cousin.” +</p> +<p> +“What! the Tasmanian? The one who is +to——” +</p> +<p> +“Yes. Hush! she will hear us,” said Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +The rustle of silk was heard on the stairs. Sylvia +turned her head, and instinctively hid just behind +Arthur; and Lady Frances, accompanied by several +other ladies, all looking very stately and beautiful, +joined the group of young people. A great deal +of chattering and laughter followed. Evelyn was +in her element. She was not a scrap shy, and going +up to her aunt, said in a confident way: +</p> +<p> +“I hope you like this dress, Aunt Frances. Jasper +chose it for me in Paris. It is quite Parisian, is it +not? Don’t you think it stylish?” +</p> +<p> +“Hush, Evelyn!” said Lady Frances in a peremptory +whisper. “We do not talk of dress except +in our rooms.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn pouted and bit her lip. Then she saw +Sylvia, whose eyes were watching Lady Frances. +Lady Frances also looked up and saw the tall and +beautiful girl at the same moment. +</p> +<p> +“Who is that girl?” she said, turning to Evelyn. +“I don’t know her face.” +</p> +<p> +“Her name is Sylvia Leeson.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93'></a>93</span> +</p> +<p> +“Sylvia Leeson! Still I don’t understand. Who +is she?” +</p> +<p> +“A friend of mine,” said Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“My dear, how can you possibly have any friends +in this place?” +</p> +<p> +“She is my friend, Aunt Frances. I found her +wandering about out of doors, and I brought her in; +and Audrey asked her to stay for the rest of the +day, and she is happy. She is very nice, Aunt +Frances,” said Evelyn, looking up full in her aunt’s +face. +</p> +<p> +“That will do, dear.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Frances went up to her daughter. +</p> +<p> +“Audrey,” she said, “introduce me to Miss Leeson.” +</p> +<p> +The introduction was made. Lady Frances held +out her hand. +</p> +<p> +“I am glad to see you, Miss Leeson,” she said. +</p> +<p> +A few minutes later the whole party found themselves +clustered round the dinner-table. The children, +by special request, sat all together. They chattered +and laughed heartily, and seemed to have a +world of things to say each to the other. Audrey, +surrounded by her own special friends, looked her +very best; she had a great deal of tact, and had +long ago been trained in the observances of society. +She managed now, helped by a warning glance from +her mother, to divide Sylvia and Evelyn. She put +Sylvia next to Arthur, who continued to chat to +her, and to try to draw information from her. +Evelyn sat between Robert and Sophie Clavering. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94'></a>94</span> +Sophie was downright and blunt, and she made +Evelyn laugh many times. Sylvia, too, was now +quite at her ease. She contrived to fascinate Arthur, +who thought her quite the most lovely girl he had +ever met. +</p> +<p> +“I wish you would come and skate to-morrow,” +he said, as the dinner was coming to an end and the +signal for the ladies to withdraw might be expected +at any moment. “I wish you would, Sylvia. I cannot +see why you should refuse. One has so little +chance of skating in England that no one ought to +be off the ice who knows how to skate when the +weather is suitable. Cannot you come? Shall I +ask Lady Frances if you may?” +</p> +<p> +“No, thank you,” said Sylvia; then she added: +“I long to skate just as much as you do, and I probably +shall skate, although not on your pond; but +there is a long reach of water just where the pond +narrows and beyond where the stream rushes away +towards the river. I may skate there. The water +is nearly a mile in extent.” +</p> +<p> +“Then I will meet you,” said Arthur. “I will +get Robert and Hennie to come with me; Juliet +will never stir from Audrey’s side when she comes +to Castle Wynford; but I’ll make up a party and +we can meet at the narrow stretch. What do you +call it?” +</p> +<p> +“The Yellow Danger,” said Sylvia promptly. +</p> +<p> +“What a curious name! What does it mean?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know; I have not been long enough in +this neighborhood. Oh, there is Lady Frances rising +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95'></a>95</span> +from the table; I must go. If you do happen to +come to the Yellow Danger to-morrow I shall probably +be there.” +</p> +<p> +She nodded to him, and followed the rest of the +ladies and the girls to one of the drawing-rooms. +</p> +<p> +Soon afterwards games of all sorts were started, +and the children, and their elders as well, had a right +merry time. There was no one smarter at guessing +conundrums and proposing vigorous games of chance +than Sylvia. The party was sufficiently large to +divide itself into two groups, and “clumps,” amongst +other games, was played with much laughter and +vigor. Finally, the whole party wandered into the +hall, where an impromptu dance was struck up, and +in this also Sylvia managed to excel herself. +</p> +<p> +“Who is that remarkably graceful and handsome +girl?” said Mrs. Jervice to Lady Frances. +</p> +<p> +“My dear Agnes,” was the answer, “I have not the +slightest idea. She is a girl from the neighborhood; +that terrible aborigine Evelyn picked her up. +She certainly is handsome, and clever too; and she +is well dressed. That dress she has on reminds me +of one which I bought for Audrey in Paris last +year. I suppose the girl’s people are very well off, +for that special kind of muslin, with its quantities of +real lace, would not be in the possession of a poor +girl. On the whole, I like the girl, but the way in +which Evelyn has brought her into the house is +beyond enduring.” +</p> +<p> +“My Arthur has quite lost his heart to her,” said +Mrs. Jervice, with a laugh. “He said something to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96'></a>96</span> +me about asking her to join our skating party to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, dear, I will make inquiries, and if she belongs +to any nice people I will call on her mother +if she happens to have one; but I make it a rule to +be very particular what girls Audrey becomes +acquainted with.” +</p> +<p> +“And you are quite right,” said Mrs. Jervice. +“Any one can see how very carefully your Audrey +has been brought up.” +</p> +<p> +“She is a sweet girl,” said the mother, “and repays +me for all the trouble I have taken with her; but +what I shall do with Evelyn is a problem, for her +uncle has put down his foot and declares that go to +school she shall not.” +</p> +<p> +The ladies moved away, chatting as they did so. +The music kept up its merry sounds; the young feet +tripped happily over the polished floor; all went on +gaily, and Sylvia felt herself in paradise. Warmed +and fed, petted and surrounded by luxury, she looked +a totally different creature from the wild, defiant +girl who had pushed past Audrey in order to have a +hearty meal on New Year’s Day. +</p> +<p> +But by and by the happy evening came to an end, +and Sylvia ran up to Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“It is time for me to go,” she said. “I must say +good night to Lady Frances; and then will you +take me to your room just to change my dress, +Evelyn?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, what a nuisance you are!” said Evelyn. “I +am not thinking of going to bed yet.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97'></a>97</span> +</p> +<p> +“Yes; but you are at home, remember. I have +to go to my home.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I do not see why I should go to bed an +hour before I wish to. Do go if you wish, Sylvia; +I will see you another time. You will find Jasper +up-stairs, and she will do anything for you you +want.” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia said nothing more. She stood silent for +a minute; then noticing Lady Frances in the distance, +she ran up to her. +</p> +<p> +“Good night, Lady Frances,” she said; “and thank +you very much.” +</p> +<p> +“I am glad you have enjoyed yourself, Miss +Leeson,” said the lady. She looked full into the +sparkling eyes, and suddenly felt a curious drawing +towards the girl. “Tell me where you live,” she +said, “and who your mother is; I should like to +have the pleasure of calling on her.” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia’s face suddenly became white. Her eyes +took on a wild and startled glance. +</p> +<p> +“I have no mother,” she said slowly; “and please +do not call, Lady Frances—please don’t.” +</p> +<p> +“As you please, of course,” said Lady Frances in a +very stiff tone. “I only thought——” +</p> +<p> +“I cannot explain. I cannot help what you think +of me. I know I shall not see you, perhaps, ever +again—I mean, ever again like this,” said Sylvia; +“but thank you all the same.” +</p> +<p> +She made a low courtesy, but did not even see the +hand which Lady Frances was prepared to hold out. +The next instant she was skimming lightly up-stairs. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98'></a>98</span> +</p> +<p> +“Audrey,” said Lady Frances, turning to her +daughter, “who is that girl?” +</p> +<p> +“I cannot tell you, mother. Her name is Sylvia +Leeson. She lives somewhere near, I suppose.” +</p> +<p> +“She is fairly well-bred, and undoubtedly handsome,” +said Lady Frances. “I was attracted by her +appearance, but when I asked her if I might call +on her mother she seemed distressed. She said her +mother was dead, and that I was not to call.” +</p> +<p> +“Poor girl!” said Audrey. “You upset her by +talking about her mother, perhaps.” +</p> +<p> +“I do not think that was it. Do you know anything +at all about her, Audrey?” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing at all, mother, except that I suppose she +lives in the neighborhood, and I am sure she is desperately +poor.” +</p> +<p> +“Poor, with that dress!” said Lady Frances. +“My dear, you talk rubbish.” +</p> +<p> +Audrey opened her lips as if to speak; then she +shut them again. +</p> +<p> +“I think she is poor notwithstanding the dress,” +she said in a low voice. “But where is she? Has +she gone?” +</p> +<p> +“She bade me good-night a minute ago and ran +up-stairs.” +</p> +<p> +“But Evelyn has not gone up-stairs. Has she let +her go alone?” +</p> +<p> +“Just what I should expect of your cousin,” said +Lady Frances. +</p> +<p> +Audrey crossed the hall and went up to Evelyn’s +side. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99'></a>99</span> +</p> +<p> +“Do you notice that Sylvia has gone up-stairs?” +she said. “Have you let her go alone?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes. Don’t bother,” said Evelyn.—“What are +you saying, Bob?—that you can cut the figure eight +in——” +</p> +<p> +Audrey turned away with an expression of disgust. +A moment later she said something to her friend +Juliet and ran up-stairs herself. +</p> +<p> +“What are we to do with Evelyn?” was her +thought. +</p> +<p> +The same thought was passing through the +minds of almost all the matrons present; but +Evelyn herself imagined that she was most fascinating. +</p> +<p> +Audrey went to Evelyn’s bedroom. There she +saw Sylvia already arrayed in her ugly, tattered, +and untidy dress. She looked like a different girl. +She was pinning her battered sailor-hat on her head; +the color had left her cheeks, and her eyes were no +longer bright. When she saw Audrey she pointed +to the muslin dress, which was lying neatly folded +on a chair. +</p> +<p> +“I am going to take it home; it shall be washed, +and you shall have it back again.” +</p> +<p> +“Never mind about that,” answered Audrey; “I +would rather you did not trouble.” +</p> +<p> +“Very well—as you like; and thank you, Miss +Wynford, a hundred times. I have had a heavenly +evening—something to live for. I shall live on the +thoughts of it for many and many a day. Good +night, Miss Wynford.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100'></a>100</span> +</p> +<p> +“But stay!” cried Audrey—“stay! It is nearly +midnight. How are you going to get home?” +</p> +<p> +“I shall get home all right,” said Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +“You cannot go alone.” +</p> +<p> +“Nonsense! Don’t keep me, please.” +</p> +<p> +Before Audrey had time to say a word Sylvia had +rushed down-stairs. A side-door was open, she ran +out into the night. Audrey stood still for a moment; +then she saw Jasper, who had come silently into the +room. +</p> +<p> +“Follow that young lady immediately,” she said. +“Or, stay! Send one of the servants. The servant +must find her and go home with her. I do not know +where she lives, but she cannot be allowed to go out +by herself at this hour of night.” +</p> +<p> +Jasper ran down-stairs, and Audrey waited in +Evelyn’s pretty bedroom. Already there were +symptoms all over the room of its new owner’s +presence; a marked disarrangement of the furniture +had already taken place. The room, from being the +very soul of order, seemed now to represent the very +spirit of unrest. Jasper came back, panting slightly. +</p> +<p> +“I sent a man after the young lady, miss, but she +is nowhere to be seen. I suppose she knows how to +find her way home.” +</p> +<p> +Audrey was silent for a minute or two; then +taking up the dress which Sylvia had worn, she hung +it over her arm. +</p> +<p> +“Shall I take that back to your room, miss?” +</p> +<p> +“No, thank you; I will take it myself,” replied +the girl. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101'></a>101</span> +</p> +<p> +She walked slowly down the passage, descended +some steps, and entered her own pretty room in a +distant wing. She opened her wardrobe and hung +up the dress. +</p> +<p> +“I do hope one thing,” thought Audrey. “Yes, +I earnestly hope that mother will never, never discover +that poor Sylvia wore my dress. Poor Sylvia! +Who is she? Where does she live? What is she?” +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile Sylvia Leeson was walking fast through +the dark and silent night. She was not at all afraid; +nor did she choose the frequented paths. On the +contrary, after plunging through the shrubbery, she +mounted a stile, got into a field, crossed it, squeezed +through a hedge at the farther end, and so, by devious +paths and many unexpected windings, found herself +at the entrance of a curious, old-fashioned house. +The house was surrounded by thick yew-trees, which +grew up almost to the windows. There was a wall +round it, and the enclosed space within was evidently +very confined. In the gleam of light which came +now and then through wintry, driving clouds, a stray +flower-bed or a thick holly-bush was visible, but the +entire aspect of the place was gloomy, neglected, and +disagreeable in the extreme. Sylvia pushed a certain +spring in the gate; it immediately opened, and she +let herself in. She closed the gate softly and silently +behind her, and then, looking eagerly around, began +to approach the house. The house stood not thirty +yards from the gate. Sylvia now for the first time +showed symptoms of fear. Suddenly a big dog in a +kennel near uttered a bay. She called his name. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102'></a>102</span> +</p> +<p> +“Pilot, it is I,” she said. +</p> +<p> +The dog ambled towards her; she put her hand +on his neck, bent down, and kissed him on the forehead. +He wagged his tail, and thrust his cold nose +into her hand. She then stood in a listening attitude, +her head thrown back; presently, still holding +the dog by the collar, she went softly—very softly—round +the house. She came to a low window, which +was protected by some iron bars. +</p> +<p> +“Good night, Pilot,” she said then. “Good night, +darling; go back and guard the house.” +</p> +<p> +The dog trotted swiftly and silently away. When +he was quite out of sight Sylvia put up her hand and +removed one bar from the six which stood in front +of the window. A moment later the window had +been opened and the girl had crept within. When +inside she pushed the bar which had been previously +loosened back into its place, shut the window softly, +and crossing the room into which she had entered, +stole up-stairs, trembling as she did so. Suddenly a +door from above was opened, a light streamed +across the passage, and a man’s voice said: +</p> +<p> +“Who goes there?” +</p> +<p> +There was an instant’s silence on the part of Sylvia. +The voice repeated the question in a louder key. +</p> +<p> +“It is I, father,” she answered. “I am going to +bed. It is all right.” +</p> +<p> +“You impertinent girl!” said the man. “Where +have you been all this time? I missed you at dinner; +I missed you at supper. Where have you +been?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103'></a>103</span> +</p> +<p> +“Doing no harm, father. It is all right; it is +really. Good night, father.” +</p> +<p> +The light, however, did not recede from the passage. +A man stood in the entrance to a room. +Sylvia had to pass this man to get to her own bedroom. +She was thoroughly frightened now. She +was shaking all over. As she approached, the man +took up the candle he held and let its light fall full +on her face. +</p> +<p> +“Where have you been?” he said roughly. +</p> +<p> +“Out, father—out; doing no harm.” +</p> +<p> +“What, my daughter—at this time of night! You +know I cannot afford a servant; you know all about +me, and yet you desert me for hours and hours. +Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? You have been +out of doors all this long time and supper ready for +you on the table! Oatmeal and skimmed milk—an +excellent meal; a princess could not desire better. +I am keeping it for your breakfast. You shall have +no supper now; you deserve to go to bed supper-less, +and you shall. What a disgraceful mess your +dress is in!” +</p> +<p> +“There has been snow, and it is wintry and cold +outside,” replied Sylvia; “and I am not hungry. +Good night, father.” +</p> +<p> +“You think to get over me like that! You have +no pity for me; you are a most heartless girl. You +shall not stir from here until you tell me where you +have been.” +</p> +<p> +“Then I will tell you, father. I know you’ll be +angry, but I cannot help it. There is such a thing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104'></a>104</span> +as dying for want of—oh, not for want of food, and +not for want of clothes—for want of pleasure, fun, +life, the joy of being alive. I did go, and I am not +ashamed.” +</p> +<p> +“Where?” asked the man. +</p> +<p> +“I went to Wynford Castle. I have spent the +evening there. Now, you may be as angry as you +please, but you shall not scold me; no, not a word +until the morning.” +</p> +<p> +With a sudden movement the girl flitted past the +angry man. The next instant she had reached her +room. She opened the door, shut it behind her, +and locked herself in. When she was quite alone +she pulled off her hat, and got with frantic speed +out of her wet jacket; then she clasped her hands +high above her head. +</p> +<p> +“How am I to bear it! What have I done that +I should be so miserable?” she thought. +</p> +<p> +She flung herself across the bare, uninviting bed, +and lay there for some time sobbing heavily. All +the joy and animation had left her young frame; all +the gaiety had departed from her. But presently +her passionate sobs came to an end; she undressed +and got into bed. +</p> +<p> +She was bitterly—most bitterly—cold, and it was +a long time before the meager clothes which covered +her brought any degree of warmth to her frame. +But by-and-by she did doze off into a troubled slumber. +In her sleep she dreamt of her mother—her +mother who was dead. +</p> +<p> +She awoke presently, and opening her eyes in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105'></a>105</span> +midst of the darkness, the thought of her dream +came back to her. She remembered a certain night +in her life when she had been awakened suddenly to +say good-by to her mother. The mother had asked +the father to leave the child alone with her. +</p> +<p> +“You will be always good to him, Sylvia?” she +said then. “You will humor him and be patient. +I hand my work on to you. It was too much for +me, and God is taking me away, but I pass it on to +you. If you promise to take the burden and carry +it, and not to fail, I shall die happy. Will you, +Sylvia—will you?” +</p> +<p> +“What am I to do, mother?” asked the child. +She was a girl of fourteen then. +</p> +<p> +“This,” said the mother: “do not leave him +whatever happens.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you mean it, mother? He may go away +from here; he may go into the country; he may—do +anything. He may become worse—not better. +Am I never to be educated? Am I never to be +happy? Do you mean it?” +</p> +<p> +The dying woman looked solemnly at the eager +child. +</p> +<p> +“I mean it,” she said; “and you must promise +me that you will not leave him whatever happens.” +</p> +<p> +“Then I promise you, mother,” Sylvia had said. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106'></a>106</span><a name='chIX' id='chIX'></a>CHAPTER IX.—BREAKFAST IN BED.</h2> +<p> +The day of Evelyn’s freedom came to an end. +No remark had been made with regard to her extraordinary +dress; no comments when she declined +to accompany her own special guest to her bedroom. +She was allowed to have her own sweet +will. She went up-stairs very late, and, on the +whole, not discontented. She had enjoyed her chat +with some of the strange children who had arrived +that afternoon. Lady Frances had scarcely looked +at her. That fact did not worry her in the least. +She had said good-night in quite a patronizing tone +to both her aunt and uncle, she did not trouble even +to seek for Audrey, and went up to her room singing +gaily to herself. She had a fine, strong contralto +voice, and she had not the slightest idea of keeping +it in suppression. She sang the chorus of a common-place +song which had been popular on the ranch. +Lady Frances quite shuddered as she heard her. +Presently Evelyn reached her own room, where +Jasper was awaiting her. Jasper knew her young +mistress thoroughly. She had not the slightest idea +of putting herself out too much with regard to +Evelyn, but at the same time she knew that Evelyn +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107'></a>107</span> +would be very cross and disagreeable if she had not +her comforts; accordingly, the fire burned clear +and bright, and there were preparations for the +young girl’s favorite meal of chocolate and biscuits +already going on. +</p> +<p> +“Oh dear!” said Evelyn, “I am tired; but we +have had quite a good time. Of course when the +Castle belongs to me I shall always keep it packed +with company. There is no fun in a big place like +this unless you have heaps of guests. Aunt Frances +was quite harmless to-night.” +</p> +<p> +“Harmless!” cried Jasper. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; that is the word. She took no notice of +me at all. I do not mind that. Of course she is +jealous, poor thing! And perhaps I can scarcely +wonder. But if she leaves me alone I will leave her +alone.” +</p> +<p> +“You are conceited, Evelyn,” said Jasper. “How +could that grand and stately lady be jealous of a +little girl like yourself?” +</p> +<p> +“I think she is, all the same,” replied Evelyn. +“And, by the way, Jasper, I do not care for that +tone of yours. Why do you call me a little girl and +speak as though you had no respect for me?” +</p> +<p> +“I love you too well to respect you, darling,” +replied Jasper. +</p> +<p> +“Love me too well! But I thought people never +loved others unless they respected them.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, but they do,” answered Jasper, with a short +laugh. “How should I love you if that was not +the case?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108'></a>108</span> +</p> +<p> +Evelyn grew red and a puzzled expression flitted +across her face. +</p> +<p> +“I should like my chocolate,” she said, sinking +into a chair by the fire. “Make it for me, +please.” +</p> +<p> +Jasper did so without any comment. It was long +past midnight; the little clock on the mantelpiece +pointed with its jeweled hands to twenty minutes +to one. +</p> +<p> +“I shall not get up early,” said Evelyn. “Aunt +Frances was annoyed at my not being down this +morning, but she will have to bear it. You will +get me a very nice breakfast, won’t you, dear old +Jasper? When I wake you will have things very +cozy, won’t you, Jas?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, darling; I’ll do what I can. By the way, +Evelyn, you ought not to have let that poor Miss +Sylvia come up here and go off by herself.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn pouted. +</p> +<p> +“I won’t be scolded,” she said. “You forget your +place, Jasper. If you go on like this it might really +be best for you to go.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I meant nothing,” said Jasper, in some +alarm; “only it did seem—you will forgive my +saying it—not too kind.” +</p> +<p> +“I like Sylvia,” said Evelyn; “she is handsome +and she says funny things. I mean to see a good +deal more of her. Now I am sleepy, so you may +help me to get into bed.” +</p> +<p> +The spoilt child slept in unconscious bliss, and +the next morning, awaking late, desired Jasper to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109'></a>109</span> +fetch her breakfast. Jasper rang the bell. After a +time a servant appeared. +</p> +<p> +“Will you send Miss Wynford’s breakfast up immediately?” +said Jasper. +</p> +<p> +The girl, a neat-looking housemaid, withdrew. +She tapped at the door again in a few minutes. +</p> +<p> +“If you please, Miss Jasper,” she said, “Lady +Frances’s orders are that Miss Evelyn is to get up +to breakfast.” +</p> +<p> +Jasper, with a slight smirk on her face, went into +Evelyn’s bedroom to retail this message. Evelyn’s +face turned the color of chalk with intense anger. +</p> +<p> +“Impertinent woman!” she murmured. “Go +down immediately yourself, Jasper, and bring me +up some breakfast. Go—do you hear? I will not +be ruled by Lady Frances.” +</p> +<p> +Jasper very unwillingly went down-stairs. She +returned in about ten minutes to inform Evelyn +that it was quite useless, that Lady Frances had +given most positive orders, and that there was not a +servant in the house who would dare to disobey +her. +</p> +<p> +“But you would dare,” said the angry child. +“Why did you not go into the larder and fetch the +things yourself?” +</p> +<p> +“The cook took care of that, Miss Evelyn; the +larder door was locked.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, dear me!” said Evelyn; “and I am so hungry.” +She began to cry. +</p> +<p> +“Had you not better get up, Evelyn?” said the +maid. “The servants told me down-stairs that breakfast +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110'></a>110</span> +would be served in the breakfast-room to-day +up to ten o’clock.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you think I am going to let her have the +victory over me?” said Evelyn. “No; I shall not +stir. I won’t go to meals at all if this sort of thing +goes on. Oh, I am cruelly treated! I am—I am! +And I am so desperately hungry! Is not there even +any chocolate left, Jasper?” +</p> +<p> +“I am sorry to say there is not, dear—you finished +it all, to the last drop, last night; and the tin with +the biscuits is empty also. There is nothing to eat +in this room. I am afraid you will have to hurry +and dress yourself—that is, if you want breakfast.” +</p> +<p> +“I won’t stir,” said Evelyn—“not if she comes to +drag me out of bed with cart-ropes.” +</p> +<p> +Jasper stood and stared at her young charge. +</p> +<p> +“You are very silly, Miss Evelyn,” she said. +“You will have to submit to her ladyship. You are +only a very young girl, and you will find that you +cannot fight against her.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn now covered her face with her handkerchief, +and her sobs became distressful. +</p> +<p> +“Come, dear, come!” said Jasper not unkindly; +“let me help you to get into your clothes.” +</p> +<p> +But Evelyn pushed her devoted maid away with +vigorous hands. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t touch me. I hate you!” she said.—“Oh +mothery, mothery, why did you die and leave me? +Oh, your own little Evelyn is so wretched!” +</p> +<p> +“Now, really, Miss Evelyn, I am angry with you. +You are a silly child! You can dress and go down-stairs +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111'></a>111</span> +and have as nice a breakfast as you please. I +heard them talking in the breakfast-room as I went +by. They were such a merry party!” +</p> +<p> +“Much they care for me!” said Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“Well, they don’t naturally unless you go and +make yourself pleasant. But there, Miss Evelyn! if +you don’t get up, I cannot do without my breakfast, +so I am going down to the servants’ hall.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh! could not you bring me up a little bit of +something, Jasper—even bread—even dry bread? I +don’t mind how stale it is, for I am quite desperately +hungry.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I’ll try if I can smuggle something,” +said Jasper; “but I do not believe I can, all the +same.” +</p> +<p> +The woman departed, anxious for her meal. +</p> +<p> +She came back in a little over half an hour, to +find Evelyn sitting up in bed, her eyes red from all +the tears she had shed, and her face pale. +</p> +<p> +“Well,” she said, “have you brought up anything?” +</p> +<p> +“Only hot water for your bath, my dear. I was +not allowed to go off even with a biscuit.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh dear! then I’ll die—I really shall. You +don’t know how weak I am! Aunt Frances will +have killed me! Oh, this is too awful!” +</p> +<p> +“You had better get up now, Miss Evelyn. You +are very fat and stout, my dear, and missing one +meal will not kill you, so don’t think it.” +</p> +<p> +“I know what I do think, Jasper, and that is that +you are horrid!” said Evelyn. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112'></a>112</span> +</p> +<p> +But she had scarcely uttered the words before +there came a low but very distinct knock on the door. +Jasper went to open it. Evelyn’s heart began to +beat with a mixture of alarm and triumph. Of +course this was some one coming with her breakfast. +Or could it be, possibly—— But no; even Lady +Frances would not go so far as to come to gloat over +her victim’s miseries. +</p> +<p> +Nevertheless, it was Lady Frances. She walked +boldly into the room. +</p> +<p> +“You can go, Jasper,” she said. “I have something +I wish to say to Miss Wynford.” +</p> +<p> +Jasper, in considerable annoyance, withdrew, but +returned after a minute and placed her ear to the +keyhole. Lady Frances did not greatly mind, however, +whether she was overheard or not. +</p> +<p> +“Get up, Evelyn,” she said. “Get up at once and +dress yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“I—I don’t want to get up,” murmured Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“Come! I am waiting.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Frances sat down on a chair. Her eyes +traveled slowly round the disorderly room; displeasure +grew greater in her face. +</p> +<p> +“Get up, my dear—get up,” she said. “I am +waiting.” +</p> +<p> +“But I don’t want to.” +</p> +<p> +“I am afraid your wanting to or not wanting to +makes little or no difference, Evelyn. I stay here +until you get up. You need not hurry yourself; I +will give you until lunch-time if necessary, but until +you get up I stay here.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113'></a>113</span> +</p> +<p> +“And if,” said Evelyn in a tremulous voice, “I +don’t get up until after lunch?” +</p> +<p> +“Then you do without food; you have nothing to +eat until you get up. Now, do not let us discuss +this point any longer; I want to be busy over my +accounts.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Frances drew a small table towards her, +took a note-book and a Letts’s Diary from a bag at +her side, and became absorbed in the irritating task +of counting up petty expenses. Lady Frances no +more looked at Evelyn than if she had not existed. +The angry little girl in the bed even ventured to make +faces in the direction of the tyrannical lady; but the +tyrannical lady saw nothing. Jasper outside the +door found it no longer interesting to press her ear +to the keyhole. She retired in some trepidation, +and presently made herself busy in Evelyn’s boudoir. +For half an hour the conflict went on; then, as +might be expected, Evelyn gingerly and with intense +dislike put one foot out of bed. +</p> +<p> +Lady Frances saw nothing. She was now murmuring +softly to herself. She had long—very long—accounts +to add up. +</p> +<p> +Evelyn drew the foot back again. +</p> +<p> +“Nasty, horrid, horrid thing!” she said to herself. +“She shall not have the victory. But, oh, I am so +hungry!” was her next thought; “and she does +mean to conquer me. Oh, if only mothery were +alive!” +</p> +<p> +At the thought of her mother Evelyn burst into +loud sobs. Surely these would draw pity from that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114'></a>114</span> +heart of stone! Not at all. Lady Frances went +calmly on with her occupation. +</p> +<p> +Finally, Evelyn did get up. She was not accustomed +to dressing herself, and she did so very badly. +Lady Frances did not take the slightest notice. In +about half an hour the untidy toilet was complete. +Evelyn had once more donned her crimson velvet +dress. +</p> +<p> +“I am ready,” she said then, and she came up to +Lady Frances’s side. +</p> +<p> +Lady Frances dropped her pencil, raised her eyes, +and fixed them on Evelyn’s face. +</p> +<p> +“Where do you keep your dresses?” she said. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know. Jasper knows.” +</p> +<p> +“Is Jasper in the next room?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“Go and fetch her.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn obeyed. She imagined her head was +giddy and that her legs were too weak to enable +her to walk steadily. +</p> +<p> +“Jasper, come,” she said in a tremulous voice. +</p> +<p> +“Poor darling! Poor pet!” muttered Jasper in +an injudicious undertone to her afflicted charge. +</p> +<p> +Lady Frances was now standing up. +</p> +<p> +“Come here, Jasper,” she said. “In which wardrobe +do you keep Miss Wynford’s dresses?” +</p> +<p> +“In this one, madam.” +</p> +<p> +“Open it and let me see.” +</p> +<p> +The maid obeyed. Lady Frances went to the +wardrobe and felt amongst skirts of different colors, +different materials, and different degrees of respectability. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115'></a>115</span> +Without exception they were all unsuitable; +but presently she chose the least objectionable, an +ugly drab frieze, and lifting it herself from its hook, +laid it on the bed. +</p> +<p> +“Is there a bodice for this dress?” she asked of +the maid. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, madam. Miss Evelyn used to wear that on +the ranch. She has outgrown it rather.” +</p> +<p> +“Put it on your young mistress and let me see +her.” +</p> +<p> +“I won’t wear that horrid thing!” said Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“You will wear what I choose.” +</p> +<p> +Again Evelyn submitted. The dress was put on. +It was not becoming, but was at least quiet in +appearance. +</p> +<p> +“You will wear that to-day,” said her aunt. “I +will myself take you into town this afternoon to get +some suitable clothes.—Jasper, I wish Miss Evelyn’s +present wardrobe to be neatly packed in her +trunks.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, madam.” +</p> +<p> +“No, no, Aunt Frances; you cannot mean it,” +said Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“My dear, I do.—Before you go, Jasper, I have +one thing to say. I am sorry, but I cannot help +myself. Your late mistress wished you to remain +with Miss Wynford. I grieve to say that you are +not the kind of person I should wish to have the +charge of her. I will myself get a suitable maid to +look after the young lady, and you can go this afternoon. +I will pay you well. I am sorry for this; it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116'></a>116</span> +sounds cruel, but it is really cruel to be kind.—Now, +Evelyn, what is the matter?” +</p> +<p> +“Only I hate you! Oh, how I hate you!” said +Evelyn. “I wish mothery were alive that she might +fight you! Oh, you are a horrid woman! How I +hate you!” +</p> +<p> +“When you come to yourself, Evelyn, and you are +inclined to apologize for your intemperate words, +you can come down-stairs, where your belated breakfast +awaits you.” +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117'></a>117</span><a name='chX' id='chX'></a>CHAPTER X.—JASPER WAS TO GO.</h2> +<p> +What will not hunger—real, healthy hunger—effect? +Lady Frances, after her last words, swept +out of the room; and Jasper, her bosom heaving, her +black eyes flashing angry fire, looked full at her little +charge. What would Evelyn do now? The spoilt +child, who could scarcely brook the smallest contradiction, +who had declined to get up even to breakfast, +to do without Jasper! To allow her friend +Jasper to be torn from her arms—Jasper, who had +been her mother’s dearest companion, who had sworn +to that mother that she would not leave Evelyn +come what might, that she would protect her against +the tyrant aunt and the tyrant uncle, that if necessary +she would fight for her with the power which the +law bestows! Oh, what an awful moment had arrived! +Jasper was to go. What would Evelyn do +now? +</p> +<p> +Evelyn’s first impulse had been all that was satisfactory. +Her fury had burst forth in wild, indignant +words. But now, when the child and the maid found +themselves alone, Jasper waited in expectancy which +was almost certainty. Evelyn would not submit to +this? She and her charge would leave Castle Wynford +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118'></a>118</span> +together that very day. If they were eventually +parted, the law should part them. +</p> +<p> +Still Evelyn was silent. +</p> +<p> +“Oh Eve—my dear Miss Evelyn—my treasure!” +said the afflicted woman. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Jasper?” said Evelyn then. “It is an +awful nuisance.” +</p> +<p> +“A nuisance! Is that all you have got to say?” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn rubbed her eyes. +</p> +<p> +“I won’t submit, of course,” she said. “No, I +won’t submit for a minute. But, Jasper, I must +have some breakfast; I am too hungry for anything. +Perhaps you had better take all my darling, lovely +clothes; and if you have to go, Jasper, I’ll—I’ll +never forget you; but I’ll talk to you more about it +when I have had something to eat.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn turned and left the room. She was in +an ugly dress, beyond doubt, but in her neat black +shoes and stockings, and with her fair hair tied back +according to Lady Frances’s directions, she looked +rather more presentable than she had done the previous +day. She entered the breakfast-room. The +remains of a meal still lay upon the table. Evelyn +looked impatiently round. Surely some one ought +to appear—a servant at the very least! Hot tea she +required, hot coffee, dishes nicely cooked and tempting +and fresh. The little girl went to the bell and +rang it. A footman appeared. +</p> +<p> +“Get my breakfast immediately,” said Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +The man withdrew, endeavoring to hide a smile. +Evelyn’s conduct in daring to defy Lady Frances +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119'></a>119</span> +had been the amusement of the servants’ hall that +morning. The man went to the kitchen premises +now with the announcement that “miss” had come +to her senses. +</p> +<p> +“She is as white as a sheet, and looks as mad as a +hatter,” said the man; “but her spirit ain’t broke. +My word! she ’ave got a will of her own. ‘My +breakfast, immediate,’ says she, as though she were +the lady of the manor.” +</p> +<p> +“Which she will be some day,” said cook; “and +I ’ates to think of it. Our beautiful Miss Audrey supplanted +by the like of her. There, Johnson! my +missus said that Miss Wynford was to have quite a +plain breakfast, so take it up—do.” +</p> +<p> +Toast, fresh tea, and one solitary new-laid egg were +placed on a tray and brought up to the breakfast-room. +</p> +<p> +Evelyn sat down without a word, poured herself +out some tea, ate every crumb of toast, finished her +egg, and felt refreshed. She had just concluded her +meal when Audrey, accompanied by Arthur Jervice, +ran into the room. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I say, Evelyn,” cried Audrey, “you are the +very person that we want. We are getting up +charades for to-night; will you join us?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, do, please,” said Arthur. “And we are +most anxious that Sylvia should join too.” +</p> +<p> +“I wish I knew her address,” said Audrey. “She +is such a mystery! Mother is rather disturbed about +her. I am afraid, Arthur, we cannot have her to-night; +we must manage without.—But will you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120'></a>120</span> +join us, Evelyn? Do you know anything about +acting?” +</p> +<p> +“I have never acted, but I have seen plays,” said +Evelyn. “I am sure I can manage all right. I’ll +do my best if you will give me a big part. I won’t +take a little part, for it would not be suitable.” +</p> +<p> +Audrey colored and laughed. +</p> +<p> +“Well, come, anyway, and we will do our best for +you,” she said. “Have you finished your breakfast? +The rest of us are in my schoolroom. You have not +been introduced to it yet. Come if you are ready; +we are all waiting.” +</p> +<p> +After her miserable morning, Evelyn considered +this an agreeable change. She had intended to go +up-stairs to comfort Jasper, but really and truly +Jasper must wait. She accordingly went with her +cousin, and was welcomed by all the children, who +pitied her and wanted to make her as much at home +as possible. A couple of charades were discussed, +and Evelyn was thoroughly satisfied with the <em>rôle</em> +assigned her. She was a clever child enough, and +had some powers of mimicry. As the different arrangements +were being made she suddenly remembered +something, and uttered a cry. +</p> +<p> +“Oh dear!” she said—“oh dear! What a pity!” +</p> +<p> +“What is it now, Evelyn?” asked her cousin. +</p> +<p> +“Why, your mother is so—I suppose I ought not +to say it—your mother—I—— There! I must +not say that either. Your mother——” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, for goodness’ sake speak out!” said Audrey. +“What has poor, dear mother done?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121'></a>121</span> +</p> +<p> +“She is sending Jasper away; she is—she is. Oh, +can I bear it? Don’t you think it is awful of her?” +</p> +<p> +“I am sorry for you,” said Audrey. +</p> +<p> +“Jasper would be so useful,” continued Evelyn. +“She is such a splendid actress; she could help me +tremendously. I do wish she could stay even till +to-morrow. Cannot you ask Aunt Frances—cannot +you, Audrey? I wish you would.” +</p> +<p> +“I must not, Evelyn; mother cannot brook interference. +She would not dream of altering her plans +just for a play.—Well,” she added, looking round at +the rest of her guests, “I think we have arranged +everything now; we must meet here not later than +three o’clock for rehearsal. Who would like to go +out?” she added. “The morning is lovely.” +</p> +<p> +The boys and girls picked up hats and cloaks and +ran out immediately into the grounds. Evelyn took +the first covering she could find, and joined the +others. +</p> +<p> +“They ought to consult me more,” she said to +herself. “I see there is no help for it; I must live +here for a bit and put Audrey down—that at least +is due to me. But when next there are people here +I shall be arranging the charades, and I shall invite +them to go out into the grounds. It is a great +bother about Jasper; but there! she must bear it, +poor dear. She will be all right when I tell her +that I will get her back when the Castle belongs +to me.” +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile Arthur, remembering his promise to +Sylvia, ran away from where the others were standing. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122'></a>122</span> +The boy ran fast, hoping to see Sylvia. He +had taken a great fancy to her bright, dark eyes and +her vivacious ways. +</p> +<p> +“She promised to meet me,” he said to himself. +“She is certain to keep her word.” +</p> +<p> +By and by he uttered a loud “Hullo!” and a slim +young figure, in a shabby crimson cloak, turned and +came towards him. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, it is you, Arthur!” said Sylvia. “Well, and +how are they all?” +</p> +<p> +“Quite well,” replied the boy. “We are going to +have charades to-night, and I am to be the doctor in +one. It is rather a difficult part, and I hope I shall +do it right. I never played in a charade before. +That little monkey Evelyn is to be the patient. I +do hope she will behave properly and not spoil everything. +She is such an extraordinary child! And of +course she ought to have had quite one of the most +unimportant parts, but she would not hear of it. I +wish you were going to play in the charade, Sylvia.” +</p> +<p> +“I have often played in charades,” said Sylvia, +with a quick sigh. +</p> +<p> +“Have you? How strange! You seem to have +done everything.” +</p> +<p> +“I have done most things that girls of my age +have done.” +</p> +<p> +Arthur looked at her with curiosity. There was—he +could not help noticing it, and he blushed very +vividly as he did see—a very roughly executed patch +on the side of her shoe. On the other shoe, too, the +toes were worn white. They were shabby shoes, although +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123'></a>123</span> +the little feet they encased were neat enough, +with high insteps and narrow, tapering toes. Sylvia +knew quite well what was passing in Arthur’s mind. +After a moment she spoke. +</p> +<p> +“You wonder why I look poor,” she said. “Sometimes, +Arthur, appearances deceive. I am not poor. +It is my pleasure to wear very simple clothes, and to +eat very plain food, and——” +</p> +<p> +“Not pleasure!” said Arthur. “You don’t look +as if it were your pleasure. Why, Sylvia, I do believe +you are hungry now!” +</p> +<p> +Poor Sylvia was groaning inwardly, so keen was +her hunger. +</p> +<p> +“And I am as peckish as I can be,” said the boy, +a rapid thought flashing through his mind. “The +village is only a quarter of a mile from here, and I +know there are tuck-shops. Why should we not go +and have a lark all by ourselves? Who’s to know, +and who’s to care? Will you come, Sylvia?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I cannot,” replied Sylvia; “it is impossible. +Thank you very much indeed, Arthur. I am so glad +to have seen you! I must go home, however, in a +minute or two. I was out all day yesterday, and +there is a great deal to be done.” +</p> +<p> +“But may I not come with you? Cannot I help +you?” +</p> +<p> +“No, thank you; indeed I could not possibly have +you. It is very good of you to offer, but I cannot +have you, and I must not tell you why.” +</p> +<p> +“You do look so sad! Are you sure you cannot +join the charades to-night?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124'></a>124</span> +</p> +<p> +“Sure—certain,” said Sylvia, with a little gasp. +“And I am not sad,” she added; “there never was +any one more merry. Listen to me now; I am +going to laugh the echoes up.” +</p> +<p> +They were standing where a defile of rocks +stretched away to their left. The stream ran +straight between the narrow opening. The girl +slightly changed her position, raised her hand, and +called out a clear “Hullo!” It was echoed back +from many points, growing fainter and fainter as it +died away. +</p> +<p> +“And now you say I am not merry!” she exclaimed. +“Listen.” +</p> +<p> +She laughed a ringing laugh. There never was +anything more musical than the way that laughter +was taken up, as if there were a thousand sprites +laughing too. Sylvia turned her white face and +looked full at Arthur. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I am such a merry girl!” she said, “and +such a glad one! and such a thankful one! And I +am rich—not poor—but I like simple things. Good-by, +Arthur, for the present.” +</p> +<p> +“I will come and see you again. You are quite +wonderful!” he said. “I wish mother knew you. +And I wish my sister Moss were here; I wish she +knew you.” +</p> +<p> +“Moss! What a curious name!” said Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +“We have always called her that. She is just +like moss, so soft and yet so springy; so comfortable, +and yet you dare not take too much liberty +with her. She is fragile, too, and mother had to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125'></a>125</span> +take great care of her. I should like you to see +her; she would——” +</p> +<p> +“What would she do?” asked Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +“She would understand you; she would draw part +at least of the trouble away.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh! don’t, Arthur—don’t, don’t read me like +that,” said the girl. +</p> +<p> +The tears just dimmed her eyes. She dashed +them away, laughed again merrily, and the next +moment had turned the corner and was lost to view. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126'></a>126</span><a name='chXI' id='chXI'></a>CHAPTER XI.—“I CANNOT ALTER MY PLANS.”</h2> +<p> +Immediately after lunch Lady Frances beckoned +Evelyn to her side. +</p> +<p> +“Go up-stairs and ask Jasper to dress you,” she +said. “The carriage will be round in a few +minutes.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn wanted to expostulate. She looked full +at Audrey. Surely Audrey would protect her from +the terrible infliction of a long drive alone with +Lady Frances! Audrey did catch Evelyn’s beseeching +glance; she took a step forward. +</p> +<p> +“Do you particularly want Evelyn this afternoon, +mother?” she asked. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, dear; if I did not want her I should not +ask her to come with me.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Frances’s words were very impressive; +Audrey stood silent. +</p> +<p> +“Please tell her—please tell her!” interrupted +Evelyn in a voice tremulous with passion. +</p> +<p> +“We are going to have charades to-night, mother, +and Evelyn’s part is somewhat important; we are +all to rehearse in the schoolroom at three o’clock.” +</p> +<p> +“And my part is very important,” interrupted +Evelyn again. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127'></a>127</span> +</p> +<p> +“I am sorry,” said Lady Frances, “but Evelyn +must come with me. Is there no one else to take +the part, Audrey?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, mother; Sophie could do it. She has a +very small part, and she is a good actress, and +Evelyn could easily do Sophie’s part; but, all the +same, it will disappoint Eve.” +</p> +<p> +“I am sorry for that,” said Lady Frances; “but +I cannot alter my plans. Give Sophie the part that +Evelyn would have taken; Evelyn can take her +part.—You will have plenty of time, Evelyn, when +you return to coach for the small part.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, you will, Evelyn; but I am sorry, all the +same,” said Audrey, and she turned away. +</p> +<p> +Evelyn’s lips trembled. She stood motionless; +then she slowly revolved round, intending to fire +some very angry words into Lady Frances’s face; +but, lo and behold! there was no Lady Frances +there. She had gone up-stairs while Evelyn was +lost in thought. +</p> +<p> +Very quietly the little girl went up to her own +room. Jasper, her eyes almost swollen out of her +head with crying, was there to wait on her. +</p> +<p> +“I have been packing up, Miss Evelyn,” she said. +“I am to go this afternoon. Her ladyship has made +all arrangements, and a cab is to come from the +‘Green Man’ in the village to fetch me and my +luggage at half-past three. It is almost past belief, +Miss Eve, that you and me should be parted like +this.” +</p> +<p> +“You look horrid, Jasper, when you cry so +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128'></a>128</span> +hard!” said Evelyn. “Oh, of course I am awfully +sorry; I do not know how I shall live without you.” +</p> +<p> +“You will miss me a good bit,” said the woman. +“I am surprised, though, that you should take it +as you do. If you raised your voice and started the +whole place in an uproar you would be bound to +have your own way. But as it is, you are mum as +you please; never a word out of you either of sorrow +or anything else, but off you go larking with +those children and forgetting the one who has made +you, mended you, and done everything on earth for +you since long before your mother died.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t remind me of mothery now,” said the girl, +and her lips trembled; then she added in a changed +voice: “I cannot help it, Jasper. I have been fighting +ever since I came here, and I want to fight—oh, +most badly, most desperately!—but somehow the +courage has gone out of me. I am ever so sorry +for you, Jasper, but I cannot help myself; I really +cannot.” +</p> +<p> +Jasper was silent. After a time she said slowly: +</p> +<p> +“And your mother wrote a letter on her deathbed +asking Lady Frances to let me stay with you +whatever happened.” +</p> +<p> +“I know,” said Evelyn. “It is awful of her; it +really is.” +</p> +<p> +“And do you think,” continued the woman, “I +am going to submit?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, you must, Jasper. You cannot stay if +they do not wish for you. And you have got all +your wages, have you not?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129'></a>129</span> +</p> +<p> +“I have, my dear; I have. Yes,” continued the +woman; “she thinks, of course, that I am satisfied, +and that I am going as mum as a mouse and as +quiet as the grave, but she is fine and mistook; I +ain’t doing nothing of the sort. Go I must, but +not far. I have a plan in my head. It may come to +nothing; but if it does come to something, as I hope +to goodness it will, then you will hear of me again, +my pet, and I won’t be far off to protect you if the +time should come that you need me. And now, +what do you want of me, my little lamb, for your +face is piteous to see?” +</p> +<p> +“I am a miserable girl,” said Evelyn. “I could +cry for hours, but there is no time. Dress me, then, +for the last time, Jasper. Oh, Jasper darling, I am +fond of you!” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn’s stoical, hard sort of nature seemed to +give way at this juncture; she flung her arms round +her maid’s neck and kissed her many times passionately. +The woman kissed her, too, in a hungry sort +of way. +</p> +<p> +“You are really not going far away, Jasper?” +said Evelyn when, dressed in her coat and hat, she +was ready to start. +</p> +<p> +“My plans are laid but not made yet,” said the +woman. “You will hear from me likely to-morrow, +my love. And now, good-by. I have packed all +your things in the trunks they came in, and the +wardrobe is empty. Oh, my pet, my pet, good-by! +Who will look after you to-night, and who will sleep +in the little white bed alongside of you? Oh, my +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130'></a>130</span> +darling, the spirit of your Jasper is broke, that it +is!” +</p> +<p> +“Evelyn!” called her aunt, who was passing her +room at that moment, “the carriage is at the door. +Come at once.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn ran down-stairs. She wore a showy, +unsuitable hat and a showy, unsuitable jacket. She +got quickly into the carriage, and flopped down by +the side of the stately Lady Frances. +</p> +<p> +Lady Frances was a very judicious woman in her +way. She reprimanded whenever in her opinion +it was necessary to reprimand, but she never nagged. +It needed but a glance to show her that Evelyn +required to be educated in every form of good-breeding, +and that education the good woman fully intended +to take in hand without a moment’s delay, +but she did not intend to find fault moment by +moment. She said nothing, therefore, either in praise +or blame to the small, awkward, conceited little girl +by her side; but she gave orders to stop at Simpson’s +in the High Street, and the carriage started briskly +forward. Wynford Castle was within half a mile +of the village which was called after it, and five +miles away from a large and very important +cathedral town—the cathedral town of Easterly. +During the drive Lady Frances chatted in the sort +of tone she would use to a small girl, and Evelyn +gave short and sulky replies. Finding that her conversation +was not interesting to her small guest, the +good lady became silent and wrapped up in her own +thoughts. Presently they arrived at Simpson’s, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131'></a>131</span> +there the lady and the child got out and entered the +shop. Evelyn was absolutely bewildered by the +amount of things which her aunt ordered for her. +It is true that she had had, as Jasper expressed it, +quite a small trousseau when in Paris; but during +her mother’s lifetime her dresses had come to her +slowly and with long intervals between. Mrs. +Wynford had been a showy but by no means a good +dresser; she loved the gayest, most bizarre colors, +and she delighted in adorning her child with bits of +feathers, scraps of shabby lace, beads, and such-like +decorations. After her mother’s death, when Evelyn, +considered herself rich, she and Jasper purchased +the same sort of things, only using better materials. +Thus the thin silk was exchanged for thick silk, +cotton-back satin for the real article, velveteen for +velvet, cheap lace for real lace, and the gaily colored +beads for gold chains and strings of pearls. Nothing +in Evelyn’s opinion and nothing in Jasper’s opinion +could be more exquisitely beautiful than the toilet +which Evelyn brought to Castle Wynford; but Lady +Frances evidently thought otherwise. She ordered +a dark-blue serge, with a jacket to match, to be put +in hand immediately for the little girl; she bought +a dark-gray dress, ready made, which was to be sent +home that same evening. She got a neat black hat +to wear with the dress, and a thick black pilot-cloth +jacket to cover the small person of the heiress. As +to her evening-dresses, she chose them of fine, soft +white silk and fine, soft muslin; and then, having +added a large store of underclothing, all of the best +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132'></a>132</span> +quality, and one or two pale-pink and pale-blue evening-frocks, +all severely plain, she got once more into +her carriage, and, accompanied by Evelyn, drove +home. On the seat in front of the pair reposed a +box which contained a very simple white muslin +frock for Evelyn to wear that evening. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose Jasper will have gone when I get +back?” said the little girl to Lady Frances. +</p> +<p> +“Certainly,” said Lady Frances. “I ordered her +to be out of the house by half-past three; it is now +past five o’clock.” +</p> +<p> +“What am I to do for a maid?” +</p> +<p> +“My servant Read shall wait on you to-night and +every evening and morning until our guests have +gone; then Audrey’s maid Louisa will attend on +you.” +</p> +<p> +“But I want a maid all to myself.” +</p> +<p> +“You cannot have one. Louisa will give you +what assistance is necessary. I presume you do not +want to be absolutely dependent; you would like +to be able to do things for yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“In mother’s time I did everything for myself, +but now it is different. I am a very, very rich girl +now.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Frances was silent when Evelyn made this +remark. +</p> +<p> +“I am rich, am I not, Aunt Frances?” said the +little heiress almost timidly. +</p> +<p> +“I cannot see where the riches come in, Evelyn. +At the present moment you depend on your uncle +for every penny that is spent upon you.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133'></a>133</span> +</p> +<p> +“But I am the heiress!” +</p> +<p> +“Let the future take care of itself. You are a +little girl—small, insignificant, and ignorant. You +require to be trained and looked after, and to have +your character moulded, and for all these things +you depend on the kindness of your relations. The +fact is this, Evelyn: at present you have not the +slightest idea of your true position. When you find +your level I shall have hopes of you—not before.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn leant back hopelessly in the carriage and +began to sob. After a time she said: +</p> +<p> +“I wish you would let me keep Jasper.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Frances was silent. +</p> +<p> +“Why won’t you let me keep Jasper?” +</p> +<p> +“I do not consider it good for you.” +</p> +<p> +“But mothery asked you to.” +</p> +<p> +“It gives me pain, Evelyn, under the circumstances +to refuse your mother’s request; but I have consulted +your uncle, and we both feel that the steps I have +taken are the only ones to take.” +</p> +<p> +“Who will sleep in my room to-night?” +</p> +<p> +“Are you such a baby as to need anybody?” +</p> +<p> +“I never slept alone in my life. I am quite terrified. +I suppose your big, ancient house is haunted?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, what a silly child you are! Very well, for +a night or two I will humor you, and Read shall +sleep in the room; but now clearly understand I +allow no bedroom suppers and no gossip—but Read +will see to that. Now, make up your mind to be +happy and contented—in short, to submit to the life +which Providence has ordered for you. Think first +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134'></a>134</span> +of others and last of yourself and you may be happy. +Consult Audrey and Miss Sinclair and you will gain +wisdom. Obey me whether you like it or not, or you +will certainly be a very wretched girl. Ah! and +here we are. You would like to go to the schoolroom; +they are having tea there, I believe. Run off, +dear; that will do for the present.” +</p> +<p> +When Evelyn reached the schoolroom she found +a busy and animated group all seated about in different +parts of it. They were eagerly discussing the +charade, and when Evelyn arrived she was welcomed. +</p> +<p> +“I am ever so sorry, Evelyn,” said Audrey, “that +you cannot have the part you wanted; but we mean +to get up some other charades later on in the week, +and then you shall help us and have a very good +part. You do not mind our arrangement for to-night, +do you?” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn replied somewhat sulkily. Audrey determined +to take no notice. She sat down by her little +cousin, told Sophie to fetch some hot tea, and soon +coaxed Evelyn into a fairly good-humor. The small +part she was to undertake was read over to her, and +she was obliged to get certain words by heart. She +had little or no idea of acting, but there was a certain +calm assurance about her which would carry her +through many difficulties. The children, incited by +Audrey’s example, were determined to pet her and +make the best of her; and when she did leave the +schoolroom she felt almost as happy and important +as she thought she ought to be. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135'></a>135</span> +</p> +<p> +“What a horrid girl she is!” said Sophie as soon +as the door had closed behind Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“I wish you would not say that,” remarked Audrey; +and a look of distress visited her pretty face. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, we do not mind for ourselves,” remarked +Juliet; “it is on your account, Audrey. You know +what great friends we have always been, and now +to have you associated every day, and all day long +with a girl of that sort—it really seems almost past +bearing.” +</p> +<p> +“I shall get used to it,” said Audrey. “And remember +that I pity her, and am sorry—very sorry—for +her. I dare say we shall win her over by being +kind.” +</p> +<p> +“Well,” said Henrietta, rising as she spoke and +slowly crossing the room, “I have promised to be +civil to her for your sake for a day or two, but I vow +it will not last long if she gives herself such ridiculous +airs. The idea of her ever having a place like +this!” +</p> +<p> +She said the last words below her breath, and +Audrey did not hear them. Presently her mother +called her, and the young girl ran off. The others +looked at each other. +</p> +<p> +“Well, Arthur, and what is filling your mind?” +said his sister Henrietta, looking into the face of the +handsome boy. +</p> +<p> +“I am thinking of Sylvia,” he answered. “I wish +she were here instead of Evelyn. Don’t you like +her very much, Hennie? Don’t you think she is a +very handsome and very interesting girl?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136'></a>136</span> +</p> +<p> +“I hardly spoke to her,” replied Henrietta. “I +saw you were taken with her.” +</p> +<p> +“She was mysterious; that is one reason why +I like her,” he replied. Then he added abruptly: +“I wish you would make friends with her, Henrietta. +I wish you, and Juliet too, could be specially kind +to her; she looks so very sad.” +</p> +<p> +“I never saw a merrier girl,” was Juliet’s reply. +“But then, I don’t see people with your eyes; you +are always a good one at guessing people’s secrets.” +</p> +<p> +“I take after Moss in that,” he replied. +</p> +<p> +“There never was any one like her,” said Juliet. +“Well, I am going to dress now. I hope the charade +will go off well. What a blessing Lady Frances +came to the rescue and delivered us from Evelyn’s +spoiling everything by taking a good part!” +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile Evelyn had gone up to her room. It +was neat and in perfect order once more. Jasper’s +brief reign had passed and left no sign. The fire +burned brightly on the carefully swept-up hearth; +the electric light made the room bright as day. A +neat, grave-looking woman was standing by the fire, +and when Evelyn appeared she came forward to +meet her. +</p> +<p> +“My name is Mrs. Read,” she said. “I am my +mistress’s own special maid, but she has asked me to +see to your toilet this evening, Miss Wynford; and +this, I understand, is the dress her ladyship wishes +you to wear.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn pouted; then she tossed off her hat and +looked full up at Read. Her lips quivered, and a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137'></a>137</span> +troubled, pathetic light for the first time filled her +brown eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Where is Jasper?” she asked abruptly. +</p> +<p> +“Miss Jasper has left, my dear young lady.” +</p> +<p> +“Then I hate you, and I don’t want you to dress +me. You can go away,” said Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“I am sorry, Miss Wynford, but her ladyship’s +orders are that I am to attend to your wardrobe. +Perhaps you will allow me to do your hair and put +on your dress at once, as her ladyship wants me to +go to her a little later.” +</p> +<p> +“You will do nothing of the kind. I will dress +myself now that Jasper has gone.” +</p> +<p> +“And a good thing too, miss. Young ladies ought +always to make themselves useful. The more you +know, the better off you will be; that is my opinion.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn looked full up at Read. Read had a +kindly face, calm blue eyes, a firm, imperturbable +sort of mouth. She wore her hair very neatly +banded on each side of her head. Her dress was +perfectly immaculate. There was nothing out of +place; she looked, in short, like the very soul of order. +</p> +<p> +“Do you know who I am?” was Evelyn’s remark. +</p> +<p> +“Certainly I do, Miss Wynford.” +</p> +<p> +“Please tell me.” +</p> +<p> +The glimmer of a smile flitted across Read’s calm +mouth. +</p> +<p> +“You are a young lady from Tasmania, niece to +the Squire, and you have come over here to be educated +with Miss Audrey—bless her!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138'></a>138</span> +</p> +<p> +“Is that all you know!” said Evelyn. “Then I +will tell you more. There will come a day when +your Miss Audrey will have nothing to do with the +Castle, and when I shall have everything to do with +it. I am to be mistress here any day, whenever my +uncle dies.” +</p> +<p> +“My dear Miss Wynford, don’t speak like that! +The Squire is safe to live, Providence permitting, for +many a long year.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn sat down again. +</p> +<p> +“I think my aunt, Lady Frances, one of the +cruellest women in the world,” she continued. “Now +you know what I think, and you can tell her, you +nasty cross-patch. You can go away and tell her at +once. I longed to say so to her face when I was +out driving to-day, but she has got the upper hand +of me, although she is not going to keep it. I don’t +want you to help me; I hate you nearly as much as +I hate her!” +</p> +<p> +Read looked as though she did not hear a single +remark that Evelyn made. She crossed the room, +and presently returned with a can of hot water and +poured some into a basin. +</p> +<p> +“Now, miss,” she said, “if you will wash your face +and hands, I will arrange your hair.” +</p> +<p> +There was something in her tone which reduced +Evelyn to silence. +</p> +<p> +“Did you not hear what I said?” she remarked +after a minute. +</p> +<p> +“No, miss; it may be more truthful to say I did +not. When young ladies talk silly, naughty words +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139'></a>139</span> +I have a ’abit of shutting up my ears; so it ain’t no +manner of use to talk on to me, miss, for I don’t +hear, and I won’t hear, and that is flat. If you will +come now, like a good little lady, and allow yourself +to be dressed, I have a bit of a surprise for you; but +you will not know about it before your toilet is +complete.” +</p> +<p> +“A bit of a surprise!” said Evelyn, who was intensely +curious. “What in the world can it be?” +</p> +<p> +“I will tell you when you are dressed, miss; and +I must ask you to hurry, for my mistress is waiting +for me.” +</p> +<p> +If Evelyn had one overweening failing more than +another, it was inordinate curiosity. She rose, therefore, +and submitted with a very bad grace to Read’s +manipulations. Her face and hands were washed, +and Read proceeded to brush out the scanty flaxen +locks. +</p> +<p> +“Are you not going to pile my hair on the top of +my head?” asked the little girl. +</p> +<p> +“Oh dear, no, Miss Wynford; that ain’t at all +the way little ladies of your age wear their hair.” +</p> +<p> +“I always wore it like that when I was in Tasmania +with mothery!” +</p> +<p> +“Tasmania is not England, miss. It would not +suit her ladyship for you to wear your hair so.” +</p> +<p> +“Then I won’t wear it any other way.” +</p> +<p> +“As you please, miss. I can put on your dress, +and you can arrange your hair yourself, but I won’t +give you what will be a bit of a surprise to you.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, do it as you please,” said Evelyn. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140'></a>140</span> +</p> +<p> +Her hair, very pretty in itself, although far too thin +to make much show, was accordingly arranged in +childish fashion; and when Evelyn presently found +herself arrayed in her high-bodied and long-sleeved +white muslin dress, with white silk stockings and +little silk shoes to match, and a white sash round her +waist, she gazed at herself in the glass in puzzled +wonder. +</p> +<p> +Read stood for a moment watching her face. +</p> +<p> +“I am pretty, am I not?” said Evelyn, turning +and looking full at her maid. +</p> +<p> +“It is best not to think of looks, and it is downright +sinful to talk of them,” was Read’s somewhat +severe answer. +</p> +<p> +Evelyn’s eyes twinkled. +</p> +<p> +“I feel like a very good, pretty little girl,” she +said. “Last night I was a charming grown-up +young lady. Very soon again I shall be a charming +grown-up young lady, and whether Aunt Frances +likes it or not, I shall be much, much better-looking +than Audrey. Now, please, I have been good, and +I want what you said you had for me.” +</p> +<p> +“It is a letter from Jasper,” replied Read. “She +told me I was to give it to you. Now, please, miss, +don’t make yourself untidy. You look very nice +and suitable. When the gong rings you can go down-stairs, +or sooner if your fancy takes you. I am going +off now to attend to my mistress.” +</p> +<p> +When alone, Evelyn tore open the letter which +Jasper had left for her. It was short, and ran as +follows: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141'></a>141</span> +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +<span class='sc'>My darling, precious Lamb</span>,—The best friends +must part, but, oh, it is a black, black heart that +makes it necessary! My heart is bleeding to think +that you won’t have me to make your chocolate, and +to lie down in the little white bed by your side this +evening. Yes, it is bleeding, and bleeding badly, and +there will be no blessing on her who has tried to part +us. But, Miss Evelyn, my dear, don’t you fret, for +though I am away I do not mean to be far away, +and when you want me I will still be there. I have +a plan in my head, and I will let you know about +it when it is properly laid. No more at present, +but if you think of me every minute to-night, so +will I think of you, my dear little white Eve; and +don’t forget, darling, that whatever they may do +to you, the time will come when they will all, the +Squire excepted, be under your thumb. +</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; margin-right:2em;;'>—Your loving</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; margin-right:2em;;'>“<span class='sc'>Jasper</span>.”</p> +<p> +The morsel of content and satisfaction which +Evelyn had felt when she saw herself looking like a +nice, ordinary little girl, and when she had sat in the +schoolroom surrounded by all the gay young folks +of her cousin’s station in life, vanished completely as +she read Jasper’s injudicious words. Tears flowed +from her eyes; she clenched her hands. She danced +passionately about the room. She longed to tear +from her locks the white ribbons which Read had +arranged there; she longed to get into the white +satin dress which she had worn on the previous +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142'></a>142</span> +occasion; she longed to do anything on earth to defy +Lady Frances; but, alack and alas! what good were +longings when the means of yielding to them were +denied?—for all that precious and fascinating wardrobe +had been put into Evelyn’s traveling-trunks, +and those trunks had been conveyed from the blue-and-silver +bedroom. The little girl found that she +had to submit. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I do—I do,” she thought—“but only outwardly. +Oh, she will never break me in! Mothery +darling, she will never break me in. I am going to +be naughty always, always, because she is so cruel, +and because I hate her, and because she has parted +me from Jasper—your friend, my darling mothery, +your friend!” +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143'></a>143</span><a name='chXII' id='chXII'></a>CHAPTER XII.—HUNGER.</h2> +<p> +When Jasper was conveyed from Wynford Castle +she drove to the “Green Man” in the village. +There she asked the landlady if she could give her a +small bedroom for the night. The landlady, a certain +Mrs. Simpson, was quite willing to oblige Miss +Jasper. She was accommodated with a bedroom, +and having seen her boxes deposited there, wandered +about the village. She took the bearings of the +place, which was small and unimportant, and altogether +devoted to the interests of the great folks at +Castle Wynford. Wynford village lived, indeed, +for the Castle; without the big house, as they +called it, the villagers would have little or no existence. +The village received its patronage from +the Squire and his family. Every house in the village +belonged to Squire Wynford. The inhabitants +regarded him as if he were their feudal lord. He +was kindly to all, sympathetic in sorrow, ready to +rejoice when bright moments visited each or any +of his tenants. Lady Frances was an admirable +almoner of the different charities which came from +the great house. There was not a poor woman in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144'></a>144</span> +the length and breadth of Wynford village who was +not perfectly well aware that her ladyship knew +all about her, even to her little sins and her small +transgressions; all about her struggles as well as +her falls, her temptations as well as her moments +of victory. Lady Frances was loved and feared; +the Squire was loved and respected; Audrey was +loved in the sort of passionate way in which people +will regard the girl who always has been to them +more or less a little princess. Therefore now, as +Jasper walked slowly through the village with the +fading light falling all over her, she knew she +was a person of interest. Beyond doubt that was +the case; but although the villagers were interested +in her, and peeped outside their houses to watch +her (even the grocer, who did a roaring trade, and +took the tenor solo on Sunday in the church choir, +peered round his doorstep with the others), she +knew that she was favored with no admiring looks, +and that the villagers one and all were prepared to +fight her. That was indeed the case, for secrets +are no secrets where a great family are concerned, +and the villagers knew that Jasper had come over +from the other side of the world with the real heiress. +</p> +<p> +“A dowdy, ill-favored girl,” they said one to the +other; “but nevertheless, when the Squire—bless +him!—is gathered to his fathers, she will reign in +his stead, and sweet, darling, beautiful Miss Audrey +will be nowhere.” +</p> +<p> +They said this, repeating the disagreeable news +one to the other, and vowing each and all that they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145'></a>145</span> +would never care for the Australian girl, and never +give her a welcome. +</p> +<p> +As Jasper slowly walked she was conscious of the +feeling of hostility which surrounded her. +</p> +<p> +“It won’t do,” she said to herself. “I meant to +take up my abode at the ‘Green Man,’ and I meant +that no one in the place should turn me out, but I +do not believe I shall be able to continue there; and +yet, to go far away from my sweet little Eve is not +to be thought of. I have money of my own. Her +mother was a wise woman when she said to me, +‘Jasper, the time may come when you will need it; +and although it belongs to Eve, you must spend it +as you think best in her service.’ +</p> +<p> +“It ain’t much,” thought Jasper to herself, “but +it is sixty pounds, and I have it in gold sovereigns, +scattered here and there in my big black trunk, and +I mean to spend it in watching over the dear angel +lamb. Mrs. Simpson of the ‘Green Man’ would +be the better of it, but she sha’n’t have much of +it—of that I am resolved.” +</p> +<p> +So Jasper presently left the village and began +strolling in the direction where the river Earn flows +between dark rocks until it loses itself in a narrow +stream among the peaceful hills. In that direction +lay The Priory, with its thick yew hedge and its +shut-in appearance. +</p> +<p> +As Jasper continued her walk she knew nothing +of the near neighborhood of The Priory, and no one +in all the world was farther from her thoughts +than the pretty, tall slip of a girl who lived there. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146'></a>146</span> +</p> +<p> +Now, it so happened that Sylvia was taking her +walks abroad also in the hour of dusk. It was one +of her peculiarities never to spend an hour that she +could help indoors. She had to sleep indoors, and +she had to take what food she could manage to secure +also under the roof which she so hated; but, +come rain or shine, storm or calm, every scrap of +the rest of her time was spent wandering about. +To the amount of fresh air which she breathed she +owed her health and a good deal of her beauty. +She was out now as usual, her big mastiff, Pilot, +bearing her company. She was never afraid where +she wandered with this protection, for Pilot was a +dog of sagacity, and would soon make matters too +hot for any one who meant harm to his young +mistress. +</p> +<p> +Sylvia walked slowly. She was thinking hard. +“What a delightful time she was having twenty-four +hours ago! What a good dinner she was about to +eat! How pleasant it was to wear Audrey’s pretty +dress! How delightful to dance in the hall and talk +to Arthur Jervice! She wondered what his sister +with the curious name was like. How beautiful his +face looked when he spoke of her! +</p> +<p> +“She must be lovely too,” thought Sylvia. “And +so restful! There is nothing so cool and comfortable +and peaceful as a mossy bank. I suppose she +is called Moss because she comforts people.” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia hurried a little. Presently she stood and +looked around her to be sure that no one was by. +She then deliberately tightened her belt. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147'></a>147</span> +</p> +<p> +“It makes me feel the pangs less,” she thought. +“Oh dear, how delightful, how happy those must be +who are never, never hungry! Sometimes I can +scarcely bear it; I almost feel that I could steal +something to have a big, big meal. What a lot I +ate last night, and how I longed to pocket even that +great hunch of bread which was placed near my +plate! But I did not dare. I thought my big +meal would keep off my hunger to-day, but I believe +it has made it worse than ever. I must have a +straight talk with father to-night. I must tell him +plainly that, however coarse the food, I must at +least have enough of it. Oh dear, I ache—I <em>ache</em> for +a good meal!” +</p> +<p> +The poor girl stood still. Footsteps were heard +approaching. They were now close by. Pilot +pricked up his ears and listened. A moment later +Jasper appeared on the scene. +</p> +<p> +When she saw Sylvia she stopped, dropped a little +courtesy, and said in a semi-familiar tone: +</p> +<p> +“And how are you this evening, Miss Leeson?” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia had not seen her as she approached. The +girl started now and turned quickly round. +</p> +<p> +“You are Jasper?” she said. “What are you +doing here?” +</p> +<p> +“Taking the air, miss. Have you any objection?” +</p> +<p> +“None, of course,” replied Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +Had there been light enough to see, Jasper would +have noticed that the girl’s face took on a cheerful +expression. She laid her hand on Pilot’s forehead. +Pilot growled. Sylvia said to him: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148'></a>148</span> +</p> +<p> +“Be quiet; this is a friend.” +</p> +<p> +Pilot evidently understood the words. He wagged +his bushy tail and looked in Jasper’s direction. +Jasper came boldly up and laid her hand beside +Sylvia’s on the dog’s forehead. The tail wagged +more demonstratively. +</p> +<p> +“You have won him,” said Sylvia in a tone of +delight. “Do you know, I am glad, although I cannot +tell why I should be.” +</p> +<p> +“He looks as if he could be very formidable,” said +Jasper.—“Ah, good dog—good dog! Noble creature! +So I am your friend? Good dog!” +</p> +<p> +“But it must be rather unpleasant for visitors to +come to call on you, Miss Sylvia, with such a dog +as that loose about the place. Now, I, for instance——” +</p> +<p> +“If you had a message from Evelyn for me,” said +Sylvia, “you could call now with impunity. +Strangers cannot; that is why father keeps Pilot. +He is trained never to touch any one, but he is also +trained to keep every one out. He does that in the +best manner possible. He stands right in the person’s +path and shows his big fangs and growls. +Nobody would dream of going past him; but you +would be safe.” +</p> +<p> +Jasper stood silent. +</p> +<p> +“It may be useful,” she repeated. +</p> +<p> +“You have not come now with a message from +Evelyn?” said Sylvia, a pathetic tone in her voice. +</p> +<p> +“No, miss, I have not; but do you know, miss—do +you know what has happened to me?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149'></a>149</span> +</p> +<p> +“How should I?” replied Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +“I am turned out, miss—turned out by her ladyship—I +who had a letter from Mrs. Wynford in +Tasmania asking her ladyship to keep me always as +my little Evelyn’s friend and nurse and guardian. +Yes, Miss Sylvia, I am turned away as though I +were dirt. I am turned away, miss, although it was +only yesterday that her ladyship got the letter which +the dying mother wrote. It is hard, is it not, Miss +Leeson? It is cruel, is it not?” +</p> +<p> +“Hard and cruel!” echoed Sylvia. “It is worse. +It is a horrible sin. I wonder you stand it!” +</p> +<p> +“Now, miss, for such a pretty young lady I wonder +you have not more sense. Do you think I’d go +if I could help it?” +</p> +<p> +“What does Evelyn say?” asked Sylvia, intensely +excited. +</p> +<p> +“What does she say? Nothing. She is stunned, +I take it; but she will wake up and know what +it means. No chocolate, and no one to sleep in the +little white bed by her side.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, how she must enjoy her chocolate!” said +poor Sylvia, a sigh of longing in her voice. +</p> +<p> +“I am grand at making it,” said Jasper. “I have +spent my life in many out-of-the-way places. It +was in Madrid I learnt to make chocolate; no one +can excel me with it. I’d like well to make a cup +for you.” +</p> +<p> +“And I’d like to drink it,” said Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +“As well as I can see you in this light,” continued +Jasper, “you look as if a cup of my chocolate would +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150'></a>150</span> +do you good. Chocolate made all of milk, with +plenty of bread and butter, is a meal which no one +need despise. I say, miss, shall we go back to the +“Green Man,” and shall you and me have a bit of +supper together? You would not be too proud to +take it with me although I am only my young lady’s +maid?” +</p> +<p> +“I wish I could,” said Sylvia. There was a wild +desire in her heart, a sort of passion of hunger. +“But,” she continued, “I cannot; I must go home +now.” +</p> +<p> +“Is your home near, miss?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh yes; it is just at the other side of that wall. +But please do not talk of it—father hates +people knowing. He likes us to live quite solitary.” +</p> +<p> +“And it is a big house. Yes, I can see that,” +continued Jasper, peering through the trees. +</p> +<p> +Just then a young crescent moon showed its face, +a bank of clouds swept away to the left, and Jasper +could distinctly see the square outline of an ugly +house. She saw something else also—the very white +face of the hungry Sylvia, the look which was almost +starvation in her eyes. Jasper was clever; she +might not be highly educated in the ordinary sense, +but she had been taught to use her brains, and she +had excellent brains to use. Now, as she looked at +the girl, an idea flashed through her mind. +</p> +<p> +“For some extraordinary reason that child is +downright hungry,” she said to herself. “Now, +nothing would suit my purpose better.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151'></a>151</span> +</p> +<p> +She came close to Sylvia and laid her hand on +her arm. +</p> +<p> +“I have taken a great fancy to you, miss,” she +said. +</p> +<p> +“Have you?” answered Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, miss; and I am very lonely, and I don’t +mean to stay far away from my dear young lady.” +</p> +<p> +“Are you going to live in the village?” asked +Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +“I have a room now at the ‘Green Man,’ Miss +Leeson, but I don’t mean to stay there; I don’t care +for the landlady. And I don’t want to be, so to +speak, under her ladyship’s nose. Her ladyship +has took a mortal hatred to me, and as the village, +so to speak, belongs to the Castle, if the Castle was +to inform the ‘Green Man’ that my absence was +more to be desired than my company, why, out I’d +have to go. You can understand that, can you not, +miss?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes—of course.” +</p> +<p> +“And it is the way with all the houses round +here,” continued Jasper; “they are all under the +thumb of the Castle—under the thumb of her ladyship—and +I cannot possibly stay near my dear +young lady unless——” +</p> +<p> +“Unless?” questioned Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +“You was to give me shelter, miss, in your +house.” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia backed away, absolute terror creeping over +her face. +</p> +<p> +“Oh! I could not,” she said. “You do not know +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152'></a>152</span> +what you are asking. We never have any one at +The Priory. I could not possibly do it.” +</p> +<p> +“I’d pay you a pound a week,” said Jasper, +throwing down her trump card—“a pound a +week,” she continued—“twenty whole shillings put +in the palm of that pretty little hand of yours, paid +regularly in advance; and you might have me in a +big house like that without anybody knowing. I +heard you speak of the gentleman, your father; he +need never know. Is there not a room at The +Priory which no one goes into, and could not I +sleep there? And you’d have money, miss—twenty +shillings; and I’d feed you up with chocolate, miss, +and bread and butter, and—oh! lots of other things. +I have not been on a ranch in Tasmania for nothing. +You could hide me at The Priory, and you could +keep me acquainted with all that happened to my +little Eve, and I’d pay for it, miss, and not a soul on +earth would be the wiser.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, don’t!” said Sylvia—“don’t!” She covered +her face with her hands; she shook all over. “Don’t +tempt me!” she said. “Go away; do go away! +Of course I cannot have you. To deceive him—to +shock him—why——Oh, I dare not—I dare not! +It would not be safe. There are times when he is +scarcely—yes, scarcely himself; and I must not try +him too far. Oh, what have I said?” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing, my dear—nothing. You are a bit overcome. +And now, shall I tell you why?” +</p> +<p> +“No, don’t tell me anything more. Go; do go—do +go!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153'></a>153</span> +</p> +<p> +“I will go,” said Jasper, “after I have spoken. +You are trembling, and you are cold, and you are +frightened—you who ought never to tremble; you +who under ordinary circumstances ought to know no +fear; you who are beautiful—yes, beautiful! But +you tremble because that poor young body of yours +needs food and warmth—poor child!—I know.” +</p> +<p> +“Go!” said Sylvia. They were her only words. +</p> +<p> +“I will go,” answered Jasper after a pause; “but +I will come again to this same spot to-morrow night, +and then you can answer me. Her ladyship cannot +turn me out between now and to-morrow night, and +I will come then for my answer.” +</p> +<p> +She turned and left Sylvia and went straight back +to the village. +</p> +<p> +Sylvia stood still for a minute after she had gone. +She then turned very slowly and re-entered The Priory +grounds. A moment later she was in the ugly, +ill-furnished house. The hall into which she had +admitted herself was perfectly dark. There were +no carpets on the floor, and the wind whistled +through the ill-fitting casements. The young girl +fumbled about until she found a box of matches. +She struck one and lit a candle which stood in +a brass candlestick on a shelf. She then drearily +mounted the uncarpeted stairs. She went to her +own room, and opening a box, looked quickly and +furtively around her. The box contained some crusts +of bread and a few dried figs. Sylvia counted the +crusts with fingers that shook. There were five. +The crusts were not large, and they were dry. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154'></a>154</span> +</p> +<p> +“I will eat one to-night,” she said to herself, “and—yes, +two of the figs. I will not eat anything now. +I wish Jasper had not tempted me. Twenty shillings, +and paid in advance; and father need never know! +Lots of room in the house! Yes; I know the one +she could have, and I could make it comfortable; +and father never goes there—never. It is away +beyond the kitchen. I could make it very comfortable. +She should have a fire, and we could +have our chocolate there. We must never, never +have any cooking that smells; we must never have +anything fried; we must just have plain things. +Oh! I dare not think any more. Mother once said +to me, ‘If your father ever, ever finds out, Sylvia, +that you have deceived him, all, all will be up.’ +I won’t yield to temptation; it would be an awful +act of deceit. I cannot—I will not do it! If +he will only give me enough I will resist Jasper; +but it is hard on a girl to be so frightfully hungry.” +</p> +<p> +She sighed, pulled herself together, walked to the +window, and looked up at the watery moon. +</p> +<p> +“My own mother,” she whispered, “can you see +me, and are you sorry for me, and are you helping +me?” +</p> +<p> +Then she washed her hands, combed out her pretty, +curly black hair, and ran down-stairs. When she got +half-way down she burst into a cheerful song, and +as she bounded into a room where a man sat crouching +over a few embers on the hearth her voice rose to +positive gaiety. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155'></a>155</span> +</p> +<p> +“Where have you been all this time?” said the +querulous tones. +</p> +<p> +“Learning a new song for you, dad. Come now; +supper is ready.” +</p> +<p> +“Supper!” said the man. He rose, and turned +and faced his daughter. +</p> +<p> +He was a very thin man, with hair which must +once have been as black as Sylvia’s own; his eyes, +dark as the young girl’s, were sunk so far back in his +head that they gleamed like half-burnt-out coals; +his cheeks were very hollow, and he gave a pathetic +laugh as he turned and faced the girl. +</p> +<p> +“I have been making a calculation,” he said, “and +it is my firm impression that we are spending a great +deal more than is necessary. There are further reductions +which it is quite possible to make. But +come, child—come. How fat and well and strong +you look, and how hearty your voice is! You are +a merry creature, Sylvia, and the joy of my life. +Were it not for you I should never hold out. And +you are so good at pinching and contriving, dear! +But there, I give you too many luxuries don’t I, +my little one? I spoil you, don’t I? What did you +say was ready?” +</p> +<p> +“Supper, father—supper.” +</p> +<p> +“Supper!” said Mr. Leeson. “Why, it seems only +a moment ago that we dined.” +</p> +<p> +“It is six hours ago, father.” +</p> +<p> +“Now, Sylvia, if there is one thing I dislike more +than another, it is that habit of yours of counting +the hours between your meals. It is a distinct trace +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156'></a>156</span> +of greediness and of the lower nature. Ah, my child, +when will you live high above your mere bodily desires? +Supper, you say? I shall not be able to eat +a morsel, but I will go with you, dear, if you like. +Come, lead the way, my singing-bird; lead the way.” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia took a candle and lighted it. She then +went on in front of her father. They traversed a +long and dark passage, and presently she threw open +the door of as melancholy and desolate a room as +could be found anywhere in England. +</p> +<p> +The paper on the wall was scarcely perceptible, so +worn was it by the long passage of time. The floor +was bare of any carpet; there was a deal table at one +end of the room; on the table a small white cloth +had been placed. A piece of bread was on a wooden +platter on this table. There was also a jug of water +and a couple of baked potatoes. Sylvia had put +these potatoes into the oven before she went out, +otherwise there would not have been anything hot at +all for the meager repast. The grate was destitute +of any fire; and although there were blinds to the +windows, there were no curtains. The night was a +bitterly cold one, and the girl, insufficiently clothed +as well as unfed, shivered as she went into the room. +</p> +<p> +“What a palatial room this is!” said Mr. Leeson. +“I really often think I did wrong to come to this +house. I have not the slightest doubt that my +neighbors imagine that I am a man of means. It +is extremely wrong to encourage that impression, +and I trust, Sylvia, that you never by word or action +do so. A lady you are, my dear, and a lady you will +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157'></a>157</span> +look whatever you wear; but that beautiful simplicity +which rises above mere dress and mere food is +what I should like to inculcate in your nature, my +sweet child. Ah! potatoes—and hot! My dear +Sylvia, was this necessary?” +</p> +<p> +“There are only two, father—one for you and one +for me.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, well! I suppose the young must have their +dainties as long as the world lasts,” said Mr. Leeson. +“Sit down, my dear, and eat. I will stand and +watch you.” +</p> +<p> +“Won’t you eat anything, father?” said the girl. +A curious expression filled her dark eyes. She +longed for him to eat, and yet she could not help +thinking how supporting and soothing and satisfying +both those potatoes would be, and all that hunch of +dry bread. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Leeson paused before replying: +</p> +<p> +“It would be impossible for you to eat more than +one potato, and it would be a sin that the other +should be wasted. I may as well have it.” He +dropped into a chair. “Not that I am the least hungry,” +he added as he took the largest potato and put +it on his plate. “Still, anything is preferable to +waste. What a pity it is that no one has discovered +a use for the skins, for these as a rule have absolutely +to be wasted! When I have gone through some +abstruse calculations over which I am at present engaged, +I shall turn my attention to the matter. +Quantities of nourishing food are doubtless wasted +every year by the manner in which potato-skins are +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158'></a>158</span> +thrown away. Ah! and this bread, Sylvia—how long +has it been in the house?” +</p> +<p> +“I got it exactly a week ago,” said Sylvia. “It is +quite the ordinary kind.” +</p> +<p> +“It is too fresh, my dear. In future we must not +eat new bread.” +</p> +<p> +“It is a week old, father.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t take me up in that captious way. I say +we must not eat new bread. It was only to-day I +came across a book which said that bread when turning +slightly—very slightly—moldy satisfies the appetite +far more readily than new bread. Then you will +see for yourself, Sylvia, that a loaf of such bread may +be made to go nearly as far as two loaves of the +ordinary kind. You follow me, do you not, singing-bird?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, father—yes. But may I eat my potato now +while it is hot?” +</p> +<p> +“How the young do crave for unnecessary indulgences!” +said Mr. Leeson; but he broke his own +potato in half, and Sylvia seized the opportunity to +demolish hers. +</p> +<p> +Alack and alas! when it was finished, every scrap +of it, scarcely any even of the skin being left, she felt +almost more hungry than ever. She stretched out +her hand for the bread. Mr. Leeson raised his eyes +as she did so and gave her a reproachful glance. +</p> +<p> +“You will be ill,” he said. “You will suffer from +a bilious attack. Take it—take it if you want it; I +am the last to interfere with your natural appetite.” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia ate; she ate although her father’s displeased +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159'></a>159</span> +eyes were fixed on her face. She helped herself +twice to the stale and untempting loaf. Delicious it +tasted. She could even have demolished every scrap +of it and still have felt half-wild with hunger. But +she was eating it now to give herself courage, for +she had made up her mind—speak she must. +</p> +<p> +The meal came to an end. Mr. Leeson had finished +his potato; Sylvia had very nearly consumed the +bread. +</p> +<p> +“There will be a very small breakfast to-morrow,” +he said in a mournful tone; “but you, Sylvia, after +your enormous supper, will scarcely require a large +one.” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia made no answer. She took her father’s +hand and walked back with him through the passage. +The fire was out now in the sitting-room; +Sylvia brought her father’s greatcoat. +</p> +<p> +“Put it on,” she said. “I want to sit close to you, +and I want to talk.” +</p> +<p> +He smiled at her and wrapped himself obediently +in his coat. It was lined with fur, a relic of bygone +and happier days. Sylvia turned the big fur collar +up round his ears; then she drew herself close to +him. She seated herself on his lap. +</p> +<p> +“Put your arm round me; I am cold,” she said. +</p> +<p> +“Cold, my dear little girl!” he said. “Why, so +you are! How very strange! It is doubtless from +overeating.” +</p> +<p> +“No, father.” +</p> +<p> +“Why that ‘No, father’? What a curious expression +is in your voice, Sylvia, my dear! Since +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160'></a>160</span> +your mother’s death you have been my one comfort. +Heart and soul you have gone with me through the +painful life which I am obliged to lead. I know +that I am doing the right thing. I am no longer +lavishly wasting that which has been entrusted to +me, but am, on the contrary, saving for the day of +need. My dear girl, you and I have planned our life +of retrenchment. How much does our food cost us +for a week?” +</p> +<p> +“Very, very little, father. Too little.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean by that?” +</p> +<p> +“Father, forgive me; I must speak.” +</p> +<p> +“What is wrong?” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Leeson pushed his daughter away. His eyes, +which had been full of kindness, grew sharp and +became slightly narrowed; a watchful expression +came into his face. +</p> +<p> +“Beware, Sylvia, how you agitate me; you know +the consequences.” +</p> +<p> +“Since mother died,” answered the girl, “I have +never agitated you; I have always tried to do exactly +as you wished.” +</p> +<p> +“On the whole you have been a good girl; your +one and only fault has been your greediness. Last +night, it is true, you displeased me very deeply, but +on your promise never to transgress so again I have +forgiven you.” +</p> +<p> +“Father,” said Sylvia in a tremulous tone, “I must +speak, and now. You must not be angry, father; +but you say that we spend too much on housekeeping. +We do not; we spend too little.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161'></a>161</span> +</p> +<p> +“Sylvia!” +</p> +<p> +“Yes; I am not going to be afraid,” continued the +girl. “You were displeased with me to-night—yes, +I know you were—because I nearly finished the +bread. I finished it because—because I was hungry; +yes, hungry. And, father, I do not mind how stale +the bread is, nor how poor the food, but I must—I +must have enough. You do not give me enough. +No, you do not. I cannot bear the pain. I cannot +bear the neuralgia. I cannot bear the cold of this +house. I want warmth, and I want food, and I want +clothes that will keep the chill away. That is +all—just physical things. I do not ask for fun, +nor for companions of my own age, nor for anything +of that sort, but I do ask you, father, not to +oblige me to lead this miserable, starved life in the +future.” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia paused; her courage, after all, was short-lived. +The look on her father’s face arrested her +words. He wore a stony look. His face, which had +been fairly animated, had lost almost all expression. +The pupils of his eyes were narrowed to a pin’s point. +Those eyes fixed themselves on the girl’s face as +though they were gimlets, as though they meant to +pierce right into her very soul. Alarm now took the +place of beseeching. +</p> +<p> +“Never mind,” she said—“never mind; it was +just your wild little rebellious Sylvia. Don’t +look at me like that. Don’t—don’t! Oh, I will +bear it—I will bear it! Don’t look at me like +that!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162'></a>162</span> +</p> +<p> +“Go to your room,” was his answer, “at once. +Go to your room.” +</p> +<p> +She was a spirited girl, but she crept out of the +room as though some one had beaten her. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163'></a>163</span><a name='chXIII' id='chXIII'></a>CHAPTER XIII.—JASPER TO THE RESCUE.</h2> +<p> +The next evening, at the hour which she had +named, Jasper walked down the road which led to +The Priory. She walked with a confident step; she +had very little doubt that Sylvia would be waiting +for her. She was not far wrong in her expectations. +A girl, wrapped in a cloak, was standing by a hedge. +By the girl stood the mastiff Pilot. Pilot was not +too well fed, but he was better fed than Sylvia. It +was necessary, according to Mr. Leeson’s ideas, that +Pilot should be strong enough to guard The Priory +against thieves, against unwelcome, prying visitors—against +the whole of the human race. But even +Pilot could be caught by guile, and Sylvia was determined +that he should be friends with Jasper. As +Jasper came up the road Sylvia advanced a step or +two to meet her. +</p> +<p> +“Well, dear,” said Jasper in a cheerful tone, “am +I to come in, and am I to be welcome?” +</p> +<p> +“You are to come in,” said Sylvia. “I have made +up my mind. I have been preparing your room all +day. If he finds it out I dare not think what will +happen. But come—do come; I am ready and +waiting for you.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164'></a>164</span> +</p> +<p> +“I thought you would be. I can fetch the rest +of my things to-morrow. Can we slip into my room +now?” +</p> +<p> +“We can. Come at once.—Pilot, remember that +this lady is our friend.—One moment, please, Jasper; +I must be quite certain that Pilot does not do you +an injury.—Pilot, give your right paw to this lady.” +</p> +<p> +Pilot looked anxiously from Jasper to Sylvia; +then, with a deliberate movement, and a great expression +of condescension on his face, he did extend +his right paw. Jasper took it. +</p> +<p> +“Kiss him now just between his eyes,” said Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +“Good gracious, child! I never kissed a dog in +my life.” +</p> +<p> +“Kiss him as you value your future safety. You +surely do not want to be a prisoner at The Priory!” +</p> +<p> +“Heaven forbid!” said Jasper. “What I want +to do, and what I mean to do, is to parade before her +ladyship just where her ladyship cannot touch me. +She could turn me out of every house in the place, +but not from here. I do not want to keep it any +secret from her ladyship that I am staying with +you, Miss Sylvia.” +</p> +<p> +“We can talk of that afterwards,” said Sylvia. +“Come into the house now.” +</p> +<p> +The two turned, the dog accompanying them. +They passed through the heavy iron gates and +walked softly up the avenue. +</p> +<p> +“What a close, dismal sort of place!” said Jasper. +</p> +<p> +“Please—please do not speak so loud; father may +overhear us.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165'></a>165</span> +</p> +<p> +“Then mum’s the word,” said the woman. +</p> +<p> +“Step on the grass here, please.” +</p> +<p> +Jasper did exactly as Sylvia directed her, and the +result was that soon the two found themselves in as +empty a kitchen as Jasper had ever beheld in the +whole course of her life. +</p> +<p> +“Sakes, child!” she cried, “is this where you cook +your meals?” +</p> +<p> +“The kitchen does quite well enough for our +requirements,” said Sylvia in a low tone. +</p> +<p> +“And where are you going to put me?” +</p> +<p> +“In this room. I think in the happy days when +the house was full this room must have been used +as the servants’ hall. See, there is a nice fireplace, +with a good fire in it. I have drawn down the +blinds, and I have put thick curtains—the only thick +curtains we possess—across the windows. There +are shutters too. If my father does walk abroad he +cannot see any light through this window. But I +am sorry to say you can have a fire only at night, +for he would be very angry if he saw the smoke +ascending in the daytime.” +</p> +<p> +“Hard lines! But I suppose, as I made the +offer, I must abide by it,” said Jasper. “The room +looks bare but well enough. It is clean, I suppose?” +</p> +<p> +“It is about as clean as I can make it,” said +Sylvia, with a dreary sigh. +</p> +<p> +“As clean as you can make it? Have you not a +servant, my dear?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh no; we do not keep a servant.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166'></a>166</span> +</p> +<p> +“Then I expect my work is cut out for me,” said +Jasper, who was thoroughly good-natured, and had +taken an immense fancy to Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +“Please,” said the girl earnestly, “you must not +attempt to make the place look the least bit better; +if you do, father will find out, and then——” +</p> +<p> +“Find out!” said Jasper. “If I were you, you +poor little thing, I would let him. But there! I am +in, and possession is everything. I have brought +my supper with me, and I thought maybe you would +not mind sharing it. I have it in this basket. This +basket contains what I require for the night and our +supper as well. I pay you twenty shillings a week, +and buy my own coals, so I suppose at night at least +I may have a big fire.” +</p> +<p> +Here Jasper went to a large, old-fashioned wooden +hod, and taking big lumps of coal, put them on the +fire. It blazed right merrily, and the heat filled the +room. Sylvia stole close to it and stretched out her +thin, white hands for the warmth. +</p> +<p> +“How delicious!” she said. +</p> +<p> +“You poor girl! Can you spend the rest of the +evening with me?” +</p> +<p> +“I must go to father. But, do you know, he has +prohibited anything but bread for supper.” +</p> +<p> +“What!” +</p> +<p> +“He does not want it himself, and he says that I +can do with bread. Oh, I could if there were enough +bread!” +</p> +<p> +“You poor, poor child! Why, it was Providence +which sent me all the way from Tasmania to make +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167'></a>167</span> +you comfortable and to save the bit of life in your +body.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I cannot—I cannot!” said Sylvia. Her +composure gave way; she sank into a chair and +burst into tears. +</p> +<p> +“You cannot what, you poor child?” +</p> +<p> +“Take everything from you. I—I am a lady. In +reality we are rich—yes, quite rich—only father has +a craze, and he won’t spend money. He hoards instead +of spending. It began in mother’s lifetime, +and he has got worse and worse and worse. They +say it is in the family, and his father had it, and his +father before him. When father was young he was +extravagant, and people thought that he would +never inherit the craze of a miser; but it has grown +with his middle life, and if mother were alive now +she would not know him.” +</p> +<p> +“And you are the sufferer, you poor lamb!” +</p> +<p> +“Yes; I get very hungry at times.” +</p> +<p> +“But, my dear, with twenty shillings a week you +need not be hungry.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh no. I cannot realize it. But I have to be +careful; father must not see any difference.” +</p> +<p> +“We will have our meals here,” said Jasper. +</p> +<p> +“But we must not light a fire by day,” said the +girl. +</p> +<p> +“Never mind; I can manage. Are there not such +things as spirit-lamps? Oh yes, I am a born cook. +Now then, go away, my dear; have your meal of +bread with your father, say good-night to him, and +then slip back to me.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168'></a>168</span> +</p> +<p> +Sylvia ran off almost joyfully. In about an hour +she returned. During that time Jasper had contrived +to make a considerable change in the room. The +warmth of the fire filled every corner now the thick +curtains at the window looked almost cheerful; the +heavy door tightly shut allowed no cold air to penetrate. +On the little table she had spread a white +cloth, and now that table was graced by a great +jug of steaming chocolate, a loaf of crisp white +bread, and a little pat of butter; and besides these +things there were a small tongue and a tiny pot of +jam. +</p> +<p> +“Things look better, don’t they?” said Jasper. +“And now, my dearie, you shall not only eat in +this room, but you shall sleep in that warm bed in +which I have just put my own favorite hot-water +bag.” +</p> +<p> +“But you—you?” said Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +“I either lie down by your side or I stay in the +chair by the fire. I am going to warm you up and +pet you, for you need it, you poor, brave little +girl!” +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169'></a>169</span><a name='chXIV' id='chXIV'></a>CHAPTER XIV.—CHANGE OF PLANS.</h2> +<p> +A whole month had gone by since Jasper had +left Evelyn, and Evelyn after a fashion had grown +accustomed to her absence. Considerable changes +had taken place in the little girl during that time. +She was no longer dressed in an <em>outré</em> style. She +wore her hair as any other very young girl of her +age would. She had ceased to consider herself +grown-up; and although she knew deep down in +her heart that she was the heiress—that by and by +all the fine property would belong to her—and although +she still gloried in the fact, either fear, or perhaps +the dawnings of a better nature prevented her +talking so much about it as she had done during +the early days of her stay at Castle Wynford. The +guests had all departed, and schoolroom life held +sway over both the girls. Miss Sinclair was the +very soul of order; she insisted on meals being +served in the schoolroom to the minute, and schoolroom +work being pursued with regularity and +method. There were so many hours for work and +so many hours for amusement. There were times +when the girls might be present with the Squire and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170'></a>170</span> +Lady Frances, and times when they only enjoyed +the society of Miss Sinclair. There were masters +for several accomplishments, and the girls had horses +to ride, and a pony-carriage was placed at their disposal, +and the hours were so full of occupation that +they went by on wings. Evelyn looked fifty times +better and happier than she had done when she first +arrived at Castle Wynford, and even Lady Frances +was forced to own that the child was turning out +better than she expected. How long this comparatively +happy state of things might have lasted it is +hard to say, but it was brought to an abrupt conclusion +by an event which occurred just then. This +was no less than the departure of kind Miss Sinclair. +Her mother had died quite suddenly; her father +needed her at home. She could not even stay for the +customary period after giving notice of her intention +to leave. Lady Frances, under the circumstances, +did not press her; and now the subject of how the +two girls were best to be educated was ceaselessly +discussed. Lady Frances was a born educationist; +she had the greatest love for subjects dealing with +the education of the young. She had her own +theories with regard to this important matter, and +when Miss Sinclair went away she was for a time +puzzled how to act. To get another governess was, +of course, the only thing to be done; but for a time +she wavered much as to the advisability of sending +Evelyn to school. +</p> +<p> +“I really think she ought to go,” said Lady +Frances to the Squire. “Even now she does not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171'></a>171</span> +half know her place. She has improved, I grant +you, but the thorough discipline of school would do +her good.” +</p> +<p> +“You have never sent Audrey to school,” was the +Squire’s answer. +</p> +<p> +“I have not, certainly; but Audrey is so different.” +</p> +<p> +“I should not like anything to be done in Evelyn’s +case which has not been done in Audrey’s,” was the +Squire’s reply. +</p> +<p> +“But surely you cannot compare the girls!” +</p> +<p> +“I do not intend to compare them. They are +absolutely different. Audrey is all that the heart +of the proudest father could desire, and Evelyn is +still——” +</p> +<p> +“A little savage at heart,” interrupted Lady +Frances. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; but she is taming, and I think she has +some fine points in her—indeed, I am sure of it. +She is, for instance, very affectionate.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Frances looked somewhat indignant. +</p> +<p> +“I am tired of hearing of Evelyn’s good qualities. +When I perceive them for myself I shall be the first +to acknowledge them. But now, my dear Edward, +the point to be considered is this: What are we to +do at once? It is nearly the middle of the term. +To give those two girls holidays would be ruinous. +There is an excellent school of a very superior sort +kept by the Misses Henderson in that large house +just outside the village. What do you say to their +both going there until we can look round us and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172'></a>172</span> +find a suitable governess to take Miss Sinclair’s +place?” +</p> +<p> +“If they both go it does not so much matter,” +said the Squire. “You can arrange it in that way +if you like, my dear Frances.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Frances gave a sigh of relief. She was +much interested in the Misses Henderson; she herself +had helped them to start their school. Accordingly, +that very afternoon she ordered the carriage +and drove to Chepstow House. The Misses Henderson +were expecting her, and received her in state +in their drawing-room. +</p> +<p> +“You know what I have come about?” she said. +“Now, the thing is this—can you do it?” +</p> +<p> +“I am quite certain of one thing,” said the elder +Miss Henderson—“that there will be no stone left +unturned on our parts to make the experiment +satisfactory.” +</p> +<p> +“Poor, dear Miss Sinclair—it is too terrible her +having to leave!” said Lady Frances. “We shall +never get her like again. To find exactly the +governess for girls like my daughter and niece is +no easy matter.” +</p> +<p> +“As to your dear daughter, she certainly will not be +hard to manage,” said the younger Miss Henderson. +</p> +<p> +“You are right, Miss Lucy,” said Lady Frances, +turning to her and speaking with decision. “I have +always endeavored to train Audrey in those nice +observances, those moral principles, and that high +tone which befits a girl who is a lady and who in +the future will occupy a high position.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173'></a>173</span> +</p> +<p> +“But your niece—your niece; she is the real +problem,” said the elder Miss Henderson. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” answered Lady Frances, with a sigh. +“When she came to me she was little less than a +savage. She has improved. I do not like her—I +do not pretend for a moment that I do—but I wish +to give the poor child every possible advantage, and +I am anxious, if possible, that my prejudice shall +not weigh with me in any sense in my dealings with +her; but she requires very firm treatment.” +</p> +<p> +“She shall have it,” said the elder Miss Henderson; +and a look of distinct pleasure crossed her face. +“I have had refractory girls before now,” she said, +“and I may add with confidence, Lady Frances, that +I have always broken them in. I do not expect to +fail in the case of Miss Wynford.” +</p> +<p> +“Firm discipline is essential,” replied Lady +Frances. “I told Miss Sinclair so, and she agreed +with me. I do not exactly know what her method +was, nor how she managed, but the child seemed +happy, she learnt her lessons correctly, and, in short, +she has improved. I trust the improvement will +continue under your management.” +</p> +<p> +Here the good lady, after adding a few more +words with regard to hours, etc., took her leave. +The girls were to go to Chepstow House as day-pupils, +and the work of their education at that +distinguished school was to begin on the following +morning. +</p> +<p> +Evelyn was rather pleased than otherwise when +she heard that she was to be sent to school. She +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174'></a>174</span> +had cried and flung her arms round Miss Sinclair’s +neck when that lady was taking leave of her. +Audrey, on the contrary, had scarcely spoken; her +face looked a little whiter than usual, and her eyes +a little darker. She took the governess’s hand and +wrung it, and as she bent forward to kiss her again +on the cheek, Miss Sinclair kissed her and whispered +something to her. But it was poor Evelyn who +cried. The carriage took the governess away, and +the girls looked at each other. +</p> +<p> +“I did not know you could be so stony-hearted,” +said Evelyn. She took out her handkerchief as she +spoke and mopped her eyes. “Oh dear!” she added, +“I am quite broken-hearted without her. I am +<em>such</em> an affectionate girl.” +</p> +<p> +“We had better prepare for school,” said Audrey. +“We are to go there to-morrow morning, remember.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” answered Evelyn, her eyes brightening; +“and do you know, although I am terribly sorry to +part with dear Miss Sinclair, I am glad about school. +Mothery always wished me to go; she said that +talents like mine could never find a proper vent +except in school-life. I wonder what sort of girls +there are at Chepstow House?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know anything about it,” said Audrey. +</p> +<p> +“Are you sorry to go, Audrey?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes—rather. I have never been to school.” +</p> +<p> +“How funny it will be to see you looking shy and +awkward! Will you be shy and awkward?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t think so. I hope not.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175'></a>175</span> +</p> +<p> +“It would be fun to see it, all the same,” said +Evelyn. “But there, I am going for a race; my +legs are quite stiff for want of running. I used to +run such a lot in Tasmania on the ranch! Often +and often I ran a whole mile without stopping. +Good-by for the present. I suppose I may do what +I like to-day.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn rushed off into the grounds. She was +running at full speed through the shrubbery on her +way to a big field, which was known as the ten-acre +field, on the other side of the turnstile, when she +came full tilt against her uncle. He stopped, took +her hand, and looked kindly at her. +</p> +<p> +“Do you know, Uncle Edward,” she said, “that +I am going to school to-morrow?” +</p> +<p> +“So I hear, my dear little girl; and I hope you +will be happy there.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn made no reply. Her eyes sparkled. After +a time she said slowly: +</p> +<p> +“I am glad; mother wished me to go.” +</p> +<p> +“You love your mother’s memory very much, do +you not, Eve?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” she said; and tears came into her big, +strange-looking eyes. “I love her just as much as +if she were alive,” she continued—“better, I think. +Whenever I am sad she seems near to me.” +</p> +<p> +“You would do anything to please her, would you +not, Eve?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” answered the child. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I wish to say something to you. You had +a great fight when you came here, but I think to a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176'></a>176</span> +certain extent you have conquered. Our ways were +not your ways—everything was strange—and at +first, my dear little girl, you rebelled, and were not +very happy.” +</p> +<p> +“I was miserable—miserable!” +</p> +<p> +“But you have done, on the whole, well; and if +your mother could come back again she would be +pleased. I thought I should like to tell you.” +</p> +<p> +“But, please, Uncle Edward, why would mothery +be pleased? She often told me that I was not to +submit; that I was to hold my own; that——” +</p> +<p> +“My dear, she told you those things when she +was on earth; but now, in the presence of God, she +has learnt many new lessons, and I am sure, could +she now speak to you, she would tell you that you +did right to submit, and were doing well when you +tried to please me, for instance.” +</p> +<p> +“Why you, Uncle Edward?” +</p> +<p> +“Because I am your father’s brother, and because +I loved your father better than any one on earth.” +</p> +<p> +“Better than Aunt Frances?” said Evelyn, with +a sparkle of pleasure in her eyes. +</p> +<p> +“In a different, quite a different way. Ay, I +loved him well, and I would do my utmost to promote +the happiness of his child.” +</p> +<p> +“I love you,” said the little girl. “I am glad—I +am <em>glad</em> that you are my uncle.” +</p> +<p> +She raised his hand, pressed it to her lips, and the +next moment was lost to view. +</p> +<p> +“Queer, erratic little soul!” thought Squire Wynford +to himself. “If only we can train her aright! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177'></a>177</span> +I often feel that Frank is watching me, and wondering +how I am dealing with the child. It seems +almost cruel that Frances should dislike her, but I +trust in the end all will be well.” +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile Evelyn, having tired herself racing +round the ten-acre field, suddenly conceived a daring +idea. She had known long ere this that her beloved +Jasper was not in reality out of reach. More than +once the maid and the little girl had met. These +meetings were by no means conducive to Evelyn’s +best interests, but they added a great spice of excitement +to her life; and the thought of seeing her +now, and telling her of the change which was about +to take place with regard to her education, was too +great a temptation to be resisted. Evelyn accordingly, +skirting the high-roads and making many +detours through fields and lanes, presently arrived +close to The Priory. She had never ventured yet +into The Priory; she had as a rule sent a message to +Jasper, and Jasper had waited for her outside. She +knew now that she must be quick or she would be +late for lunch. She did not want on this day of all +days to seriously displease Lady Frances. She went, +therefore, boldly up to the gate, pushed it open, and +entered. Here she was immediately confronted by +Pilot. Pilot walked down the path, uttered one or +two deep bays, growled audibly, and showed his +strong white teeth. Whatever Evelyn’s faults were, +she was no coward. An angry dog standing in her +path was not going to deter her. But she was +afraid of something else. Jasper had told her how +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178'></a>178</span> +insecure her tenure at The Priory was—how it all +absolutely depended on Mr. Leeson never finding +out that she was there. Evelyn therefore did not +want to bring Mr. Leeson to her rescue. Were there +no means by which she could induce Pilot to let her +pass? She went boldly up to the dog. The dog +growled more fiercely, and put himself in an attitude +which the little girl knew well meant that he was +going to spring. She did not want him to bound +upon her; she knew he was much stronger than +herself. +</p> +<p> +“Good, good dog—good, good,” she said. +</p> +<p> +But Pilot, exasperated beyond measure, began +to bark savagely. +</p> +<p> +Who was this small girl who dared to defy him? +His custom was to stand as he stood to-day and +terrify every one off the premises. But this small +person did not mean to go. He therefore really lost +his temper, and became decidedly dangerous. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Leeson, in his study, was busily engaged over +some of that abstruse work which occupied all his +time. He was annoyed at Pilot’s barking, and went +to the window to ascertain the cause. He saw a +stumpy, stout-looking little girl standing on the +path, and Pilot barring her way. He opened the +window and called out: +</p> +<p> +“Go away, child; go away. We don’t have +visitors here. Go away immediately, and shut the +gate firmly after you.” +</p> +<p> +“But, if you please,” said Evelyn, “I cannot go +away. I want to see Sylvia.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179'></a>179</span> +</p> +<p> +“You cannot see her. Go away.” +</p> +<p> +“No, I won’t,” said Evelyn, her courage coming +now boldly to her aid. “I have come here on +business, and I must see Sylvia. You dare not let +your horrid dog spring on me; and I am going to +stand just where I am till Sylvia comes.” +</p> +<p> +These very independent words astonished Mr. +Leeson so much that he absolutely went out of the +house and came down the avenue to meet Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“Who are you, child?” he said, as the bold light +eyes were fixed on his face. +</p> +<p> +“I am Evelyn Wynford, the heiress of Wynford +Castle.” +</p> +<p> +A twinkle of mirth came into Mr. Leeson’s eyes. +</p> +<p> +“And so you want Sylvia, heiress of Wynford +Castle?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes; I want to speak to her.” +</p> +<p> +“She is not in at present. She is never in at this +hour. Sylvia likes an open-air life, and I am glad +to encourage her in her taste. May I show you to +the gate?” +</p> +<p> +“Thank you,” replied Evelyn, who felt considerably +crestfallen. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Leeson, with his very best manners, accompanied +the little girl to the high iron gates. These +he opened, bowed to her as she passed through them, +and then shut them in her face, drawing a big bar +inside as he did so. +</p> +<p> +“Good Pilot—excellent, brave, admirable dog!” +Evelyn heard him say; and she ground her small +white teeth in anger. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180'></a>180</span> +</p> +<p> +A moment or two later, to her infinite delight, she +saw Jasper coming up the road to meet her. In an +instant the child and maid were in each other’s arms. +Evelyn was petting Jasper, and kissing her over and +over again on her dark cheek. +</p> +<p> +“Oh Jasper,” said the little girl, “I got such a +fright! I came here to see you, and I was met by +that horrible dog; and then a dreadful-looking old +man came out and told me I was to go right away, +and he petted the dog for trying to attack me. I +was not frightened, of course—it is not likely that +mothery’s little girl would be easily afraid—but, all +the same, it was not pleasant. Why do you live +in such a horrid, horrid place, Jasper darling?” +</p> +<p> +“Why do I live there?” answered Jasper. “Now, +look at me—look me full in the face. I live in +that house because Providence wills it, because—because—— +Oh, I need not waste time telling you +the reason. I live there because I am near to you, +and for another reason; and I hope to goodness that +you have not gone and made mischief, for if that +dreadful old man, as you call him, finds out for a +single moment that I am there, good-by to poor +Miss Sylvia’s chance of life.” +</p> +<p> +“You are quite silly about Sylvia,” said Evelyn +in a jealous tone. +</p> +<p> +“She is a very fine, brave young lady,” was Jasper’s +answer. +</p> +<p> +“I wish you would not talk of her like that; you +make me feel quite cross.” +</p> +<p> +“You always were a jealous little piece,” said +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181'></a>181</span> +Jasper, giving her former charge a look of admiration; +“but you need not be, Eve, for no one—no +one shall come inside my little white Eve. But +there, now; do tell me. You did not say anything +about me to Mr. Leeson?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I did not,” said Evelyn. “I only told him +I had come to see Sylvia. Was it not good of me, +Jasper? Was it not clever and smart?” +</p> +<p> +“It was like you, pet,” said Jasper. “You always +were the canniest little thing—always, always.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn was delighted at these words of praise. +</p> +<p> +“But how did you get here, my pet? Does her +ladyship know you are out?” +</p> +<p> +“No, her ladyship does not,” replied Evelyn, with +a laugh. “I should be very sorry to let her +know, either. I came here all by myself because I +wanted to see you, Jasper. I have got news for +you.” +</p> +<p> +“Indeed, pet; and what is that?” +</p> +<p> +“Cannot you guess?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, how can I? Perhaps that you have got +courage and are sleeping by yourself. You cannot +stand that horrid old Read; you would rather be +alone than have her near you.” +</p> +<p> +“Read has not slept in my room for over three +weeks,” said Evelyn proudly. “I am not at all +nervous now. It was Miss Sinclair who told me +how silly I was to want any one to sleep close to +me.” +</p> +<p> +“But you would like your old Jasper again?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes—oh yes; you are different.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182'></a>182</span> +</p> +<p> +“Well, and what is the change, dear?” +</p> +<p> +“It is this: poor Miss Sinclair—dear, nice Miss +Sinclair—has been obliged to leave.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, well, I am not sorry for that,” said Jasper. +“I was getting a bit jealous of her. You seemed +to be getting on so well with her.” +</p> +<p> +“So I was. I quite loved her; she made my lessons +so interesting. But what do you think, Jasper? +Although I am very sorry she has gone, I am glad +about the other thing. Audrey and I are going to +school, as daily boarders, just outside the village; +Chepstow House it is called. We are going to-morrow +morning. Mothery would like that; she +always did want me to go to school. I am glad. +Are you not glad too, Jasper?” +</p> +<p> +“That depends,” said Jasper in an oracular voice. +</p> +<p> +“What does it all depend on? Why do you speak +in that funny way?” +</p> +<p> +“It depends on you, my dear. I have heard a +great deal about schools. Some are nice and some +are not. In some they give you a lot of freedom, +and you are petted and fussed over; in others they +discipline you. When you are disciplined you don’t +like it. If I were you——” +</p> +<p> +“Yes—what?” +</p> +<p> +“I would stay there if I liked it, and if I did not +I would not stay. I would not have my spirit broke. +They often break your spirit at school. I would +not put up with that if I were you.” +</p> +<p> +“I am sure they won’t break my spirit,” said +Evelyn in a tone of alarm. “Why do you speak so +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183'></a>183</span> +dismally, Jasper? Do you know, I am almost sorry +I told you. I was so happy at the thought of going, +and now you have made me miserable. No, +there is not the slightest fear that they will break +my spirit.” +</p> +<p> +“Then that is all right, dear. Don’t forget that +you are the heiress.” +</p> +<p> +“I could let them know at school, could I not?” +</p> +<p> +“I would if I were you,” said the injudicious +woman. “I would tell the girls if I were you.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh yes; so I can. I wonder if they will be nice +girls at Chepstow House?” +</p> +<p> +“You let them feel your power, and don’t knock +under to any of them,” said Jasper. “And now, +my dear, I must really send you home. There, I’ll +walk a bit of the way back with you. You are +looking very bonny, my little white Eve; you have +got quite a nice color in your cheeks. I am glad +you are well; and I am glad, too, that the governess +has gone, for I don’t want her to get the +better of me. Remember what I said about +school.” +</p> +<p> +“That I will, Jasper; I’ll be sure to remember.” +</p> +<p> +“It would please her ladyship if you got on well +there,” continued Jasper. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t want to please Aunt Frances.” +</p> +<p> +“Of course you don’t. Nasty, horrid thing! I +shall never forgive her for turning me off. Now +then, dear, you had best run home. I don’t want +her to see us talking together. Good-by, pet; +good-by.” +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184'></a>184</span><a name='chXV' id='chXV'></a>CHAPTER XV.—SCHOOL.</h2> +<p> +The girls at Chepstow House were quite excited +at the advent of Audrey and Evelyn. They were +nice girls, nearly all of them; they were ladies, too, +of a good class; but they had not been at Chepstow +House long without coming under the influence of +what dominated the entire place—that big house on +the hill, with its castellated roof and its tower, its +moat too, and its big, big gardens, its spacious park, +and all its surroundings. It was a place to talk +to their friends at home about, and to think of +and wonder over when at school. The girls at +Chepstow House had often looked with envy at +Audrey as she rode by on her pretty Arab pony. +They talked of her to each other; they criticised +her appearance; they praised her actions. +She was a sort of princess to them. Then there +appeared on the scene another little princess—a +strange child, without style, without manners, without +any personal attractions; and this child, it was +whispered, was the real heiress. By and by pretty +Audrey would cease to live at Castle Wynford, and +the little girl with the extraordinary face would be +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185'></a>185</span> +monarch of all she surveyed. The girls commented +over this story amongst each other, as girls will; +and when the younger Miss Henderson—Miss Lucy, +as they called her—told them that Audrey Wynford +and her cousin Evelyn were coming as schoolgirls +to Chepstow House their excitement knew no +bounds. +</p> +<p> +“They are coming here,” said Miss Lucy, “and I +trust that all you girls who belong to the house will +treat them as they ought to be treated.” +</p> +<p> +“And how is that, Miss Lucy?” said Brenda Fox, +the tallest and most important girl in the school. +</p> +<p> +“You must treat them as ladies, but at the same +time as absolutely your equals in every respect,” said +Miss Lucy. “They are coming to school partly to +find their level; we must be kind to them, but there +is to be no difference made between them and the +rest of you. Now, Brenda, go with the other girls +into the Blue Parlor and attend to your preparation +for Signor Forre.” +</p> +<p> +Brenda and her companions went away, and during +the rest of the day, whenever they had a spare +moment, the girls talked over Audrey and Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +The next morning the cousins arrived. They came +in Audrey’s pretty governess-cart, and Audrey drove +the fat pony herself. A groom took it back to the +Castle, with orders to come for his young ladies at +six in the evening, for Lady Frances had arranged +that the girls were to have both early dinner and tea +at school. +</p> +<p> +They both entered the house, and even Audrey +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186'></a>186</span> +just for a moment felt slightly nervous. The elder +Miss Henderson took them into her private sitting-room, +asked them a few questions, and then, desiring +them to follow her, went down a long passage +which led into the large schoolroom. Here the girls, +about forty in number, were all assembled. Miss +Henderson introduced the new pupils with a few brief +words. She then went up to Miss Lucy and asked her, +as soon as prayers were over, to question both Audrey +and Evelyn with regard to their attainments, and to +put them into suitable classes. +</p> +<p> +The Misses Wynford sat side by side during +prayers, and immediately afterwards were taken +into Miss Lucy’s private sitting-room. Here a very +vigorous examination ensued, with the result that +Audrey was promoted to take her place with the +head girls, and Evelyn was conducted to the Fourth +Form. Her companions received her with smiling +eyes and beaming looks. She felt rather cross, however; +and was even more so when the English +teacher, Miss Thompson, set her some work to do. +Evelyn was extremely backward with regard to her +general education. But Miss Sinclair had such +marvelous tact, that, while she instructed the little +girl and gave her lessons which were calculated to +bring out her best abilities, she never let her feel her +real ignorance. At school, however, all this state of +things was reversed. Audrey, calm and dignified, +took a high position in the school; and Evelyn was +simply, in her own opinion, nowhere. A sulky expression +clouded her face. She thought of Jasper’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187'></a>187</span> +words, and determined that no one should break her +spirit. +</p> +<p> +“You will read over the reign of Edward I., and +I will question you about it when morning school +is over,” said Miss Thompson in a pleasant tone. +“After recreation I will give you your lessons to +prepare for to-morrow. Now, please attend to your +book. You will be able to take your proper place +in class to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +Miss Thompson as she spoke handed a History +of England to the little girl. The History was dry, +and the reign, in Evelyn’s opinion, not worth reading. +She glanced at it, then turned the book, open +as it was, upside down on her desk, rested her elbows +on it, and looked calmly around her. +</p> +<p> +“Take up your book, Miss Wynford, and read it,” +said Miss Thompson. +</p> +<p> +Evelyn smiled quietly. +</p> +<p> +“I know all about the reign,” she said. “I need +not read the history any more.” +</p> +<p> +The other girls smiled. Miss Thompson thought +it best to take no notice. The work of the school +proceeded; and at last, when recess came, the English +teacher called the little girl to her. +</p> +<p> +“Now I must question you,” she said. “You say +you know the reign of Edward I. Let me hear +what you do know. Stand in front of me, please; +put your hands behind your back. So.” +</p> +<p> +“I prefer to keep my hands where they are,” said +Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“Do what I say. Stand upright. Now then!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188'></a>188</span> +</p> +<p> +Miss Thompson began catechizing. Evelyn’s crass +ignorance instantly appeared. She knew nothing +whatever of that special period of English history; indeed, +at that time her knowledge of any history was +practically <em>nil</em>. +</p> +<p> +“I am sorry you told me what was not true with +regard to the reign of Edward I.,” said the governess. +“In this school we are very strict and particular. I +will say nothing further on the matter to-day; but +you will stay here and read over the history during +recess.” +</p> +<p> +“What!” cried Evelyn, her face turning white. +“Am I not to have my recreation?” +</p> +<p> +“Recess only lasts for twenty minutes; you will +have to do without your amusement in the playground +this morning. To-morrow I hope you will +have got through your lessons well and be privileged +to enjoy your pastime with the other pupils.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you know who I am?” began Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“Yes—perfectly. You are little Evelyn Wynford. +Now be a good girl, Evelyn, and attend to your +work.” +</p> +<p> +Miss Thompson left the room. Evelyn found herself +alone. A wild fury consumed her. She jumped +up. +</p> +<p> +“Does she think for a single moment that I am +going to obey her?” thought the naughty child. +“Oh, if only Jasper were here! Oh Jasper! you +were right; they are trying to break me in, but they +won’t succeed.” +</p> +<p> +A book which the governess had laid upon a table +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189'></a>189</span> +near attracted the little girl’s attention. It was not +an ordinary lesson-book, but a very beautiful copy of +Ruskin’s <em>Sesame and Lilies</em>. Evelyn took up the +book, opened it, and read the following words on the +title-page: +</p> +<p> +“To dear Agnes, from her affectionate brother +Walter. Christmas Day, 1896.” +</p> +<p> +Quick as thought the angry child tore out the +title-page and two or three other pages at the beginning, +scattered them into little bits, and then, +going up to the fire which burned at one end of the +long room, flung the scattered fragments into the +blaze. She had no sooner done so than a curious +sense of dismay stole over her. She shut up the +book hastily, and being really alarmed, began to look +over her English history. Miss Thompson came +back just before recess was over, picked up Evelyn’s +book, asked her one or two questions, and gave her +an approving nod. +</p> +<p> +“That is better,” she said. “You have done as +much as I could expect in the time. Now then, +come here, please. These are your English lessons +for to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn walked quite meekly across the room. +Miss Thompson set her several lessons in the ordinary +English subjects. +</p> +<p> +“And now,” she said, “you are to go to mademoiselle. +She is waiting to find out what French +you know, and to give you your lesson for to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +The rest of the school hours passed quickly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190'></a>190</span> +Evelyn was given what she considered a disgraceful +amount of work to do; but a dull fear sat at her +heart, and she felt a sense of regret at having torn +the pages out of the volume of Ruskin. Immediately +after morning school the girls went for a short walk, +then dinner was announced, and after dinner there +was a brief period of freedom. Evelyn, Audrey, and +the rest all found themselves walking in the grounds. +Brenda Fox immediately went up to Audrey, and +introduced her to a few of the nicest girls in the +head form, and they all began to pace slowly up and +down. Evelyn stood just for an instant forlorn; +then she dashed into the midst of a circle of little +girls who were playing noisily together. +</p> +<p> +“Stop!” she said. “Look at me, all of you.” +</p> +<p> +The children stopped playing, and looked in +wonder at Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“I am Evelyn Wynford. Who is going to be my +friend? I shall only take up with the one I really +like. I am not afraid of any of you. I have come +to school to find out if I like it; if I don’t like it I +shall not stay. You had best, all of you, know what +sort I am. It was very mean and horrid to put me +into the Fourth Form with a number of ignorant +little babies; but as I am there, I suppose I shall +have to stay for a week or so.” +</p> +<p> +“You were put into the Fourth Form,” said little +Sophie Jenner, “because, I suppose, you did not +know enough to be put into the Fifth Form.” +</p> +<p> +“You are a cheeky little thing,” said Evelyn, +“and I am not going to trouble myself to reply +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191'></a>191</span> +to you.—Well, now, who is going to be my friend? +I can tell you all numbers of stories; I have heaps +of pocket-money, and I can bring chocolate-creams +and ginger-pop and all sorts of good things to the +school.” +</p> +<p> +These last remarks were decidedly calculated to +ensure Evelyn’s popularity. Two or three of the +girls ran up to her, and she was soon marching up +and down the playground relating some of her +grievances, and informing them, one and all, of the +high position which lay before her. +</p> +<p> +“You are all very much impressed with Audrey, +I can see, but she is really nobody,” cried Eve. +“By and by Wynford Castle will be mine, and won’t +you like to say you knew me when I am mistress of +the Castle—won’t you just! I do not at all know +that I shall stay long at school, but you had better +make it pleasant for me.” +</p> +<p> +Some of the girls were much impressed, and a few +of them swore eternal fealty to Evelyn. One or two +began to flatter her, and on the whole the little girl +considered that she had a fairly good time during +play-hour. When she got back to her work she was +relieved to see that Ruskin’s <em>Sesame and Lilies</em> no +longer lay in its place on the small table where Miss +Thompson had left it. +</p> +<p> +“She will not open it, perhaps, for years,” thought +Evelyn. “I need not worry any more about that. +And if she did like the book I am glad I tore it. +Horrid, horrid thing!” +</p> +<p> +Lessons went on, and by and by Audrey and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192'></a>192</span> +Evelyn’s first day at school came to an end. The +governess-cart came to fetch them, and they drove +off under the admiring gaze of several of their fellow-pupils. +</p> +<p> +“Well, Evelyn, and how did you like school?” +said Audrey when the two were alone together. +</p> +<p> +“You could not expect me to like it very much,” +replied Evelyn. “I was put into such a horrid low +class. I am angry with Miss Thompson.” +</p> +<p> +“Miss Thompson! That nice, intelligent girl?” +</p> +<p> +“Not much of a girl about her!” said Evelyn. +“Why, she is quite old.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you think so? She struck me as young, +pretty, and very nice.” +</p> +<p> +“It is all very well for you, Audrey; you are so +tame. I really believe you never think a bad +thought of anybody.” +</p> +<p> +“I try not to, of course,” replied Audrey. “Do +you imagine it is a fine trait in one’s character to +think bad thoughts of people?” +</p> +<p> +“Mothery always said that if you did not dislike +people, you were made of cotton-wool,” replied +Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“Then you really do dislike people?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh! some I dislike awfully. Now, there is one +at the Castle—but there! I won’t say any more +about <em>her</em>; and there is one at school whom I hate. +It is that horrid Thompson woman. And she had +the cheek to call me Evelyn.” +</p> +<p> +“Of course she calls you Evelyn; you are her +pupil.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193'></a>193</span> +</p> +<p> +“Well, I think it is awful cheek, all the same. I +hate her, and—oh, Audrey, such fun—such fun! I +have revenged myself on her; I really have.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh Evelyn! don’t get into mischief, I beseech of +you.” +</p> +<p> +“I sha’n’t say any more, but I do believe that I +have revenged myself. Oh, such fun—such fun!” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn laughed several times during the rest of +her drive home, and arrived at the Castle in high +spirits. The girls were to dine with Lady Frances +and the Squire that evening, as they happened to be +alone; and the Squire was quite interested in the +account which Evelyn gave him of her class. +</p> +<p> +“The only reason why I could read the dull, dull +life of Edward I.,” she said, “is because Edward is +your name, Uncle Ned, and because I love you so +much.” +</p> +<p> +“On the whole, my dear,” said the Squire later on +to his wife, “the school experiment seems to work +well. Little Evelyn was in high spirits to-night.” +</p> +<p> +“You think of no one but Evelyn!” said Lady +Frances. “What about Audrey?” +</p> +<p> +“I am not afraid about Audrey; you have trained +her, and she is by nature most amiable,” said the +Squire. +</p> +<p> +“I am glad you paid me a compliment, my dear,” +answered his wife. “Audrey certainly does credit +to my training. But I trust Miss Henderson will +break that naughty girl in; she certainly needs it.” +</p> +<p> +The next morning the girls went back to school; +and Evelyn, who had quite forgotten what she had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194'></a>194</span> +done to the book, and who had provided herself +secretly with a great packet of delicious sweetmeats +which she intended to distribute amongst her favorites, +was still in high spirits. +</p> +<p> +School began, the girls went to their different +classes, Evelyn stumbled badly through her lessons, +and at last the hour of recess came. The girls were +all preparing to leave the schoolroom when Miss +Thompson asked them to wait a moment. +</p> +<p> +“Something most painful has occurred,” she said, +“and I trust whichever girl has done the mischief +will at once confess it.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn’s face did not change color. A curious, +numb feeling got round her heart; then an obstinate +spirit took possession of her. +</p> +<p> +“Not for worlds will I tell,” she thought. “Of +course Miss Thompson is alluding to the book.” +</p> +<p> +Yes, Miss Thompson was. She held the beautifully +bound copy of Ruskin in her hand, opened it +where the title-page used to be, and with tears in +her eyes looked at the girls. +</p> +<p> +“Some one has torn four pages out of the beginning +of this book,” she said. “I left it here by +mistake yesterday. I took it up this morning to +continue a lecture which I was preparing for the +afternoon, and found what terrible mischief had +been done. I trust whoever has done this will at +least have the honor to confess her wrong-doing.” +</p> +<p> +Silence and expressions of intense dismay were +seen on all the young faces. +</p> +<p> +“If it were my own book I should not mind so +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195'></a>195</span> +much,” said the governess; “but it happens to belong +to Miss Henderson, and was given to her by +her favorite brother, who died two months afterwards. +I had some difficulty in getting her to allow +me to use it for this lecture. Nothing can replace +to her the loss of the inscription written in her +brother’s own hand. The only possible chance for the +guilty person is to tell all at once. But, oh! who +could have been so cruel?” +</p> +<p> +Still the girls were silent, although tears had risen +to many of their eyes. Miss Thompson could hear +the words “Oh, what a shame!” coming from +more than one pair of lips. +</p> +<p> +She waited for an instant, and then said: +</p> +<p> +“I must put a question to each and all of you. I +had hoped the guilty person would confess; but as +it is, I am obliged to ask who has done this mischief.” +</p> +<p> +She then began to question one girl after another +in the class. There were twelve in all in this special +class, and each as her turn came replied in the negative. +Certainly she had not done the mischief; +certainly she had not torn the book. Evelyn’s turn +came last. She replied quietly: +</p> +<p> +“I have not done it. I have not seen the book, +and I have not torn out the inscription.” +</p> +<p> +No one had any reason to doubt her words; and +Miss Thompson, looking very sorrowful, paused for +a minute and then said: +</p> +<p> +“I have asked each of you, and you have all denied +it. I must now question every one else in the school. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196'></a>196</span> +When I have done all that I can I shall have to submit +the matter to Miss Henderson, but I did not +want to grieve her with the news of this terrible loss +until I could at least assure her that the girl who +had done the mischief had repented.” +</p> +<p> +Still there was silence, and Miss Thompson left +the schoolroom. The moment she did so the buzz +of eager voices began, and during the recess that +followed nothing was talked of in the Fourth Form +but the loss which poor Miss Henderson had +sustained. +</p> +<p> +“Poor dear!” said Sophie Jenner; “and she did +love her brother so much! His name was Walter; +he was very handsome. He came once to the school +when first it was started. My sister Rose was here +then, and she said how kind he was, and how he +asked for a holiday for the girls; and Miss Henderson +and Miss Lucy were quite wrapped up in him. Oh, +who could have been so cruel?” +</p> +<p> +“I never heard of such a fuss about a trifle before,” +here came from Evelyn’s lips. “Why, it is only a +book when all is said and done.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t you understand?” said Sophie, looking at +her in some astonishment. “It is not a common +book; it is one given to Miss Henderson by the +brother she loved. He is dead now; he can never +give her any other book. That was the very last +present he ever made her.” +</p> +<p> +“Have some lollipops, and try to think of cheerful +things,” said Evelyn; but Sophie turned almost +petulantly away. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197'></a>197</span> +</p> +<p> +“Do you know,” Sophie said to her special friend, +Cherry Wynne, “I don’t think I like Evelyn. How +funnily she spoke! I wonder, Cherry, if she had +anything to do with the book?” +</p> +<p> +“Of course not,” answered Cherry. “She would +not have dared to utter such a lie. Poor Miss +Henderson! How sorry I am for her!” +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198'></a>198</span><a name='chXVI' id='chXVI'></a>CHAPTER XVI.—SYLVIA’S DRIVE.</h2> +<p> +“I have something very delightful to tell you, +Sylvia,” said her father. +</p> +<p> +He was standing in his cold and desolate sitting-room. +The fire was burning low in the grate. +Sylvia shivered slightly, and bending down, took up +a pair of tongs to put some more coals on the expiring +fire. +</p> +<p> +“No, no, my dear—don’t,” said her father. +“There is nothing more disagreeable than a person +who always needs coddling. The night is quite hot +for the time of year. Do you know, Sylvia, that +I made during the last week a distinct saving. I +allowed you, as I always do, ten shillings for the +household expenses. You managed capitally on +eight shillings. We really lived like fighting-cocks; +and what is nicest of all, my dear daughter, you look +the better in consequence.” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia did not speak. +</p> +<p> +“I notice, too,” continued Mr. Leeson, a still more +satisfied smile playing round his lips, “that you eat +less than you did before. Last night I was pleased +to observe how truly abstemious you were at supper.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199'></a>199</span> +</p> +<p> +“Father,” said Sylvia suddenly, “you eat less and +less; how can you keep up your strength at this +rate? Cannot you see, clever man that you are, that +you need food and warmth to keep you alive?” +</p> +<p> +“It depends absolutely,” replied Mr. Leeson, “on +how we accustom ourselves to certain habits. +Habits, my dear daughter, are the chains which link +us to life, and we forge them ourselves. With good +habits we lead good lives. With pernicious habits +we sink: the chains of those habits are too thick, too +rusty, too heavy; we cannot soar. I am glad to see +that you, my dear little girl, are no longer the victim +of habits of greediness and desire for unnecessary +luxuries.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, father, dinner is ready now. Won’t you +come and eat it?” +</p> +<p> +“Always harping on food,” said Mr. Leeson. “It +is really sad.” +</p> +<p> +“You must come and eat while the things are hot,” +answered Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Leeson followed his daughter. He was, notwithstanding +all his words to the contrary, slightly +hungry that morning; the intense cold—although +he spoke of the heat—made him so. He sat down, +therefore, and removed the cover from a dish on +which reposed a tiny chop. +</p> +<p> +“Ah,” he said, “how tempting it looks! We will +divide it, dear. I will take the bone; far be it from +me to wish to starve you, my sweet child.” +</p> +<p> +He took up his knife to cut the chop. As he did +so Sylvia’s face turned white. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200'></a>200</span> +</p> +<p> +“No, thank you,” she said. “It really so happens +that I don’t want it. Please eat it all. And see,” +she continued, with a little pride, lifting the cover +of a dish which stood in front of her own plate; “I +have been teaching myself to cook; you cannot +blame me for making the best of my materials. How +nice these fried potatoes look! Have some, won’t +you, father?” +</p> +<p> +“You must have used something to fry them in,” +said Mr. Leeson, an angry frown on his face. “Well, +well,” he added, mollified by the delicious smell, +which could not but gratify his hungry feelings—“all +right; I will take a few.” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia piled his plate. She played with a few +potatoes herself, and Mr. Leeson ate in satisfied +silence. +</p> +<p> +“Really they are nice,” he said. “I have enjoyed +my dinner. I do not know when I made such a +luxurious meal. I shall not need any supper to-night.” +</p> +<p> +“But I shall,” said Sylvia stoutly. “There will +be supper at nine o’clock as usual, and I hope you +will be present, father.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, my dear, have something very plain. I +am absolutely satisfied for twenty-four hours. And +you, darling—did you make a good meal?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, thank you, father.” +</p> +<p> +“There were a great many potatoes cooked. I +see they are all finished.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, father.” +</p> +<p> +“I am now going back to my sitting-room. I shall +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201'></a>201</span> +be engaged for some hours. What are you going +to do, Sylvia?” +</p> +<p> +“I shall go out presently for a walk.” +</p> +<p> +“Is it not rather dangerous for you to wander +about in such deep snow?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I like it, father; I enjoy it. I could not possibly +stay at home.” +</p> +<p> +“Very well, my dear child. You are a good girl. +But, Sylvia dear, it strikes me that we had better +not have any more frying done; it must consume a +great quantity of fuel. Now, that chop might have +been boiled in a small saucepan, and it really would +have been quite as nutritious. And, my dear, there +would have been the broth—the liquor, I mean—that +it had been boiled in; it would have made an excellent +soup with rice in it. I have been lately compiling +some recipes for living what is called the unluxurious +life. When I have completed my little recipes +I will hand them down to posterity. I shall +publish them. I quite imagine that they will have +a large sale, and may bring me in some trifling returns—eh, +Sylvia?” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia made no answer. +</p> +<p> +“My dear,” said her father suddenly, “I have +noticed of late that you are a little extravagant in +the amount of coals you use. It is your only extravagance, +my dear child, so I will not say much +about it.” +</p> +<p> +“But, father, I don’t understand. What do you +mean?” +</p> +<p> +“There is smoke—<em>smoke</em> issuing from the kitchen +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202'></a>202</span> +chimney at times when there ought to be none,” said +Mr. Leeson in a severe voice. “But there, dear, I +won’t keep you now. I expect to have a busy afternoon. +I am feeling so nicely after our simple little +lunch, my dear daughter.” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Leeson touched Sylvia’s smooth cheek with +his lips, went into the sitting-room, and shut the +door. +</p> +<p> +“The fire must be quite out by now,” she said to +herself. “Poor, poor father! Oh dear! oh dear! +if he discovers that Jasper is here I shall be done for. +Now that I know the difference which Jasper’s presence +makes, I really could not live without her.” +</p> +<p> +She listened for a moment, noticed that all was +still in the big sitting-room (as likely as not her +father had dropped asleep), and then, turning to +her left, went quickly away in the direction of the +kitchen. When she entered the kitchen she locked +the door. There was a clear and almost smokeless +fire in the range, and drawn up close to it was a table +covered with a white cloth; on the table were preparations +for a meal. +</p> +<p> +“Well, Sylvia,” said Jasper, “and how did he enjoy +his chop? How much of it did he give to you, +my dear?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, none at all, Jasper. I pretended I was not +hungry. It was such a pleasure to see him eat it!” +</p> +<p> +“And what about the fried potatoes, love?” +</p> +<p> +“He ate them too with such an appetite—I just +took a few to satisfy him. Do you know, Jasper, he +says that he thinks an abstemious life agrees with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203'></a>203</span> +me. He says that I am looking very well, and that +he is quite sure no one needs big fires and plenty of +food in cold weather—it is simply and entirely a +matter of habit.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh! don’t talk to me of him any more,” said +Jasper. “He is the sort of man to give me the +dismals. I cannot tell you how often I dream of +him at night. You are a great deal too good to +him, Sylvia, and that is the truth. But here—here is +our dinner, you poor frozen lamb. Eat now and satisfy +yourself.” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia sat down and ate with considerable appetite +the good and nourishing food which Jasper had provided. +As she did so her bright, clear, dark eyes +grew brighter than ever, and her young cheeks became +full of the lovely color of the damask rose. +She pushed her hair from her forehead, and looked +thoughtfully into the fire. +</p> +<p> +“You feel better, dear, don’t you?” asked Jasper. +</p> +<p> +“Better!” said the young girl. “I feel alive. I +wonder, Jasper, how long it will last.” +</p> +<p> +“Why should it not go on for some time, dear? +I have money—enough, that is, for the present.” +</p> +<p> +“But you are spending your money on me.” +</p> +<p> +“Not at all. You are keeping me and feeding me. +I give you twenty shillings a week, and out of that +you feed me as well as yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, that twenty shillings!” cried Sylvia. “What +riches it seems! The first week I got it I really felt +that I should never, never be able to come to the end +of it. I quite trembled when I was in father’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204'></a>204</span> +presence. I dreaded that he might see the money +lying in my pocket. It seemed impossible that he, +who loves money so much, would not notice it; but +he did not, and now I am almost accustomed to it. +Oh Jasper, you have saved my life!” +</p> +<p> +“It is well to have lived for some good purpose,” +said Jasper in a guarded tone. She looked at the +young girl, and a quick sigh came to her lips. +</p> +<p> +“Do you know,” she said abruptly, “that I mean +to do more than feed you and warm you?” +</p> +<p> +“But what more could you do?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, clothe you, love—clothe you.” +</p> +<p> +“No, Jasper; you must not.” +</p> +<p> +“But I must and will,” said Jasper. “I have +smuggled in all my belongings, and the dear old +gentleman does not know a single bit about it. +Bless you! notwithstanding that Pilot of his, and +the way he himself sneaks about and watches—notwithstanding +all these things, I, Amelia Jasper, am +a match for him. Yes, my dear, my belongings are +in this house, and one of the trunks contains little +Evelyn’s clothes—the clothes she is not allowed to +wear. I mean to alter them, and add to them, and +rearrange them, and make them fit for you, my bonny +girl.” +</p> +<p> +“It is a temptation,” said Sylvia; “but, Jasper +dear, I dare not allow you to do it. If I were to +appear in anything but the very plainest clothes +father would discover there was something up; he +would get into a state of terror, and my life would +not be worth living. When mother was alive she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205'></a>205</span> +sometimes tried to dress me as I ought to be dressed, +and I remember now a terrible scene and mother’s +tears. There was an occasion when mother gave me +a little crimson velvet frock, and I ran into the +dining-room to father. I was quite small then, and +the frock suited me, and mother was, oh, so proud! +But half an hour later I was in my room, drowned in +tears, and ordered to bed immediately, and the frock +had been torn off my back by father himself.” +</p> +<p> +“The man is a maniac,” said Jasper. “Don’t let +us talk of him. You can dress fine when you are +with me. I mean to have a gay time; I don’t mean +to let the grass grow under my feet. What do you +say to my smuggling in little Eve some day and +letting her have a right jolly time with us two in +this old kitchen?” +</p> +<p> +“But father will certainly, certainly discover it.” +</p> +<p> +“No; I can manage that. The kitchen is far +away from the rest of the house, and with this new +sort of coal there is scarcely any smoke. At night—at +any rate on dark nights—he cannot see even if +there is smoke; and in the daytime I burn this special +coal. Oh, we are safe enough, my dear; you need +have no fear.” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia talked a little longer with Jasper, and then +she ran to her own room to put on her very threadbare +garments preparatory to going out. Yes, she +certainly felt much, much better. The air was keen +and crisp; she was no longer hungry—that gnawing +pain in her side had absolutely ceased; she was +warm, too, and she longed for exercise. A moment +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206'></a>206</span> +or two later, accompanied by Pilot, she was racing +along the snow-covered roads. The splendid color +in her cheeks could not but draw the attention of any +chance passer-by. +</p> +<p> +“What a handsome—what a very handsome girl!” +more than one person said; and it so happened that +as Sylvia was flying round a corner, her great mastiff +gamboling in front of her, she came face to face +with Lady Frances, who was driving to make some +calls in the neighborhood. +</p> +<p> +Lady Frances Wynford was never proof against a +pretty face, and she had seldom seen a more lovely +vision than those dark eyes and glowing cheeks presented +at that moment. She desired her coachman +to stop, and bending forward, greeted Sylvia in quite +an affectionate way. +</p> +<p> +“How do you do, Miss Leeson?” she said. “You +never came to see me after I invited you to do so. +I meant to call on your mother, but you did not +greet my proposal with enthusiasm. How is she, +by the way?” +</p> +<p> +“Mother is dead,” replied Sylvia in a low tone. +The rich color faded slowly from her cheeks, but +she would not cry. She looked full up at Lady +Frances. +</p> +<p> +“Poor child!” said that lady kindly; “you must +miss her. How old are you, Miss Leeson?” +</p> +<p> +“I am just sixteen,” was the reply. +</p> +<p> +“Would you like to come for a drive with me?” +</p> +<p> +“May I?” said the girl in an almost incredulous +voice. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207'></a>207</span> +</p> +<p> +“You certainly may; I should like to have you.—Johnson, +get down and open the carriage door for +Miss Leeson.—But, oh, my dear, what is to be done +with the dog?” +</p> +<p> +“Pilot will go home if I speak to him,” said Sylvia.—“Come +here, Pilot.” +</p> +<p> +The mastiff strode slowly up. +</p> +<p> +“Go home, dear,” said Sylvia. “Go, and knock +as you know how at the gates, and father will let +you in. Be quick, dear dog; go at once.” +</p> +<p> +Pilot put on a shrewd and wonderfully knowing +expression, cocked one ear a little, wagged his tail a +trifle, glanced at Lady Frances, seemed on the whole +to approve of her, and then turning on his heel, +trotted off in the direction of The Priory. +</p> +<p> +“What a wonderfully intelligent dog, and how +you have trained him!” said Lady Frances. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; he is almost human,” replied Sylvia. “How +nice this is!” she continued as the carriage began +to roll smoothly away. She leant back against her +comfortable cushions. +</p> +<p> +“But you will soon be cold, my dear, in that very +thin jacket,” said Lady Frances. “Let me wrap +this warm fur cloak round you. Oh, yes, I insist; it +would never do for you to catch cold while driving +with me.” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia submitted to the warm and comforting +touch of the fur, and the smile on her young face +grew brighter than ever. +</p> +<p> +“And now you must tell me all about yourself,” +said Lady Frances. “Do you know, I am quite +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208'></a>208</span> +curious about you—a girl like you living such a +strange and lonely life!” +</p> +<p> +“Lady Frances,” said Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +“Yes my dear; what?” +</p> +<p> +“I am going to say something which may not be +quite polite, but I am obliged to say it. I cannot +answer any of your questions; I cannot tell you +anything about myself.” +</p> +<p> +“Really?” +</p> +<p> +“Not because I mean to be rude, for in many +ways I should like to confide in you; but it would +not be honorable. Do you understand?” +</p> +<p> +“I certainly understand what honor means,” said +Lady Frances; “but whether a child like you is +acting wisely in keeping up an unnecessary mystery +is more than I can tell.” +</p> +<p> +“I would much rather tell you everything about +myself than keep silence, but I cannot speak,” said +Sylvia simply. +</p> +<p> +Lady Frances looked at her in some wonder. +</p> +<p> +“She is a lady when all is said and done,” she +said to herself. “As to poverty, I do not know that +I ever saw any one so badly dressed; the child has +not sufficient clothing to keep her warm. When last +I saw her she was painfully thin, too; she has more +color in her cheeks now, and more flesh on her poor +young bones, so perhaps whoever she lives with is +taking better care of her. I am curious, and I will +not pretend to deny it, but of course I can question +the child no further.” +</p> +<p> +No one could make herself more agreeable than +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209'></a>209</span> +Lady Frances Wynford when she chose. She chatted +now on many matters, and Sylvia soon felt perfectly +at home. +</p> +<p> +“Why, the child, young as she is, knows some of +the ways of society,” thought the great lady. “I +only wish that that miserable little Evelyn was +half as refined and nice as this poor, neglected girl.” +</p> +<p> +Presently the drive came to an end. Sylvia had +not enjoyed herself so much for many a day. +</p> +<p> +“Now, listen, Sylvia,” said Lady Frances: “I +am a very plain-spoken woman; when I say a thing +I mean it, and when I think a thing, as a rule, I say +it. I like you. That I am curious about you, and +very much inclined to wonder who you are and what +you are doing in this place, goes without saying; +but of course I do not want to pry into what you do +not wish to tell me. Your secret is your own, my +dear, and not my affair; but, at the same time, I +should like to befriend you. Can you come to the +Castle sometimes? When you do come it will be +as a welcome guest.” +</p> +<p> +“I do not know how I can come,” replied Sylvia. +She colored, looked down, and her face turned rather +white. “I have not a proper dress,” she added. +“Oh, not that I am poor, but——” +</p> +<p> +Lady Frances looked puzzled. She longed to say, +“I will give you the dress you need,” but there was +something about Sylvia’s face which forbade her. +</p> +<p> +“Well,” she said, “if you can manage the dress +will you come? This, let me see, is Thursday. The +girls are to have a whole holiday on Saturday. Will +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210'></a>210</span> +you spend Saturday with us? Now you must say +yes; I will take no refusal.” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia’s heart gave a bound of pleasure. +</p> +<p> +“Is it right; is it wrong?” she said to herself. +“But I cannot help it,” was her next thought; “I +must have my fun—I must. I do like Audrey so +much! And I like Evelyn too—not, of course, like +Audrey; but I like them both.” +</p> +<p> +“You will come, dear?” said Lady Frances. +“We shall be very pleased to see you. By the way, +your address is——” +</p> +<p> +“The Priory,” said Sylvia hastily. “Oh, please, +Lady Frances, don’t send any message there! If +you do I shall not be allowed to come to you. Yes, +I will come—perhaps never again, but I will come +on Saturday. It is a great pleasure; I do not feel +able to refuse.” +</p> +<p> +“That is right. Then I shall expect you.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Frances nodded to the young girl, told the +coachman to drive home, and the next moment had +turned the corner and was lost to view. +</p> +<p> +“What fun this is!” said Sylvia to herself. “I +wish Pilot were here. I should like to have a race +with him over the snow. Oh, how beautiful is the +world when all is said and done! Now, if only I +had a proper dress to go to the Castle in!” +</p> +<p> +She ran home. Her father was standing on the +steps of the house. His face looked pinched, blue, +and cold; the nourishment of the chop and the fried +potatoes had evidently passed away. +</p> +<p> +“Why, father, you want your tea!” said the girl. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211'></a>211</span> +“How sorry I am I was not in sooner to get it for +you!” +</p> +<p> +“Tea, tea!” he said irritably. “Always the same +cry—food, nothing but food; the world is becoming +impossible. My dear Sylvia, I told you that I +should not want to eat again to-day. The fact is, +you overfed me at lunch, and I am suffering from a +sort of indigestion—I am really. There is nothing +better for indigestion than hot water; I have been +drinking it sparingly during the afternoon. But +where have you been, dear, and why did you send +Pilot home? The dog made such a noise at the +gate that I went myself to find out what was the +matter.” +</p> +<p> +“I did not want Pilot, so I sent him home,” was +Sylvia’s low reply. +</p> +<p> +“But why so?” +</p> +<p> +She was silent for a moment; then she looked up +into her father’s face. +</p> +<p> +“We agreed, did we not,” she said, “that we both +were to go our own way. You must not question +me too closely. I have done nothing wrong—nothing; +I am always faithful to you and to my mother’s +memory. You must not expect me to tell you +everything, father, for you know you do not tell me +everything.” +</p> +<p> +“Silly child!” he answered. “But there, Sylvia, +I do trust you. And, my dear little girl, know this, +that you are the great—the very greatest—comfort +of my life. I will come in; it is somewhat chilly +this evening.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212'></a>212</span> +</p> +<p> +Sylvia rushed before her father into his sitting-room, +dashed up to the fire, flung on some bits of +wood and what scraps of coal were left in the coal-hod, +thrust in a torn newspaper, set a match to the +fire she had hastily laid, and before Mr. Leeson +strolled languidly into the room, a cheerful fire was +crackling and blazing up the chimney. +</p> +<p> +“How extravagant——” he began, but when he +saw Sylvia’s pretty face as she knelt on the hearth +the words were arrested on his lips. +</p> +<p> +“The child is very like her mother, and her mother +was the most beautiful woman on earth when I +married her,” he thought. “Poor little Sylvia! I +wonder will she have a happier fate!” +</p> +<p> +He sat down by the fire. The girl knelt by him, +took his cold hands, and rubbed them softly. Her +heart was full; there were tears in her eyes. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213'></a>213</span><a name='chXVII' id='chXVII'></a>CHAPTER XVII.—THE FALL IN THE SNOW.</h2> +<p> +The next morning, when the meager breakfast +which Mr. Leeson and his daughter enjoyed together +had come to an end, Sylvia ran off to find +Jasper. She had stayed with her father during +most of the preceding evening, and although she +had gone as usual to drink her chocolate and eat +her bread before going to bed, she had said very +little to Jasper. But she wanted to speak to her +this morning, for she had thoughts in the night, and +those thoughts were driving her to decisive action. +Jasper was standing in the kitchen. She had made +up the fire with the smokeless coal, and it was burning +slowly but steadily. A little, plump chicken lay +on the table; a small piece of bacon was close at +hand. There was also a pile of large and mealy-looking +potatoes and some green vegetables. +</p> +<p> +“Our dinner for to-day,” said Jasper briefly. +</p> +<p> +“Oh Jasper!” answered the girl—“oh, if only +father could have some of that chicken! Do you +know, I do not think he is at all well; he looked so +cold and feeble last night. He really is starving +himself—very much as I starved myself before you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214'></a>214</span> +came; but he is old and cannot bear it quite so +well. What am I to do to keep him alive?” +</p> +<p> +Jasper looked full at Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +“Do!” she said. “How can a fool be cured of +his folly? That is the question I ask myself. If he +denies himself the necessaries of life, how are you +to give them to him?” +</p> +<p> +“Well,” said Sylvia, “I manage as best I can by +hardly ever eating in his presence; he does not notice, +particularly at breakfast. He enjoyed his egg +and toast this morning, and really said nothing +about my unwonted extravagance.” +</p> +<p> +“I have a plan in my head,” said Jasper, “which +may or may not come to anything. You know +those few miserable barn-door fowls which your +father keeps just by the shrubbery in that old hen-house?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” replied Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +“Do they ever lay any eggs?” +</p> +<p> +“No.” +</p> +<p> +“I thought not. I wonder a prudent, careful man +like Mr. Leeson should keep them eating their heads +off, so to speak.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, they don’t eat much,” replied Sylvia. “I +got them when father spoke so much about the +wasted potato-skins. I bought them from a gipsy. +I did not know they were so old.” +</p> +<p> +“We must get rid of those fowls,” said Jasper. +“You must tell your father that it is a great waste +of money to keep them; and, my dear, we will give +him fowl to eat for his dinner as long as the old +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215'></a>215</span> +fowls in the shrubbery last. There are ten of them. +I shall sell them—very little indeed we shall get for +them—and he will imagine he is eating them when +he really is consuming a delicate little bird like the +one you and I are going to enjoy for our dinner to-day.” +</p> +<p> +“What fun!” said Sylvia, the color coming into +her cheeks and her eyes sparkling. “You do not +think it is wrong to deceive him, do you?” +</p> +<p> +“Wrong! Bless you! no,” replied Jasper. “And +now, my dear, what is the matter with you? You +look——” +</p> +<p> +“How?” replied Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +“Just as if you were bursting to tell me something.” +</p> +<p> +“I am—I am,” answered Sylvia. “Oh Jasper, +you must help me!” +</p> +<p> +“Of course I will, dear.” +</p> +<p> +“I have resolved to accept your most kind offer. +I will pay you somehow, in some fashion, but if you +could make just one of Evelyn’s frocks fit for me to +wear!” +</p> +<p> +“Ah!” replied Jasper. “Now, I am as pleased +about this as I could be about anything. We will +have more than one, my pretty young miss. But +what do you want it for?” +</p> +<p> +“I am going to do a great, big, dangerous thing,” +replied Sylvia. “If father discovers, things will be +very bad, I am sure; but perhaps he will not discover. +Anyhow, I am not proof against temptation. I met +Lady Frances Wynford.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216'></a>216</span> +</p> +<p> +“And how does her ladyship look?” asked Jasper—“as +proud as ever?” +</p> +<p> +“She was not proud to me, Jasper; she was quite +nice. She asked me to take a drive with her.” +</p> +<p> +“You took a drive with her ladyship!” +</p> +<p> +“I did indeed; you must treat me with great +respect after this.” +</p> +<p> +Jasper put her arms akimbo and burst into a loud +laugh. +</p> +<p> +“I guess,” she said after a pause, “you looked +just as fine and aristocratic as her ladyship’s own +self.” +</p> +<p> +“I drove in a luxurious carriage, and had a lovely +fur cloak wrapped round me,” replied the girl; “and +Lady Frances was very, very kind, and she has asked +me to spend Saturday at the Castle.” +</p> +<p> +“Saturday! Why, that is to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I know it is.” +</p> +<p> +“You are going?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I am going.” +</p> +<p> +“You will see my little Eve to-morrow?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Jasper.” +</p> +<p> +Jasper’s black eyes grew suspiciously bright; she +raised her hand to dash away something which +seemed to dim them for a second, then she said in a +brisk tone: +</p> +<p> +“We have our work cut out for us, for you shall +not go shabby, my pretty, pretty maid. I will soon +have the dinner in order, and——” +</p> +<p> +“But what have you got for father’s dinner?” +</p> +<p> +“A little soup. You can tell him that you boiled +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217'></a>217</span> +his chop in it. It is really good, and I am putting +in lots of pearl barley and rice and potatoes. He +will be ever so pleased, for he will think it cost next +to nothing; but there is a good piece of solid meat +boiled down in that soup, nevertheless.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, thank you, Jasper; you are a comfort to +me.” +</p> +<p> +“Well,” replied Jasper, “I always like to do my +best for those who are brave and young and put +upon. You are a very silly girl in some ways, Miss +Sylvia; but you have been good to me, and I +mean to be good to you. Now then, dinner is +well forward, and we will go and search out the +dress.” +</p> +<p> +The rest of the day passed quickly, and with intense +enjoyment as far as Sylvia was concerned. +She had sufficiently good taste to choose the least +remarkable of Evelyn’s many costumes. There was +a rich dark-brown costume, trimmed with velvet of +the same shade, which could be lengthened in the +skirt and let out in the bodice, and which the young +girl would look very nice in. A brown velvet hat +accompanied the costume, with a little tuft of ostrich +feathers placed on one side, and a pearl buckle to +keep all in place. There were muffs and furs in +quantities to choose from. Sylvia would for once +in her life be richly appareled. Jasper exerted +herself to the utmost, and the pretty dress was all +in order by the time night came. +</p> +<p> +It was quite late evening when Sylvia sought the +room where her father lived. A very plain but at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218'></a>218</span> +the same time nourishing supper had been provided +for Mr. Leeson. Sylvia’s own supper she would take +as usual with Jasper. Sylvia dashed into her father’s +room, her eyes bright and her cheeks glowing. She +was surprised and distressed to see the room empty. +She wondered if her father had gone to his bedroom. +Quickly she rushed up-stairs and knocked at the +door; there was no response. She opened the door +softly and went in. All was cold and icy desolation +within the large, badly furnished room. Sylvia +shivered slightly, and rushed down-stairs again. She +peeped out of the window. The snow was falling +heavily in great big flakes. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I hope it will not snow too much to-night!” +thought the young girl. “But no matter; however +deep it is, I shall find my way to Castle Wynford +to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +She wondered if her father would miss her, if he +would grow restless and anxious; but nevertheless +she was determined to enjoy her pleasure. Still, +where was he now? She glanced at the fire in the +big grate; she ventured to put on some more coals +and to tidy up the hearth; then she drew down the +blinds of the windows, pulled her father’s armchair +in front of the fire, sat down herself by the hearth, +and waited. She waited for over half an hour. +During that time the warmth of the fire made her +drowsy. She found herself nodding. Suddenly she +sat up wide awake. A queer sense of uneasiness +stole over her; she must go and seek her father. +Where could he be? How she longed to call Jasper +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219'></a>219</span> +to her aid! But that, she knew, would be impossible. +She wrapped a threadbare cloak, which hung +on a peg in the hall, round her shoulders, slipped +her feet into goloshes, and set out into the wintry +night. She had not gone a dozen yards before she +saw the object of her search. Mr. Leeson was lying +full length on the snow; he was not moving. Sylvia +had a wild horror that he was dead; she bent over +him. +</p> +<p> +“Father! father!” she cried. +</p> +<p> +There was no answer. She touched his face with +her lips; it was icy cold. Oh, was he dead? Oh, +terror! oh, horror! All her accustomed prudence +flew to the winds. Get succor for him at once she +must. She dashed into the kitchen. Jasper was +standing by the fire. +</p> +<p> +“Come at once, Jasper!” she said. “Bring +brandy, and come at once.” +</p> +<p> +“What has happened, my darling?” +</p> +<p> +“Come at once and you will see. Bring brandy—brandy.” +</p> +<p> +Jasper in an emergency was all that was admirable. +She followed Sylvia out into the snow, +and between them they dragged Mr. Leeson back +to the house. +</p> +<p> +“Now, dear,” said Jasper, “I will give him the +brandy, and I’ll stand behind him. When he comes +to I will slip out of the room. Oh, the poor gentleman! +He is as cold as ice. Hold that blanket and +warm it, will you, Sylvia? We must put it round +him. Oh, bless you, child! heap some coals on the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220'></a>220</span> +fire. What matter the expense? There! you cannot +lift that great hod; I’ll do it.” +</p> +<p> +Jasper piled coals on the grate; the fire crackled +and blazed merrily. Mr. Leeson lay like one dead. +</p> +<p> +“He is dead—he is dead!” gasped Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +“No, love, not a bit of it; but he slipped in the +cold and the fall stunned him a bit, and the cold is +so strong he could not come to himself again. He +will soon be all right; we must get this brandy between +his lips.” +</p> +<p> +That they managed to do, and a minute or two +later the poor man opened his eyes. Just for a +second it seemed to him that he saw a strange woman, +stout and large and determined-looking, bending +over him; but the next instant, his consciousness +more wholly returning, he saw Sylvia. Sylvia’s +little face, white with fear, her eyes, large with love +and anxiety, were close to his. He smiled into the +sweet little face, and holding out his thin hand, allowed +her to clasp it. There was a rustle as though +somebody was going away, and Sylvia and her father +were alone. A moment later the young girl raised +her eyes and saw Jasper in the background making +mysterious signs to her. She got up. Jasper was +holding a cup of very strong soup in her hand. +Sylvia took it with thankfulness, and brought it to +her father. +</p> +<p> +“Do you know,” she said, trying to speak as +cheerfully as she could, “that you have behaved +very badly? You went out into the snow when +you should have been in your warm room, and you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221'></a>221</span> +fell down and you fainted or something. Anyhow, +I found you in time; and now you are to drink +this.” +</p> +<p> +“I won’t; hot water will do—not that expensive +stuff,” said Mr. Leeson, true to the tragedy of his +life even at this crucial moment. +</p> +<p> +“Drink this and nothing else,” said Sylvia, speaking +as hardly and firmly as she dared. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Leeson was too weak to withstand her. She +fed him by spoonfuls, and presently he was well +enough to sit up again. +</p> +<p> +“Child, what a fire!” he said. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, father; and if it means our very last sixpence, +or our very last penny even, it is going to be +a big fire to-night: and you are going to be nursed +and petted and comforted. Oh, father, father, you +gave me such a fright!” +</p> +<p> +As Sylvia spoke her composure gave way; her +tense feelings were relieved by a flood of tears. She +pressed her face against her father’s hand and sobbed +unrestrainedly. +</p> +<p> +“You do not mean to say you are really fond of +me?” he said; and a queer moisture came into his +own eyes. He said nothing more about the coals, +and Sylvia insisted on his having more food, and, in +short, having a really good time. +</p> +<p> +“Dare I leave him to-morrow?” she said to herself. +“He may be very weak after this; and yet—and +yet I cannot give up my great, great fun. My +lovely dress, too, ready and all! Oh! I must go. I +am sure he will be all right in the morning.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222'></a>222</span> +</p> +<p> +Presently, much to Sylvia’s relief, Mr. Leeson +suggested that he should sleep on the sofa, in the +neighborhood of the big fire. +</p> +<p> +“For you have been so reckless, my dear little +girl,” he said, “that really you have provided a fire +to last for hours and hours. It would be a sad pity +to waste it; I think, therefore, that I shall spend the +night on this sofa, well wrapped up, enjoying the +heat.” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing could be better, father,” said Sylvia, +“except a big, very big, fire in your own room, +and you in your own bed well warmed with hot +bottles.” +</p> +<p> +“We should soon be in the workhouse,” was Mr. +Leeson’s rejoinder. “No, no; I will enjoy the fire +here now that you have been so extravagant; +and you had better go to bed if you have had your +supper.” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia had had no supper, but Mr. Leeson was far +too self-absorbed to notice that fact. Presently she +left him, and he lay on the sofa, blinking into the +fire, and occasionally half-dozing. After a time he +dropped off to sleep, and the young girl, who stole +in to look at him, went out with a satisfied expression +on her face. +</p> +<p> +“He is quite well again,” she said to Jasper, “and +he is sleeping sweetly. +</p> +<p> +“Now, look here,” said Jasper. “What is fretting +you?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t think I ought to leave him to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +“But I shall be here. I will manage to let him +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223'></a>223</span> +have his meals comfortable without his knowing it. +Do you suppose I have not done more difficult things +than that in my day? Now, my love, you go to bed +and sleep sound, and I will have a plan all mature to +give you your happy day with an undisturbed conscience +in the morning.” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia was really very tired—dead tired. She +went up-stairs, and as soon as she laid her head on her +pillow was sound asleep. +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile Mr. Leeson slept on for two or three +hours; it was past the middle of the night when he +awoke. He woke wide awake, as elderly people will, +and looked round him. The fire had burnt itself +down to a great red mass; the room looked cheery +and comfortable in the warm rays. Mr. Leeson +stirred himself luxuriously and wrapped the blanket, +which Jasper had brought from her own stores, +tightly round his person. After a time, however, +its very softness and fluffiness and warmth attracted +his attention. He began to feel it between his +fingers and thumb; then he roused himself, sat up, +and looked at it. A suspicious look came into his +eyes. +</p> +<p> +“What is the matter?” he said to himself. “Is +Sylvia spending money that I know nothing about? +Why, this is a new blanket! I have an inventory +of every single thing that this house possesses. +Surely new blankets are not included in that inventory! +I can soon see.” +</p> +<p> +He rose, lit a pair of candles, went to a secretary +which stood against the wall, opened it, and took out +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224'></a>224</span> +a book marked “Exact Inventory of all the Furniture +at The Priory.” He turned up the portion devoted +to house linen, and read the description of the different +blankets which the meager establishment contained. +There was certainly a lack of these valuable +necessaries; the blankets at The Priory had seen +much service, and were worn thin with use and washing. +But this blanket was new—oh, delicious, of +course—but what was the man worth who needed +such luxuries! Mr. Leeson pushed it aside with a +disturbed look on his face. +</p> +<p> +“Sylvia must be spending money,” he said to himself. +“I have observed it of late. She looks better, +and she decidedly gives me extravagant meals. The +bread is not as stale as it might be, and there is too +much meat used. This soup——” +</p> +<p> +He took up the empty cup from which he had +drained the soup a few hours back, and looked at a +drop or two which still remained at the bottom. +</p> +<p> +“Positively it jellies,” he said to himself—“jellies! +Then, too, in my rambles round this evening I noticed +that smoke again—that smoke coming from +the kitchen. There is too much fuel used here, and +these blankets are disgraceful, and the food is reckless—there +is no other word for it.” +</p> +<p> +He sank back on his sofa and gazed at the fire. +</p> +<p> +“Ah!” he said as he looked full at the flames, +“out you go presently; and for some time the +warmth will remain in the room, and I shall not +dream of lighting any other fire here until that +warmth is gone. Sylvia takes after her mother. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225'></a>225</span> +There was never a better woman than my dear wife, +but she was madly, disgracefully extravagant. What +shall I do if this goes on?—and pretty girls like +Sylvia are apt to be so thoughtless. I wish I could +send her away for a bit; it will be quite terrible if +she develops her mother’s tastes. I could not be +cruel to my pretty little girl, but she certainly will +be a fearful thorn in my side if she buys blankets of +this sort, and feeds me with soup that jellies, forsooth! +What am I to do? I have not saved quite +so much as I ought during the last week. Ah! the +house is silent as the grave. I shall just count out +the money I have put into that last canvas bag.” +</p> +<p> +A stealthy, queer light came into Mr. Leeson’s +eyes. He crossed the room on tiptoe and turned the +key in the lock. As he did so he seemed to be +assailed by a memory. +</p> +<p> +“Was I alone with Sylvia when I awoke out of +unconsciousness,” he said to himself, “or was there +some one else by? I cannot quite make out. Was +it a dream that I saw an ugly, large woman bending +over me? People do dream things of that sort +when they sink from exhaustion. I have read of it +in stories of misers. Misers! I am nothing of that +kind; I am just a prudent man who will not spend +too much—a prudent man who tries to save. It +must have been a dream that a stranger was in the +house; my little girl might take after her mother, +but she is not so bad as that. Yes, I will take the +opportunity; I will count what is in the canvas bag. +I was too weak to-night to attempt the work of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226'></a>226</span> +burying my treasure, but to-morrow night I must be +stronger. I believe I ate too much, and that is what +ails me—in fact, I am certain of it. The cold took +me and brought on an acute attack of indigestion, +and I stumbled and fell. Poor dear little Sylvia! +But I won’t leave her penniless; that is one comfort.” +</p> +<p> +Putting out one candle carefully, Mr. Leeson now +laid the other on a table. He then went to his +secretary and opened it. He pushed in his hand +far, and brought out from its innermost depths a +small bag made of rough canvas. The bag was tied +with coarse string. He glanced round him, a strange +expression on his face, and loosening the string of +the bag, poured its contents upon the table. He +poured them out slowly, and as he did so a look of +distinct delight visited his face. There lay on the +table in front of him a pile of money—gold, silver, +copper. He spent some time dividing the three +species of coin into different heaps. The gold coins +were put in piles one on top of the other at his +right hand, the silver lying in still larger heaps in +the middle; the coppers, up to farthings, lay on his +left hand. He bent his head and touched the gold +with his lips. +</p> +<p> +“Beautiful! blessed! lovely!” he muttered. “I +have saved all this out of the money which my dear +wife would have spent on food and dress and luxuries. +The solid, tangible, precious thing is here, +and there is more like it—much more like it—many +bags larger than these, full, full to the brim, all +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227'></a>227</span> +buried down deep in the fowl-house. No one would +guess where I bank my spoils. They are as safe +as can be. I dare not keep much treasure in the +house, but no one will know where it really lies.” +</p> +<p> +He counted his gold carefully; he also counted +his silver; finally he counted his copper. He wrote +down the different sums on a piece of paper, which +he slipped into the canvas bag; he put back the +coins, tied the bag with the string, and returned it +to its hiding-place. +</p> +<p> +“To-morrow night I must bury it,” he said to +himself. “I had hoped that I would have saved a +little more, but by dint of great additional economy +I may succeed next month. Well, I must begin to +be very careful, and I must speak plainly on the +subject to Sylvia.” +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228'></a>228</span><a name='chXVIII' id='chXVIII'></a>CHAPTER XVIII.—A RED GIPSY CLOAK.</h2> +<p> +Mr. Leeson looked quite well the next morning, +and Sylvia ate her scanty breakfast with a happy +heart; she no longer felt any qualms at leaving her +father for the day. Jasper assured Sylvia over and +over again that all would be well; that without in +the least betraying the secret of her residence in +the house, she would see to Mr. Leeson’s comforts. +The difficulty now was for Sylvia to dress in her +smart clothes and slip away without her father seeing +her. She did not want to get to Castle Wynford +much before one o’clock, but she would leave +The Priory long before that hour and wander about +in her usual fashion. No outdoor exercise tired +this energetic girl. She looked forward to a whole +long day of unalloyed bliss, to the society of other +girls, to congenial warmth and comfort and luxury. +She even looked forward with a pleasure, that her +father would put down to distinct greediness, to +nice, temptingly served meals. Oh yes, she meant +to enjoy everything. She meant to drink this cup of +bliss to the bottom, not to leave one drop untasted. +Jasper seemed to share her pleasure. Jasper burdened +her with many messages to Evelyn; she got +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229'></a>229</span> +Sylvia to promise that she would contrive a meeting +between Evelyn and her old maid on the following +day. Jasper selected the rendezvous, and told +Sylvia exactly what she was to say to Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“Whatever happens, I must see her,” said the +woman. “Tell her there are many reasons; and +tell her too that I am hungry for a sight of her—hungry, +hungry.” +</p> +<p> +“Because you love her so much,” said Sylvia, a +soft light in her eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my darling, that is it—I love her.” +</p> +<p> +“And she must love you very much,” said Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +Jasper uttered a quick sigh. +</p> +<p> +“It is not Evelyn’s way to love to extremities,” +she said slowly. “You must not blame her, my +dear; we are all made according to the will of the +Almighty; and Evelyn—oh yes, she is as the apple +of the eye to me, but I am nothing of that sort to +her. You see, dear, her head is a bit turned with +the lofty future that lies before her. In some ways +it does not suit her; it would suit you, Miss Sylvia, +or it would suit Miss Audrey, but it does not suit +little Eve. It is too much for my little Eve; she +would do better in a less exalted sphere.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I do hope and trust she will be glad to +see you and glad to hear about you,” said Sylvia. +“I will be sure to tell her what a dear old thing +you are. But, oh, Jasper, do you think she will +notice the smart dress made out of her dress?” +</p> +<p> +“You can give her this note, dear; I am sending +her a word of warning not to draw attention to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230'></a>230</span> +your dress. And now, don’t you think you had +better get into it, and let me see you out by the +back premises?” +</p> +<p> +“I must go and see father just for a minute first,” +said Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +She ran off, saw her father, as usual busily writing +letters, and bent down to kiss him. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t disturb me,” he said in a querulous tone. +“I am particularly busy. The post this morning has +brought me some gratifying news. A little investment +I made a short time ago in great fear and +trembling has turned up trumps. I mean to put a +trifle more money—oh, my dear! I only possess a +trifle—into the same admirable undertaking (gold-mines, +my dear), and if all that the prospectus says +is true I shall be in very truth a rich man. Not yet, +Sylvia—don’t you think it—but some day.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh father! and if you are——” +</p> +<p> +“Why, you may spend a little more then, dear—a +little more; but it is wrong to squander gold. +Gold is a beautiful and precious thing, my dear; +very beautiful, very precious, very hard to get.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, father; and I hope you will have a great +deal of it, and I hope you will put plenty—plenty +of money into the—into the——” +</p> +<p> +“Investment,” said Mr. Leeson. “The investment +that sounds so promising. Don’t keep me now, +love.” +</p> +<p> +“I am going out for a long walk, father; it is +such a bright, sunshiny day. Good-by for the present.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231'></a>231</span> +</p> +<p> +Mr. Leeson did not hear; he again bent over the +letter which he was writing. Sylvia ran back to +Jasper. +</p> +<p> +“He seems quite well,” she said, “and very much +interested in what the post brought him this morning. +I think I can leave him quite safely. You +will be sure to see that he has his food.” +</p> +<p> +“Bless you, child!—yes.” +</p> +<p> +“And you will on no account betray that you +live here?” +</p> +<p> +“Bless you, child! again—not I.” +</p> +<p> +“Well then, I will get into my finery. How +grand and important I shall feel!” +</p> +<p> +So Sylvia was dressed in the brown costume and +the pretty brown velvet hat, and she wore a little +sable collar and a sable muff; and then she kissed +Jasper, and telling her she would remember all the +messages, started on her day of pleasure. Jasper +saw her out by the back entrance. This entrance +had been securely closed before Jasper’s advent, but +between them the woman and the girl had managed +to open the rusty gate, although Mr. Leeson was +unaware that it had moved on its hinges for many +a long day. It opened now to admit of Sylvia’s +exit, and Jasper went slowly back to the house, +meditating as she did so. Whatever her meditations +were, they roused her to action. She engaged herself +busily in her bedroom and kitchen. She opened +her trunk and took out a small bag which contained +her money. She had plenty of money, still, but it +would not last always. Without Sylvia’s knowing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232'></a>232</span> +it, she had often spent more than a pound a week on +this establishment. It had been absolutely necessary +for her to provide herself with warm bedclothes, and +to add to the store of coals by purchasing anthracite +coal, which is almost smokeless. In one way or +another her hoard was diminished by twenty pounds; +she had therefore only forty more. When this sum +was spent she would be penniless. +</p> +<p> +“Not that I am afraid,” thought Jasper, “for +Evelyn will have to give me more money—she must. +I could not leave my dear little Sylvia now that I find +the dreadful plight she is in; and I cannot stay far +from my dear Evelyn, for although she does not love +me as I love her, still, I should suffer great pain if I +could not be, so to speak, within call. I wonder if +my plan will succeed. I must have a try.” +</p> +<p> +Jasper, having fulfilled her small duties, sat for a +time gazing straight before her. The hours went on. +The little carriage clock which she kept in her bedroom +struck eleven, then twelve. +</p> +<p> +“Time for him to have something,” thought Jasper. +“Now, can I possibly manage? Yes, I think +so.” +</p> +<p> +She took a saucepan, which held something mysterious, +out into the open air. It was an old, shabby +saucepan. She hid it in the shrubbery. She then +went back to her room and changed her dress. She +was some little time over her toilet, and when she +once more emerged into view, the old Jasper, to all +appearance, had vanished. +</p> +<p> +A dark, somewhat handsome woman, in a faded +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233'></a>233</span> +red gipsy cloak, now stood before the looking-glass. +Jasper slipped out the back way, pushed aside the +rusty gate, said a friendly word to Pilot, who wagged +his tail with approbation, and carrying a basket +on her arm, walked slowly down the road. She met +one or two people, and accosted them in the true +Romany style. +</p> +<p> +“May I tell your fortune, my pretty miss? May +I cross your hand with silver and tell you of the fine +gentleman who is going to ride by presently? Let +me, my dear—let me.” +</p> +<p> +And when the young girl she addressed ran away +giggling, little suspecting that Jasper was not a real +gipsy, Jasper knew that her scheme had succeeded. +She even induced a village boy to submit to her +fortune-telling, and half-turned his head by telling +him of a treasure to be found, and a wife in an +upper class who would raise him once for all to a +position of luxury. She presently pounded loudly on +The Priory gates. Mr. Leeson had an acute ear; +he always sat within view of these gates. His one +desire was to keep all strangers from the premises; +he had trained Pilot for the purpose. Accordingly +Jasper’s knocks were not heeded. Sylvia was always +desired to go to the village to get the necessary food; +trades-people were not allowed on the premises. His +letter occupied him intently; he was busy, too, looking +over files of accounts and different prospectuses; +he was engaged over that most fascinating pastime, +counting up his riches. But, ah! ah! how poor he +was! Oh, what a poverty-stricken man! He sighed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234'></a>234</span> +and grumbled as he thought over these things. +Jasper gave another furious knock, and finding that +no attention was paid to her imperious summons, +she pushed open the gate. Pilot immediately, as his +custom was, appeared on guard. He stood in front +of Jasper and just for a moment barked at her, but +she gave him a mysterious sign, and he wagged his +tail gently, went up to her, and let her pat him on +the head. The next instant, to Mr. Leeson’s disgust, +the gipsy and the dog were walking side by side up +to the door. He sprang to his feet, and in a moment +was standing on the steps. +</p> +<p> +“Go away, my good woman; go away at once. +I cannot have you on the premises. I will set the +dog on you if you don’t go away.” +</p> +<p> +“One minute, kind sir,” whined Jasper. “I have +come to know if you have any fowls to sell. I want +some fowls; old hens and cocks—not young pullets +or anything of that sort. I want to buy them, sir, +and I am prepared to give a good price.” +</p> +<p> +These extraordinary remarks aroused Mr. Leeson’s +thoughtful attention. He had long been annoyed +by the barn-door fowls, and they were decidedly +old. He had often wished to dispose of them; +they were too tough to eat, and they no longer laid +eggs. +</p> +<p> +“If you will promise to take the fowls right away +with you now, I do not mind selling them for a good +price,” he said. “Are you prepared to give a good +price? I wonder where my daughter is; she would +know better than I what they are worth. Stand +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235'></a>235</span> +where you are, my good woman; do not attempt +to move or the dog Pilot will fly at your throat. I +will call my daughter.” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Leeson went into the house and shouted for +Sylvia. Of course there was no answer. +</p> +<p> +“I forgot,” muttered Mr. Leeson. “Sylvia is out. +Really that child over-exercises; such devotion to +the open air must provoke unnecessary appetite. I +wish that horrid gipsy would go away! How extraordinary +that Pilot did not fly at her! But they +say gipsies have great power over men and animals. +Well, if she does give a fair price for the birds I +may as well be quit of them; they annoy me a good +deal, and some time, in consequence of them, some +one may discover my treasure. Good heavens, how +awful! The thought almost unmans me.” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Leeson therefore came out and spoke in +quite a civil tone for him. +</p> +<p> +“If you will accompany me to the fowl-house I +will show you the birds, but I may as well say at +once that I won’t give them for a mere nothing, +old as they are—and I should be the last to deceive +you as to their age. They are of a rare kind, and +interesting from a scientific point of view.” +</p> +<p> +“I do not know about scientific fowls,” replied +the gipsy, “but I want to buy a few old hens to put +into my pot.” +</p> +<p> +“Eh?” cried Mr. Leeson in a tone of interrogation. +“Have you a recipe for boiling down old +fowls?” +</p> +<p> +“Have not I, your honor! And soon they are +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236'></a>236</span> +done, too—in a jiffy, so to speak. But let me look +at them, your honor, and I will pay you far more +than any one else would give for them.” +</p> +<p> +“You won’t get them unless you give a very good +sum. You gipsies, if the truth were known, are all +enormously rich.” +</p> +<p> +He walked round to the hen-house, accompanied +by the supposed gipsy and Pilot. The fowls, about +a dozen in number, were strutting up and down their +run. They were hungry, poor creatures, for they +had had but a slight meal that morning. The gipsy +pretended to bargain for them, keeping a sharp eye +all the time on Mr. Leeson. +</p> +<p> +“This one,” she said, catching the most disreputable-looking +of the birds, “is the one I want for the +gipsies’ stew. There, I will give you ninepence for +this bird.” +</p> +<p> +“Ninepence!” cried Mr. Leeson, almost shrieking +out the word. “Do you think I would sell a valuable +hen like that for ninepence? And you say it +can be boiled down to eat tender!” +</p> +<p> +“Boiled down to eat tender!” said the supposed +gipsy. “Why, it can be made delicious. There is +broth in it, soup in it, and meat in it. There is dinner +for four, and supper for four, and soup for four +in this old hen!” +</p> +<p> +“And you offer me ninepence for such a valuable +bird! I tell you what: I wish you would show me +that recipe. I will give you sixpence for it. I do +not know how to make an old hen tender.” +</p> +<p> +“Give me a quarter of an hour, your honor, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237'></a>237</span> +you will not know that you are not eating the +youngest chicken in the land.” +</p> +<p> +“But how are you to cook it?” +</p> +<p> +“I will make a bit of fire in the shrubbery, and +do it by a recipe of my own.” +</p> +<p> +“You are sure you will not go near the house?” +</p> +<p> +“No, your honor.” +</p> +<p> +“But how can a fowl that is now alive be fit to +eat in a quarter of an hour?” +</p> +<p> +“It is a recipe of my grandmother’s, your honor, +and I am not going to give it until you taste what +the bird is like. Now, if you will go away I will +get it ready for you.” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Leeson really felt interested. +</p> +<p> +“What a sensible woman!” he said to himself. +“I shall try and get that recipe out of her for threepence; +it will be valuable for my little book of +cheap recipes; it would probably sell the book. How +to make four dinners, four lunches, and four plates +of soup out of an old hen. A most taking recipe—most +taking!” +</p> +<p> +He walked up and down while the pretended +gipsy heated up the stew she had already made out +of a really tender chicken. The poor old hen was +tied up so that she could not cackle or make any +sound, and put into the bottom of the supposed +gipsy’s basket; and presently Jasper appeared carrying +the stew in a cracked basin. +</p> +<p> +“Here, your honor, eat it up before me, and tell +me afterwards if a better or a more tender fowl ever +existed.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238'></a>238</span> +</p> +<p> +It was in this way that Mr. Leeson made an excellent +repast. He was highly pleased, for decidedly +the boniest and most scraggy of the fowls had been +selected, and nothing could be more delicious than +this stew. He fetched a plate and knife and fork +from his sitting-room, where he always kept a certain +amount of useful kitchen utensils, ate his dinner, +pronounced it to be the best of the best, and desired +the gipsy to leave the balance in the porch. +</p> +<p> +“Thank you,” he said; “it is admirable. And +so you really made that out of my old hen in a few +minutes? I will give you threepence if you will +give me the recipe.” +</p> +<p> +“I could not sell it for threepence, sir—no, not for +sixpence; no, not for a shilling. But I should like +to make a bargain for the rest of the fowls.” +</p> +<p> +“How much will you give for each?” +</p> +<p> +“Taking them all in a heap, I will give sixpence +apiece,” replied the gipsy. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Leeson uttered a scream. +</p> +<p> +“You have outdone yourself, my good woman,” +he said. “Do you think I am going to give fowls +that will make such delicious and nourishing food +away for that trivial sum? My little daughter is a +very clever cook, and I shall instruct her with +regard to the serving up of the remainder of my +poultry. If you will not give me the recipe I must +ask you to go.” +</p> +<p> +The gipsy pretended to be extremely angry. +</p> +<p> +“I won’t go,” she said, “unless you allow me to tell +you your fortune; I won’t stir, and that’s flat.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239'></a>239</span> +</p> +<p> +“I do not believe in gipsy fortune-tellers. I shall +have to call the police if you do not leave my +establishment immediately.” +</p> +<p> +“And how will you manage when you don’t ever +leave your own grounds? I am thinking it may be +you are a bit afraid. People who stick so close to +home often have a reason.” +</p> +<p> +This remark frightened Mr. Leeson very much. +He was always in terror lest some one would guess +that he kept his treasure on the premises. +</p> +<p> +“Look here,” he said, raising his voice. “You +see before you the poorest man for my position in +the whole of England; it is with the utmost difficulty +that I can keep soul and body together. +Observe the place; observe the house. Do you +think I should care for a recipe to make old fowls +tender if I were not in very truth a most poverty-stricken +person?” +</p> +<p> +“I will tell you if you show me your palm,” said +the gipsy. +</p> +<p> +Now, Mr. Leeson was superstitious. It was the +last thing he credited himself with, but nevertheless +he was. The gipsy, with her dancing black eyes, +looked full at him. He had a shadowy, almost a +fearful idea that he had seen that face before—he +could not make out when. Then it occurred to him +that this was the very face that had bent over him +for an instant the night before when he was coming +back from his fit of unconsciousness. Oh, it was +impossible that the gipsy could have been here +then! Had he seen her in a sort of vision? He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240'></a>240</span> +felt startled and alarmed. The gipsy kept watching +him; she seemed to be reading him through and +through. +</p> +<p> +“I saw you in a dream,” she said. “And I know +you will show your hand; and I know I have things +to tell you, both good and bad.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, well!” said Mr. Leeson, “here is sixpence. +Tell me your gibberish, and then go.” +</p> +<p> +The gipsy looked twice at the coin. +</p> +<p> +“It is a poor one,” she said. “But them who is +rich always give the smallest.” +</p> +<p> +“I am not rich, I tell you.” +</p> +<p> +“They who are rich find it hardest to part with +their pelf. But I will take it.” +</p> +<p> +“I will give you a shilling if you’ll go. But it is +hard for a very poor man to part with it.” +</p> +<p> +“Sixpence will do,” said the gipsy, with a laugh. +“Give it me. Now show me your palm.” +</p> +<p> +She pretended to look steadily into the wrinkled +palm of the miser’s hand, and then spoke. +</p> +<p> +“I see here,” she said, “much wealth. Yes, just +where this cross lies is gold. I also see poverty. I +also see a very great loss and a judgment.” +</p> +<p> +“Go!” screamed the angry man. “Do not tell +me another word.” +</p> +<p> +He dashed into the house in absolute terror, and +banged the hall door after him. +</p> +<p> +“I said I would give him a fright,” said Jasper +to herself. “Well, if he don’t touch another morsel +till Miss Sylvia comes home late to-night, he won’t +die after my dinner. Ah, the poor old hen! I must +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241'></a>241</span> +get her out of the basket now or she will be suffocated.” +</p> +<p> +The gipsy walked slowly down the path, let herself +out by the front entrance, walked round to the +back, got in once more, and handed the old hen to +a boy who was standing by the hedge. +</p> +<p> +“There,” she said. “There’s a present for you. +Take it at once and go.” +</p> +<p> +“What do I want with it?” he asked in astonishment. +“Why, it belongs to old Mr. Leeson, the +miser!” +</p> +<p> +“Go—go!” she said. “You can sell it for sixpence, +or a shilling, or whatever it will fetch, only +take it away.” +</p> +<p> +The boy ran off laughing, the hen tucked under +his arm. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242'></a>242</span><a name='chXIX' id='chXIX'></a>CHAPTER XIX.—“WHY DID YOU DO IT?”</h2> +<p> +Meanwhile Sylvia was thoroughly enjoying herself. +She started for the Castle in the highest +spirits. Her walk during the morning hours had +not fatigued her; and when, soon after twelve +o’clock, she walked slowly and thoughtfully up the +avenue, a happier, prettier girl could scarcely be +seen. The good food she had enjoyed since Jasper +had appeared on the scene had already begun to tell. +Her cheeks were plump, her eyes bright; her somewhat +pale complexion was creamy in tint and +thoroughly healthy. Her dress, too, effected wonders. +Sylvia would look well in a cotton frock; she +would look well as a milkmaid, as a cottage girl; +but she also had that indescribable grace which would +enable her to fill a loftier station. And now, in her +rich furs and dark-brown costume, she looked fit to +move in any society. She held Evelyn’s letter in +her hand. Her one fear was that Evelyn would +remark on her own costume transmogrified for +Sylvia’s benefit. +</p> +<p> +“Well, if she does, I don’t much care,” thought +the happy girl. “After all, truth is best. Why +should I deceive? I deceived when I was here +last, when I wore Audrey’s dress. I had not the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243'></a>243</span> +courage then that I have now. Somehow to-day I +feel happy and not afraid of anything.” +</p> +<p> +She was met, just before she reached the front +entrance, by Audrey and Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“Here, Evelyn,” she cried—“here is a note for +you.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn took it quickly. She did not want +Audrey to know that Jasper was living at The +Priory. She turned aside and read her note, and +Audrey devoted herself to Sylvia. Audrey had +liked Sylvia before; she liked her better than ever +now. She was far too polite to glance at her +improved dress; that somehow seemed to tell her +that happier circumstances had dawned for Sylvia, +and a sense of rejoicing visited her. +</p> +<p> +“I am so very glad you have come!” she said. +“Evelyn and I have been planning how we are to +spend the day. We want to give you, and ourselves +also, a right good time. Do you know that +Evelyn and I are schoolgirls now? Is it not +strange? Dear Miss Sinclair has left us. We miss +her terribly; but I think we shall like school-life—eh, +Eve?” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn had finished Jasper’s letter, and had +thrust it into her pocket. +</p> +<p> +“I hate school-life!” she said emphatically. +</p> +<p> +“Oh Eve! but why?” asked Audrey. “I thought +you were making a great many friends at school.” +</p> +<p> +“Wherever I go I shall make friends,” replied +Evelyn in a careless tone. “That, of course, is due +to my position. But I do not know, after all,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244'></a>244</span> +she continued, “that I like fair-weather friends. +Mothery used to tell me that I must be careful when +with them. She said they would, one and all, +expect me to do something for them. Now, I hate +people who want you to do things for them. For +my part, I shall soon let my so-called friends +know that I am not that sort of girl.” +</p> +<p> +“Let us walk about now,” said Audrey. “It will +be lunch-time before long; afterwards I thought we +might go for a ride. Can you ride, Sylvia?” +</p> +<p> +“I used to ride once,” she answered, coloring high +with pleasure. +</p> +<p> +“I can lend you a habit; and we have a very nice +horse—quite quiet, and at the same time spirited.” +</p> +<p> +“I am not afraid of any horses,” answered the +girl. “I should like a ride immensely.” +</p> +<p> +“We will have lunch, then a ride, then a good +cozy chat together by the schoolroom fire, then +dinner; and then, what do you say to a dance? +We have asked some young friends to come to the +Castle to-night for the purpose.” +</p> +<p> +“I must not be too late in going home,” said +Sylvia. “And,” she added, “I have not brought a +dress for the evening.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, we must manage that,” said Audrey. +“What a good thing that you and I are the same +height! Now, shall we walk round the shrubbery?” +</p> +<p> +“The shrubbery always reminds me,” said Sylvia, +“of the first day we met.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes. I was very angry with you that day,” +said Audrey, with a laugh. “You must know that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245'></a>245</span> +I always hated that old custom of throwing the +Castle open to every one on New Year’s Day.” +</p> +<p> +“But I am too glad of it,” said Sylvia. “It made +me know you, and Evelyn too.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t forget, Audrey,” said Evelyn at that +moment, “that Sylvia is really my friend. It was +I who first brought her to the Castle.—You do not +forget that, do you, Sylvia?” +</p> +<p> +“No,” said Sylvia, smiling. “And I like you both +awfully. But do tell me about your school—do, +please.” +</p> +<p> +“Well,” said Audrey, “there is a rather exciting +thing to tell—something unpleasant, too. Perhaps +you ought not to know.” +</p> +<p> +“Please—please tell me. I am quite dying to hear +about it.” +</p> +<p> +Audrey then described the mysterious damage +done to <span class='sc'>Sesame and Lilies</span>. +</p> +<p> +“Miss Henderson was told,” she said, “and yesterday +morning she spoke to the entire school. She +is going to punish the person who did it very severely +if she can find her; and if that person does not +confess, I believe the whole school is to be put more +or less into Coventry.” +</p> +<p> +“But how does she know that any of the girls +did it?” was Sylvia’s answer. “There are servants +in the house. Has she questioned them?” +</p> +<p> +“She has; but it so happens that the servants are +quite placed above suspicion, for the book was +whole at a certain hour the very first day we came +to school, and that evening it was found in its +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246'></a>246</span> +mutilated condition. During all those hours it happened +to be in the Fourth Form schoolroom.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said Evelyn in a careless tone. “It is quite +horrid for me, you know, for I am a Fourth Form +girl. I ought not to be. I ought to be in the Sixth +Form with Audrey. But there! those unpleasant +mistresses have no penetration.” +</p> +<p> +“But why should you wish to be in a higher form +than your acquirements warrant?” replied Sylvia. +“Oh,” she added, with enthusiasm, “don’t I envy +you both your luck! Should I not love to be at +school in order to work hard!” +</p> +<p> +“By the way, Sylvia,” said Audrey suddenly, +“how have you been educated?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, anyhow,” said the girl. “I have taught +myself mostly. But please do not ask me any questions. +I don’t want to think of my own life at all +to-day; I am so very happy at being with you +two.” +</p> +<p> +Audrey immediately turned the conversation; but +soon, by a sort of instinct, it crept back again to the +curious occurrence which had taken place at Miss +Henderson’s school. +</p> +<p> +“Please do not speak of it at lunch,” said Audrey, +“for we have not told mother or father anything +about it. We hope that this disgraceful thing will +not be made public, but that the culprit will confess.” +</p> +<p> +“Much chance of that!” said Evelyn; and she +nudged Sylvia’s arm, on which she happened to be +leaning. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247'></a>247</span> +</p> +<p> +The girls presently went into the house. Lunch +followed. Lady Frances was extremely kind to +Sylvia—in fact, she made a pet of her. She looked +with admiration at the pretty and suitable costume, +and wondered in her own heart what she could do +for the little girl. +</p> +<p> +“I like her,” she said to herself. “She suits me +better than any girl I have ever met except my own +dear Audrey. Oh, how I wish she were the heiress +instead of Evelyn!” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn was fairly well behaved; she had learnt to +suppress herself. She was now outwardly dutiful to +Lady Frances, and was, without any seeming in the +matter, affectionate to her uncle. The Squire was +always specially kind to Evelyn; but he liked young +girls, and took notice of Sylvia also, trying to draw +her out. He spoke to her about her father. He told +her that he had once known a distinguished man of +the name, and wondered if it could be the same. +Sylvia colored painfully, and showed by many signs +that the conversation distressed her. +</p> +<p> +“It cannot be the same, of course,” said the Squire +lightly, “for my friend Robert Leeson was a man +who was likely to rise to the very top of his profession. +He was a barrister of extreme eminence. I +shall never forget the brilliant way he spoke in a +<em>cause célèbre</em> which occupied public attention not +long ago. He won the case for his clients, and covered +himself with well-earned glory.” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia’s eyes sparkled; then they grew dim with +unshed tears. She lowered her eyes and looked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248'></a>248</span> +on her plate. Lady Frances nodded softly to herself. +</p> +<p> +“The same—doubtless the same,” she said to herself. +“A most distinguished man. How terribly +sad! I must inquire into this; Edward has unexpectedly +given me the clue.” +</p> +<p> +The girls went for a ride after lunch, and the rest +of the delightful day passed swiftly. Sylvia counted +the hours. Whenever she looked at the clock her +face grew a little sadder. Half-hour after half-hour +of the precious time was going by. When should +she have such a grand treat again? At last it was +time to go up-stairs to dress for dinner. +</p> +<p> +“Now, you must come to my room, Sylvia,” said +Evelyn. “Yes, I insist,” she added, “for I was in +reality your first friend.” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia was quite willing to comply. She soon +found herself in Evelyn’s extremely pretty blue-and-silver +room. How comfortable it looked—how +luxurious, how sweet, how refreshing to the eyes! +The cleanliness and perfect order of the room, the +brightness of the fire, the calm, proper look of Read +as she stood by waiting to dress Evelyn for dinner, +all impressed Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +“I like this life,” she said suddenly. “Perhaps +it is bad for me even to see it, but I like it; I confess +as much.” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps, Miss Leeson,” said Read just then in a +very courteous voice, “you will not object to Miss +Audrey lending you the same dress you wore the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249'></a>249</span> +last time you were here? It has been nicely made +up, and looks very fresh and new.” +</p> +<p> +As Read spoke she pointed to the lovely Indian +muslin robe which lay across Evelyn’s bed. +</p> +<p> +“Please, Read,” said Evelyn suddenly, “don’t +stay to help me to dress to-night; Sylvia will do that. +I want to have a chat with her; I have a lot to +say.” +</p> +<p> +“I will certainly help Evelyn if I can,” replied +Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +“Very well, miss,” replied Read. “To tell you +the truth, I shall be rather relieved; my mistress +requires a fresh tucker to be put into the dress she +means to wear this evening, and I have not quite +finished it. Then you will excuse me, young ladies. +If you want anything, will you have the goodness to +ring?” +</p> +<p> +The next moment Read had departed. +</p> +<p> +“Now, that is right,” said Evelyn. “Now we +shall have a cozy time; there is nearly an hour before +we need go down-stairs. How do you like my +room, Sylvia?” +</p> +<p> +“Very much indeed. I see the second bed has +gone.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh yes. I do not mind a scrap sleeping alone +now; in fact, I rather prefer it. Sylvia, I want so +badly to confide in you!” +</p> +<p> +“To confide in me! How? Why?” +</p> +<p> +“I want to ask you about Jasper. Oh yes, she +wants to see me. I can manage to slip out about +nine o’clock on Tuesday next; we are not to dine +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250'></a>250</span> +down-stairs on Tuesday night, for there is a big dinner +party. She can come to meet me then; I shall be +standing by the stile in the shrubbery.” +</p> +<p> +“But surely Lady Frances will not like you to be +out so late!” +</p> +<p> +“As if I minded her! Sylvia, for goodness’ sake +don’t tell me that you are growing goody-goody.” +</p> +<p> +“No; I never was that,” replied Sylvia. “I don’t +think I could be; it is not in me, I am afraid.” +</p> +<p> +“I hope not; I don’t think Jasper would encourage +that sort of thing. Yes, I have a lot to tell her, +and you may say from me that I don’t care for +school.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I am so sorry! It is incomprehensible to +me, for I should think that you would love it.” +</p> +<p> +“For some reasons I might have endured it; but +then, you see, there is that awkward thing about the +Ruskin book.” +</p> +<p> +“The Ruskin book!” said Sylvia. She turned +white, and her heart began to beat. “Surely—surely, +Evelyn, you have had nothing to do with the +tearing out of the first pages of <em>Sesame and Lilies</em>!” +</p> +<p> +“You won’t tell—you promise you won’t tell?” +said Evelyn, nodding her head, and her eyes looking +very bright. +</p> +<p> +“Oh! I don’t know. This is dreadful; please +relieve my anxiety.” +</p> +<p> +“You will not tell; you dare not!” said Evelyn, +with passion. “If you did I would tell about Jasper—I +would. Oh! I would not leave a stone unturned +to make your life miserable. There, Sylvia, forgive +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251'></a>251</span> +me; I did not mean to scold. I like you so much, +dear Sylvia; and I am so glad you have Jasper with +you, and it suits me to perfection. But I did tear +the leaves out of the book; yes, I did, and I am glad +I did; and you must never, never tell.” +</p> +<p> +“But, Eve—oh, Eve! why did you do such a +dreadful thing?” +</p> +<p> +“I did it in a fit of temper, to spite that horrid +Miss Thompson; I hate her so! She was so intolerably +cheeky; she made me stay in during recreation +on the very first day, and she accused me of telling +lies, and when she had left the room I saw the odious +book lying on the table. I had seen her reading it +before, and I thought it was her book; and almost +before I had time to think, the pages were out and +torn up and in the fire. If I had known it was Miss +Henderson’s book, of course, I should not have done +it. But I did not know. I meant to punish horrid +old Thompson, and it seems I have succeeded better +than I expected.” +</p> +<p> +“But, Eve—Eve, the whole school is suspected +now. What are you going to do?” +</p> +<p> +“Do!” replied Evelyn. “Nothing.” +</p> +<p> +“But you have been asked, have you not, +whether you knew anything about the injury to +the book?” +</p> +<p> +“I have, and I told a nice little whopper—a nice +pretty little whopper—a dear, charming little whopper—and +I mean to stick to it.” +</p> +<p> +“Eve!” +</p> +<p> +“You look shocked. Well, cheer up; it has not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252'></a>252</span> +been your fault. I must confide in some one, so I +have told you, and you may tell Jasper if you like. +Dear old Jasper! she will applaud me for my spirit. +Oh dear! do you know, Sylvia, I think you are +rather a tiresome girl. I thought you too would +have admired the plucky way I have acted.” +</p> +<p> +“How can I admire deceit and lies?” replied +Sylvia in a low tone. +</p> +<p> +“You dare say those words to me!” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I dare. Oh, you have made me unhappy! +Oh, you have destroyed my day! Oh Eve, Eve, why +did you do it?” +</p> +<p> +“You won’t tell on me, please, Sylvia? You +have promised that, have you not?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, why should I tell? It is not my place. But +why did you do it?” +</p> +<p> +“If you will not tell, nothing matters. I have +done it, and it is not your affair.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, it is, now that you have confided in me. +Oh, you have made me unhappy!” +</p> +<p> +“You are a goose! But you may tell dear +Jasper; and tell her too that her little Eve will +wait for her at the turnstile on Tuesday night at +nine o’clock. Now then, let’s get ready or we +shall be late for dinner.” +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253'></a>253</span><a name='chXX' id='chXX'></a>CHAPTER XX.—“NOT GOOD NOR HONORABLE.”</h2> +<p> +It was very late indeed when Sylvia got home. +On this occasion she was not allowed to return to +The Priory unaccompanied; Lady Frances insisted +on Read going with her. Read said very little as +the two walked over the roads together; but she +was ever a woman of few words. Sylvia longed to +question her, as she wanted to take as much news as +possible to Jasper, but Read’s face was decidedly +uninviting. As soon as the woman had gone, Sylvia +slipped round to the back entrance, where Jasper +was waiting for her. Jasper had the gate ajar, and +Pilot was standing by her side. +</p> +<p> +“Come, darling—come right in,” she said. “The +coast is clear, and, oh! I have a lot to tell you.” +</p> +<p> +She fastened the back gate, making it look as +though it had not been disturbed for years, and a +moment later the woman and the girl were standing +in the warm kitchen. +</p> +<p> +“The door is locked, and he will not come,” said +Jasper. “He is quite well, and I heard him go up-stairs +to his bed an hour ago.” +</p> +<p> +“And did he eat anything, Jasper?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, did he not, my love? Oh, I am fit to die +with laughter when I think of it! He imagines +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254'></a>254</span> +that he has demolished one quarter of the scraggiest +hen in the hen-house.” +</p> +<p> +“What! old Wallaroo?” replied Sylvia, a smile +breaking over her face. +</p> +<p> +“Wallaroo, or whatever outlandish name you like +to call the bird.” +</p> +<p> +“Please tell me all about it.” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia sank down as she spoke into a chair. +Jasper related her morning’s adventure, and the two +laughed heartily. +</p> +<p> +“Only it seems a shame to deceive him,” said +Sylvia at last. “And so Wallaroo has really gone! +Do you know, I shall miss her; I have stood and +watched her antics for so many long days. She +was the most outrageous flirt of any bird I have +ever come across, and so indignant when old Roger +paid the least attention to any of his other wives.” +</p> +<p> +“She has passed her flirting days,” replied +Jasper, “and is now the property of little Tim Donovan +in the village; perhaps, however, she will get +more food there. My dear Miss Sylvia, you must +make up your mind that each one of those birds has +to be disposed of in secret, and that I in exchange +get in sleek and fat young fowls for your father’s +benefit. But now, that is enough on the subject for +the present. Tell me all about Miss Evelyn; I am +just dying to hear.” +</p> +<p> +“She will meet you on Tuesday evening at nine +o’clock by the turnstile in the shrubbery,” replied +Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +“That is right. What a brave, dear, plucky pet +she is!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255'></a>255</span> +</p> +<p> +Sylvia was silent. +</p> +<p> +“What is the matter with you, Miss Sylvia? Had +you not a happy day?” +</p> +<p> +“I had—very, very happy until just before +dinner.” +</p> +<p> +“And what happened then?” +</p> +<p> +“I will tell you in the morning, Jasper—not to-night. +Something happened then. I am sorry and +sad, but I will tell you in the morning. I must slip +up to bed now without father knowing it.” +</p> +<p> +“Your father thinks that you are in bed, for I went +up, just imitating your step to perfection, an hour +before he did, and I went into your room and shut +the door; and when he went up he knocked at the +door, and I answered in your voice that I had a bit +of a headache and had gone to bed. He asked me +if I had had any supper, and I said no; and he said +the best thing for a headache was to rest the stomach. +Bless you! he is keen on that, whatever else he is not +keen on. He went off to his bed thinking you were +snug in yours. When I made sure that he was +well in his bed, which I could tell by the creaking +of the bedstead, I let myself out. I had oiled the +lock previously. I shut the door without making +a sound loud enough to wake a mouse, and crept +down-stairs; and here I am. You must not go up +to-night or you will give me away, and there will +be a fine to-do. You must sleep in my cozy room +to-night.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I do not mind that,” replied Sylvia. “How +clever you are, Jasper! You really did manage most +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256'></a>256</span> +wonderfully; only again I must say it seems a shame +to deceive my dear old father.” +</p> +<p> +“It is a question of dying in the cause of your dear +old father or deceiving him,” replied Jasper in blunt +tones. “Now then, come to bed, my love, for if you +are not dead with sleep I am.” +</p> +<p> +The next morning Mr. Leeson was in admirable +spirits. He met Sylvia at breakfast, and congratulated +her on the long day she had spent in the open +air. +</p> +<p> +“And you look all the better for it,” he said. +“I was too busy to think about you at tea-time; +indeed, I did not have any tea, having consumed a +most admirable luncheon some time before one +o’clock. I was so very busy attending to my accounts +all the afternoon that I quite forgot my dear little +girl. Well, I have made arrangements, dearest, to +buy shares in the Kilcolman Gold-mines. The thing +may or may not turn up trumps, but in any case I +have made an effort to spare a little money to buy +some of the shares. That means that we must be +extra prudent and careful for the next year or so. +You will aid me in that, will you not, Sylvia? You +will solemnly promise me, my dear and only child, +that you will not give way to recklessness; when you +see a penny you will look at it two or three times +before you spend it. You have not the least idea +how careful it makes you to keep what I call close +and accurate accounts, every farthing made to +produce its utmost value, and, if possible—if possible, +my dear Sylvia—saved. It is surprising how little +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257'></a>257</span> +man really wants here below; the luxuries of the +present day are disgusting, enervating, unnecessary. +I speak to you very seriously, for now and then, I +grieve to say, I have seen traces in you of what +rendered my married life unhappy.” +</p> +<p> +“Father, you must not speak against mother,” +said Sylvia. Her face was pale and her voice +trembled. “There was no one like mother,” she +continued, “and for her sake I——” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Sylvia, what do you do for her sake?” +</p> +<p> +“I put up with this death in life. Oh father, +father, do you think I really—really like it?” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Leeson looked with some alarm at his child. +Sylvia’s eyes were full of tears; she laid her hands +on the table, bent forward, and looked full across at +her father. +</p> +<p> +“For mother’s sake I bear it; you cannot think +that I like it!” she repeated. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Leeson’s first amazement now gave place to +cold displeasure. +</p> +<p> +“We will not pursue this topic,” he said. “I have +something more to tell you. I made a pleasant discovery +yesterday. During your absence a strange +thing occurred. A gipsy woman entered the avenue +and walked up to the front door, unmolested by +Pilot. She seemed to have a strange power over +Pilot, for the dog did not bar her entrance in the +least. I naturally went to see what she wanted, and +she told me that she had come, thinking I might +have some fowls for sale. Now, you know, my +dear, those old birds in the hen-house have long been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258'></a>258</span> +eating their heads off, and I rather hailed an opportunity +of getting rid of them; they only lay eggs—and +that but a few—in the warm weather, and +during the winter we are at a loss by our efforts to +keep them alive.” +</p> +<p> +“I know plenty about fowls,” said Sylvia then. +“They need hot suppers and all sorts of good things +to make them lay eggs in cold weather.” +</p> +<p> +“We can do without eggs, but we cannot afford +to give the fowls hot suppers,” said Mr. Leeson in +a tone of great dignity. “But now, Sylvia, to the +point. The woman offered a ludicrous price for the +birds, and of course I would not part with them; +at the same time she incidentally—silly person—gave +herself away. She let me understand that she +wanted the fowls to stew down in the gipsy pot. +Now, of late, when arranging my recipes for publication, +I have often thought of the gipsies and the +delicious stews they make out of all sorts of things +which other people would throw away. It occurred +to me, therefore, to question her; and the result was, +dear, not to go too much into particulars, that she +killed one of the fowls, and in a very short time +brought me a delicious stew made out of the bird, +really as tasty and succulent as anything I have ever +swallowed. I paid her a trifle for her services, and +the remainder of the fowl is at the present moment +lying in the cupboard in our sitting-room. I should +like it to be warmed up for our midday repast; there +is a great deal more there than we can by any possibility +consume, but we can have a dainty meal out +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259'></a>259</span> +of part of the stew, and the rest can be saved for +supper. I have further decided that we must get +some one to kill the rest of the birds, and we will +have them one by one on the table. Do you ever, +my dear Sylvia, in your perambulations abroad, go +near any of the gipsies?—for, if so, I should not +mind giving you a shilling to purchase that woman’s +recipe.” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia at this juncture rose from the table. She +had with the utmost difficulty kept her composure +while her father was so innocently talking about the +gipsy’s stew. +</p> +<p> +“I will see—I will see, father. I quite understand,” +she said; and the next instant she ran out +of the room. +</p> +<p> +“Really,” thought Mr. Leeson when she had gone, +“Sylvia talks a little strangely at times. Just think +how she spoke just now of her happy home! Death +in life, she called it—a most wrong and exaggerated +term; and exaggeration of speech leads to extravagance +of mind, and extravagance of mind means most +reckless expenditure. If I am not very careful my +poor child will soon be on the road to ruin. I doubt +if I ought to feed her up with dainties—and really +that stewed fowl made a rare and delicious dish—but +it is the most saving thing I can do; there are +enough birds in the hen-house to last Sylvia and me +for several weeks to come.” +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile Sylvia had rushed off to Jasper. +</p> +<p> +“Oh Jasper!” she said, “I nearly died with +laughter, and yet it is horrid to deceive him. Oh! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260'></a>260</span> +please do not kill any more of the birds for a long +time; it is more than I can stand. Father is so delighted; +and he has offered me a shilling to buy the +recipe from you.” +</p> +<p> +“Bless you, dear!” replied Jasper, “and I think +what I am doing for your father is well worth a +shilling, so you had better give it to me.” +</p> +<p> +“I have not got it yet,” replied Sylvia. “You +must live on trust, Jasper; but, oh, it is quite too +funny!” +</p> +<p> +“Now, you sit down just there,” said Jasper, “and +tell me what troubled you last night.” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia’s face changed utterly when Jasper spoke. +</p> +<p> +“It is about Eve,” she said. “She has done very +wrong—very wrong indeed.” And then Sylvia related +exactly what had occurred at school. +</p> +<p> +Jasper stood and listened with her arms akimbo; +her face more than once underwent a curious expression. +</p> +<p> +“And so you blame my little Eve very much?” +she said when Sylvia had ceased speaking. +</p> +<p> +“How can I help it? To get the whole school accused—to +tell a lie to do it! Oh Jasper, how can +I help myself?” +</p> +<p> +“You were brought up so differently,” said Jasper. +“Maybe if I had had the rearing of you and the +loving of you from your earliest days I might have +thought with you; as it is, I think with Eve. I +could not counsel her to tell. I cannot but admire +her spirit when she did what she did.” +</p> +<p> +“Jasper! Jasper!” said Sylvia in a tone of horror, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261'></a>261</span> +“you cannot—cannot mean what you are saying! +Oh, please unsay those dreadful words! I was +hoping—hoping—hoping that you might put things +right. What is to be done? There is going to be +a great fuss—a great commotion—a great trouble at +Miss Henderson’s school. Evelyn can put it right +by confessing; are you not going to urge her to +confess?” +</p> +<p> +“I urge my darling to lower herself! Miss Sylvia, +if you say that kind of thing to me again, you and +I can scarcely be friends.” +</p> +<p> +“Jasper! Jasper!” +</p> +<p> +“We won’t talk about it,” said Jasper, with decision. +“I love you, miss, and what is more, I +respect and admire you, but I cannot rise as high +as you, Miss Sylvia; I was not reared so. I do not +think that my little Eve could have done other than +she did when she was so tempted.” +</p> +<p> +“Then, Jasper, you are a bad friend to Evelyn—a +very bad friend; and what is more, if there is great +trouble at the school, and if Audrey gets into it, and +if Evelyn herself will never tell, why, I must.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, good gracious! you would not be so mean +as that; and the poor, dear little innocent confided +in you!” +</p> +<p> +“I do not want to be so mean, and I will not tell +for a long, long time; but I will tell—I will—if no one +else can put it right, for it is quite too cruel.” +</p> +<p> +Jasper looked long and full at Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +“This may mean a good deal,” she said—“more +than you think. And have you no sense of honor, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262'></a>262</span> +miss? What you are told in confidence, have you +any right to give to the world?” +</p> +<p> +“I will not tell if I can help myself, but this +matter has made me very unhappy indeed.” +</p> +<p> +Then Sylvia put on her shabby hat and went out. +She passed the fowl-house, and stood for a moment, +a sad smile on her face, looking down at the ill-fed +birds. Then she went along the tiny shrubbery to +the front entrance, and, accompanied as usual by her +beloved Pilot, started forth. She was in her very +shabbiest and oldest dress to-day, and the joy and +brightness of her appearance of twenty-four hours +ago had absolutely left her young face. It was Sunday +morning, but Sylvia never went to church. She +heard the bells ringing now. Sweetly they pealed +across the valley, and one little church on the top +of the hill sent forth a low and yet joyful chime. +Sylvia longed to press her hands to her ears; she did +not want to listen to the church bells. Those who +went to church did right, not wrong; those who +went to church listened to God’s Word, and followed +the ways—the good and holy ways—of religion. +</p> +<p> +“And I cannot go because of my shabby, shabby +dress,” she thought. “But why should I not wear +the beautiful dress I had yesterday and venture to +church?” +</p> +<p> +No sooner had the thought come to her than she +returned, dashed in by the back entrance, desired +Pilot to stay where he was, flew up-stairs, dressed +herself recklessly in her rich finery of yesterday, and +started off for church. She had a fancy to go to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263'></a>263</span> +church on the top of the hill, but she had to walk +fast to reach it. She did arrive there a little late. +The verger showed her into a pew half-way up the +church. One or two people turned to stare at the +handsome girl. The brilliant color was in her +cheeks from the quickness of her walk. She dropped +on her knees and covered her face; all was confusion +in her mind. In the Squire’s pew, a very short distance +away, sat Audrey and Evelyn. Could Evelyn +indeed mean to pray? Of what sort of nature was +Evelyn made? Sylvia felt that she could not meet +her eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Some people who are not good, who are not honorable, +go to church,” she thought to herself. “It +is very sad and very puzzling.” +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264'></a>264</span><a name='chXXI' id='chXXI'></a>CHAPTER XXI.—THE TORN BOOK.</h2> +<p> +On the following morning Audrey and Evelyn +started off for school. On the way Audrey turned +to her companion. +</p> +<p> +“I wonder if anything has been discovered with +regard to the injured book?” she said. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I wish you would not talk so continually +about that stupid old fuss!” said Evelyn in her crossest +voice. +</p> +<p> +“It is useless to shirk it,” was Audrey’s reply. +“You do not suppose for a single moment that Miss +Henderson will not get to the bottom of the mischief? +For my part, I think I could understand a girl doing +it just for a moment in a spirit of revenge, although +I have never yet felt revengeful to any one—but +how any one could keep it up and allow the school +to get into trouble is what puzzles me.” +</p> +<p> +“Were you ever at school before, Audrey?” was +Evelyn’s remark. +</p> +<p> +“No; were you?” +</p> +<p> +“I wish I had been; I have always longed for +school.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, you have your wish at last. How do you +like it?” +</p> +<p> +“I should like it fairly well if I were put into a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265'></a>265</span> +higher form, and if this stupid fuss were not going +on.” +</p> +<p> +“Why do you dislike the subject being mentioned +so much?” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn colored slightly. Audrey looked at her. +There was no suspicion in Audrey’s eyes; it was +absolutely impossible for her to connect her cousin +with anything so mean and low. Evelyn had a +great many objectionable habits, but that she could +commit what was in Audrey’s opinion a very grave +sin, and then tell lies about it, was more than the +young girl could either imagine or realize. +</p> +<p> +The pretty governess-cart took them to school in +good time, and the usual routine of the morning +began. It was immediately after prayers, however, +that Miss Henderson spoke from her desk to the assembled +school. +</p> +<p> +“I am sorry to tell you all,” she began, “that up +to the present I have not got the slightest clue to the +mystery of the injured book. I have questioned, I +have gone carefully into every particular, and all I +can find out is that the book was left in classroom +No. 4 (which is usually occupied by the girls of the +Fourth Form); that it was placed there at nine +o’clock in the morning, and was not used again by +Miss Thompson until school was over—namely, +between five and six o’clock in the evening. During +that time, as far as I can make out, only one girl was +alone in the room. That girl was Evelyn Wynford. +I do not in any way accuse Evelyn Wynford of +having committed the sin—for sin it was—but I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266'></a>266</span> +have to mention the fact that she was alone in the +room during recess, having failed to learn a lesson +which had been set her. During the afternoon the +room was, as far as I can tell, empty for a couple of +hours, and of course some one may have come in +then and done the mischief. I therefore have not +the slightest intention of suspecting a girl who only +arrived that morning; but I mention the fact, all the +same, that Evelyn Wynford was <em>alone in the room +for the space of twenty minutes</em>.” +</p> +<p> +While Miss Henderson was speaking all eyes were +turned in Evelyn’s direction; all eyes saw a white +and stubborn face, and two angry brown eyes that +flashed almost wildly round the room and then +looked down. Just for an instant a few of the girls +said to themselves, “That is a guilty face.” But +again they thought, “How could she do it? Why +should she do it? No, it certainly cannot be Evelyn +Wynford.” +</p> +<p> +As to Audrey, she pitied Evelyn very much. She +thought it extremely hard on her that Miss Henderson +should have singled her out for individual notice +on this most painful occasion, and out of pity for her +she would not once glance in her direction. +</p> +<p> +Miss Henderson paused for a moment; then she +continued: +</p> +<p> +“Whoever the sinner may be, I am determined to +sift this crime to the bottom. I shall severely punish +the girl who tore the book unless she makes up +her mind to confess to me between now and to-morrow +evening. If she confesses before school is over +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267'></a>267</span> +to-morrow evening, I shall not only not punish but I +shall forgive her. It will be my painful duty, however, +to oblige her to confess her sin before the entire +school, as in no other way can the rest of the +girls be exonerated. I give her till to-morrow evening +to make up her mind. I hope she will ask for +strength from above to enable her to make this very +painful confession. I myself shall pray that she may +be guided aright. If no one comes forward by that +time, I must again assemble the school to suggest a +very terrible alternative.” +</p> +<p> +Here Miss Henderson left the room, and the different +members of the school went off to their respective +duties. +</p> +<p> +School went on much as usual. The girls were +forced to attend to their numerous duties; the all-absorbing +theme was therefore held more or less in +abeyance for the time being. At recess, however, +knots of girls might be seen talking to one another +in agitated whispers. The subject of the injured +book was the one topic on every one’s tongue. +Evelyn produced chocolates, crystallized fruits, and +other dainties from a richly embroidered bag which +she wore at her side, and soon had her own little +coterie of followers. To these she imparted her +opinion that Miss Henderson was not only a fuss, but +a dragon; that probably a servant had torn the book—or +perhaps, she added, Miss Thompson herself. +</p> +<p> +“Why,” said Evelyn, “should not Miss Thompson +greatly dislike Miss Henderson, and tear the outside +page out of the book just to spite her?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268'></a>268</span> +</p> +<p> +But this theory was not received as possible by +any one to whom she imparted it. Miss Thompson +was a favorite; Miss Thompson hated no one; +Miss Thompson was the last person on earth to do +such a shabby thing. +</p> +<p> +“Well,” said Evelyn crossly, “I don’t know who +did it; and what is more, I don’t care. Come and +walk with me, Alice,” she said to a pretty little curly-headed +girl who sat next to her at class. “Come +and let me tell you about all the grandeur which will +be mine by and by. I shall be queen by and by. +It is a shame—a downright shame—to worry a girl +in my position with such a trifle as a torn book. +The best thing we can all do is to subscribe amongst +ourselves and give the old dragon another <em>Sesame and +Lilies</em>. I don’t mind subscribing. Is it not a good +thought?” +</p> +<p> +“But that will not help her,” said Alice; while +Cherry, who stood near, solemnly shook her head. +</p> +<p> +“Why will it not help her?” asked Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“Because it was the inscription she valued—the +inscription in her brother’s writing; her brother who +is dead, you know.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn was about to make another pert remark +when a memory assailed her. Naughty, heartless, +rude as she was, she had somewhere a spark of feeling. +If she had loved any one it was the excitable +and strange woman she had called “mothery.” +</p> +<p> +“If mothery gave me something and wrote my +name in it I’d be fond of it,” she thought; and just +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269'></a>269</span> +for a moment a prick of remorse visited her hard +little heart. +</p> +<p> +No other girl in the whole school could confess the +crime which Evelyn had committed, and the evening +came in considerable gloom and excitement. Audrey +could talk of nothing else on their way home. +</p> +<p> +“It is terrible,” said Audrey. “I am really sorry +we are both at the school; it makes things so unpleasant +for us. And you, Evelyn—I did pity you when +Miss Henderson said to-day that you were alone in +the room. Did you not feel awful?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I did not,” replied Evelyn. “At least, perhaps +I did just for a minute.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, it was very brave of you. I should not +have liked to be in your position.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn turned the conversation. +</p> +<p> +“I wonder whether any one will confess to-morrow,” +said Audrey again. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps it was one of the servants,” remarked +Evelyn. Then she said abruptly, “Oh, do let us +change the subject!” +</p> +<p> +“There is something fine about Evelyn after all,” +thought Audrey; “And I am so glad! She took +that speech of Miss Henderson’s very well indeed. +Now, I scarcely thought it fair to have her name +singled out in the way it was. Surely Miss Henderson +could not have suspected my little cousin!” +</p> +<p> +At dinner Audrey mentioned the whole circumstance +of the torn book to her parents. The girls +were again dining with the Squire and Lady Frances. +The Squire was interested for a short time; he then +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270'></a>270</span> +began to chat with Evelyn, who was fast, in her +curious fashion, becoming a favorite of his. She was +always at her best in his society, and now nestled up +close to him, and said in an almost winsome manner: +</p> +<p> +“Don’t let us talk about the old fuss at school.” +</p> +<p> +“Whom do you call the old fuss, Evelyn?” +</p> +<p> +“Miss Henderson. I don’t like her a bit, Uncle +Edward.” +</p> +<p> +“That is very naughty, Evelyn. Remember, I +want you to like her.” +</p> +<p> +“Why?” +</p> +<p> +“Because for the present, at least, she is your +instructress.” +</p> +<p> +“But why should I like my instructress?” +</p> +<p> +“She cannot influence you unless you like her.” +</p> +<p> +“Then she will never influence me, because I +shall never like her,” cried the reckless girl. “I +wish you would teach me, Uncle Edward. I should +learn from you; you would influence me because I +love you.” +</p> +<p> +“I do try to influence you, Evelyn, and I want +you to do a great many things for me.” +</p> +<p> +“I would do anything in all the world for him,” +thought Evelyn, “except confess that I tore that +book; but that I would not do even for him. Of +course, now that there has been such an awful fuss, +I am sorry I did it, but for no other reason. It is +one comfort, however, they cannot possibly suspect +me.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Frances, however, took Audrey’s information +in a very different spirit from what her husband +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271'></a>271</span> +did. She felt indignant at Evelyn’s having been +singled out for special and undoubtedly unfavorable +notice by Miss Henderson, and resolved to call at +the school the next day to have an interview with +the head-mistress. She said nothing to Audrey about +her intention, and the girls went off to school without +the least idea of what Lady Frances was about +to do. Her carriage stopped before Chepstow +House a little before noon. She inquired for Miss +Henderson, and was immediately admitted into the +head-mistress’s private sitting-room. There Miss +Henderson a moment or two later joined her. +</p> +<p> +“I am sorry to trouble you,” began Lady Frances +at once, “but I have come on a matter which occasioned +me a little distress. I allude to the mystery +of the torn book. Audrey has told me all about it, +so I am in possession of full particulars. Of course +I am extremely sorry for you, and can quite understand +your feelings with regard to the injury of a +book you value so much; but, at the same time, +you will excuse my saying, Miss Henderson, that I +think your mentioning Evelyn’s name in the way +you did was a little too obvious. It was uncomfortable +for the poor child, although I understand from +my daughter that she took it extremely well.” +</p> +<p> +“In a case of this kind,” replied Miss Henderson +quietly, “one has to be just, and not to allow any +favoritism to appear.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, certainly,” said Lady Frances; “it was my +wish in sending both girls to school that they should +find their level.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272'></a>272</span> +</p> +<p> +“And I regret to say,” answered Miss Henderson, +“that your niece’s level is not a high one.” +</p> +<p> +“Alas! I am aware of it. I have been terribly +pained since Evelyn came home by her recklessness +and want of obedience; but this is a very different +matter. This shows a most depraved nature; and +of course you cannot for a moment have suspected +my niece when you spoke of her being alone in the +room.” +</p> +<p> +“Had any other girl been alone in the room I +should equally have mentioned her name,” said +Miss Henderson. “I certainly did not at the time +suspect Miss Wynford.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean by ‘did not at the time’? +Have you changed your opinion?” +</p> +<p> +Lady Frances’s face turned very white. +</p> +<p> +“I am sorry to say that I have.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean?” +</p> +<p> +“If you will pardon me for a moment I will explain.” +</p> +<p> +Miss Henderson left the room. +</p> +<p> +While she was absent Lady Frances felt a cold +dew breaking out on her forehead. +</p> +<p> +“This is beyond everything,” she thought. “But +it is impossible; the child could never have done it. +What motive would she have? She is not as bad +as that; and it was her very first day at school.” +</p> +<p> +Miss Henderson re-entered the room, accompanied +by Miss Thompson. In Miss Thompson’s hand was +a copy of the History of England that Evelyn had +been using. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273'></a>273</span> +</p> +<p> +“Will you kindly open that book,” said Miss +Henderson, “and show Lady Frances what you have +found there?” +</p> +<p> +Miss Thompson did so. She opened the History +at the reign of Edward I. Between the leaves were +to be seen two fragments of torn paper. Miss +Thompson removed them carefully and laid them +upon Lady Frances’s hand. Lady Frances glanced +at them, and saw that they were beyond doubt torn +from a copy of Ruskin’s <em>Sesame and Lilies</em>. She let +them drop back again on to the open page of the +book. +</p> +<p> +“I accuse no one,” said Miss Henderson. “Even +now I accuse no one; but I grieve to tell you, Lady +Frances, that this book was in the hands of your +niece, Evelyn Wynford, on that afternoon.—Miss +Thompson, will you relate the entire circumstances +to Lady Frances?” +</p> +<p> +“I am very, very sorry,” said Miss Thompson. +“I wish with all my heart I had understood the +child better, but of course she was a stranger to me. +The circumstance was this: I gave her the history +of the reign of Edward I. to look over during class, +as of course on her first day at school she had no +regular lessons ready. She glanced at it, told me +she knew the reign, and amused herself looking +about during the remainder of the time. At recess +I called her to me and questioned her. She seemed +to be totally ignorant of anything relating to +Edward I. I reproved her for having made an incorrect +statement——” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274'></a>274</span> +</p> +<p> +“For having told a lie, you mean,” snapped Lady +Frances. +</p> +<p> +Miss Thompson bowed. +</p> +<p> +“I reproved her, and as a punishment desired her +to look over the reign while the other girls were in +the playground.” +</p> +<p> +“And quite right,” said Lady Frances. +</p> +<p> +“She was very much annoyed, but I was firm. +I left her with the book in her hand. I have nothing +more to say. At six o’clock that evening I +removed <em>Sesame and Lilies</em> from its place in the +classroom, and took it away to continue the preparation +of a lecture. I then found that several +pages had been removed. This morning, early, I +happened to take this very copy of the History, and +found these fragments in the part of the book which +contains the reign of Edward I.” +</p> +<p> +“Suspicion undoubtedly now points to Evelyn,” +said Miss Henderson; “and I must say, Lady +Frances, that although a matter of this kind pertains +entirely to the school, and must be dealt with +absolutely by the head-mistress, yet your having +called, and in a measure taken the matter up, relieves +me of a certain responsibility.” +</p> +<p> +“Suspicion does undoubtedly point to the unhappy +child,” said Lady Frances; “but still, I can scarcely +believe it. What do you mean to do?” +</p> +<p> +“I shall to-morrow morning have to state before +the entire school what I have now stated to you.” +</p> +<p> +“It might be best for me to remove Evelyn, and +let her confess to you in writing.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275'></a>275</span> +</p> +<p> +“I do not think that would be either right or fair. +If the girl is taken away now she is practically injured +for life. Give her a chance, I beseech you, +Lady Frances, of retrieving her character.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, what is to be done?” said Lady Frances. +“To think that my daughter should have a girl like +that for a companion! You do not know how we +are all to be pitied.” +</p> +<p> +“I do indeed; you have my sincere sympathy,” +said Miss Henderson. +</p> +<p> +“And what do you advise?” +</p> +<p> +“I think, as she is a member of the school, you +must leave her to me. She committed this offense +on the very first day of her school-life, and if possible +we must not be too severe on her. She has not +been brought up as an English girl.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Frances talked a little longer with the head-mistress, +and went away; she felt terribly miserable +and unhappy. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276'></a>276</span><a name='chXXII' id='chXXII'></a>CHAPTER XXII.—“STICK TO YOUR COLORS, EVELYN.”</h2> +<p> +Evelyn met Jasper, as arranged, on Tuesday +evening. She found it quite easy to slip away unnoticed, +for in truth Lady Frances was too unhappy +to watch her movements particularly. The girls had +been dining alone. Audrey had a headache, and had +gone to bed early. Evelyn rushed up to her room, +put on a dark shawl, which completely covered her +fair hair and white-robed little figure, and rushed +out by a side entrance. She wore thin shoes, however, +being utterly reckless with regard to her +health. Jasper was waiting for her. It took but an +instant for Jasper to clasp her in her arms, lifting +her off the ground as she did so. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, my little darling,” cried the affectionate +woman—“my sweet little white Eve! Oh, let me +hug you; let me kiss you! Oh, my pet! it is like +cold water to a thirsty person to clasp you in my +arms again.” +</p> +<p> +“Do not squeeze me quite so tight, Jasper,” said +Evelyn. “Yes, of course, I am glad to see you—very +glad.” +</p> +<p> +“But let me feel your feet, pet. Oh, to think of +your running out like this in your house-shoes! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277'></a>277</span> +You will catch your death! Here, I will sit down +on this step and keep you in my arms. Now, is not +that cozy, my fur cloak wrapped round you, feet and +all? Is not that nice, little Eve?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, very nice,” said Evelyn. “It is almost as +good as if I were back again on the ranch with +mothery and you.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, the happy old days!” sighed Jasper. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, they were very happy, Jasper. I almost +wish I was back again. I am worried a good bit; +things are not what I thought they would be in England. +There is no fuss made about me, and at school +they treat me so horribly.” +</p> +<p> +“You bide your time, my love; you bide your +time.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t like school, Jas.” +</p> +<p> +“And why not, my beauty? You know you must +be taught, my dear Miss Evelyn; an ignorant young +lady has no chance at all in these enlightened days.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh! please, Jas, do not talk so much like a +horrid book; be your true old self. What does +learning matter?” +</p> +<p> +“Everything, love; I assure you it does.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I shall never be learned; it is too much +trouble.” +</p> +<p> +“But why don’t you like school, pet?” +</p> +<p> +“I will tell you. I have got into a scrape; I did +not mean to, but I have.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, you mean about that book. Sylvia told me. +Why did you tell Sylvia, Evelyn?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278'></a>278</span> +</p> +<p> +“I had to tell some one, and she is not a schoolgirl.” +</p> +<p> +“She is not your sort, Evelyn.” +</p> +<p> +“Is she not? I like her very much.” +</p> +<p> +“But she is not your sort; for instance, she could +not do a thing of that kind.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I do not suppose many people would have +spirit enough,” said Evelyn in the voice of one who +had done a very fine act. +</p> +<p> +“She could not do it,” repeated Jasper; “and I +expect she is in the right, and that you, my little +love, are in the wrong. You were differently +trained. Well, my dear Eve, the long and short of +it is that I admire what you did, only somehow +Sylvia does not, and you will have to be very careful +or she may——” +</p> +<p> +“What—what, Jasper?” +</p> +<p> +“She may not regard it as a secret that she will +always keep.” +</p> +<p> +“Is she that sort? Oh, the horrid, horrid thing!” +said Evelyn. “Oh, to think that I should have told +her! But you cannot mean it; it is impossible that +you can mean it, Jasper!” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t you fret, love, for I will not let her. If +she dares to tell on you, why, I will leave her, and then +it is pretty near starvation for the poor little miss.” +</p> +<p> +“You are sure you will not let her tell? I really +am in rather a nasty scrape. They are making such +a horrid fuss at school. This evening was the limit +given for the guilty person—I should not say the +guilty person, but the spirited person—to tell, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279'></a>279</span> +the spirited person has not told; and to-morrow +morning goodness knows what will happen. Miss +Henderson has a rod in pickle for us all, I expect. +I declare it is quite exciting. None of the girls suspect +me, and I talk so openly, and sometimes they +laugh, too. I suppose we shall all be punished. I +do not really know what is going to be done.” +</p> +<p> +“You hold your tongue and let the whole matter +slide. That is my advice,” said Jasper. “I would +either do that or I would out with it boldly—one or +the other. Say you did it, and that you are not +ashamed to have done it.” +</p> +<p> +“I could not—I could not,” said Evelyn. “I may +be brave after a fashion, but I am not brave enough +for that. Besides, you know, Jasper, I did say +already that I had not done it.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, to be sure,” answered Jasper. “I forgot +that. Well, you must stick to your colors now, Eve; +and at the worst, my darling, you have but to come +to me and I will shield you.” +</p> +<p> +“At the worst—yes, at the worst,” said Evelyn. +“I will remember that. But if I want to come to +you very badly how can I?” +</p> +<p> +“I will come every night to this stile at nine +o’clock, and if you want me you will find me. I +will stay here for exactly five minutes, and any message +you may like to give you can put under this +stone. Now, is not that a ’cute thought of your +dear old Jasper’s?” +</p> +<p> +“It is—it is,” said the little girl. “Perhaps, +Jasper, I had better be going back now.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280'></a>280</span> +</p> +<p> +“In a minute, darling—in a minute.” +</p> +<p> +“And how are you getting on with Sylvia, +Jasper?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, such fun, dear! I am having quite an exciting +time—hidden from the old gentleman, and +acting the gipsy, and pretending I am feeding him +with old fowls when I am giving him the tenderest +chicken. You have not, darling, a little scrap of +money to spare that you can help old Jasper with?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh! you are so greedy, Jasper; you are always +asking for things. Uncle Edward makes me an +allowance, but not much; no one would suppose I +was the heiress of everything.” +</p> +<p> +“Well dear, the money don’t matter. I will come +here again to-morrow night. Now, keep up your +pecker, little Eve, and all will be well.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn kissed Jasper, and was about to run back +to the house when the good woman remembered the +light shoes in which she had come out. +</p> +<p> +“I’ll carry you back,” she said. “Those precious +little feet shall not touch the frosty ground.” +</p> +<p> +Jasper was very strong, and Evelyn was all too +willing. She was carried to within fifty yards of the +side entrance in Jasper’s strong arms; then she +dashed back to the house, kissed her hand to the +dark shadow under a tree, and returned to her own +room. Read had seen her, but Evelyn knew nothing +of that. Read had had her suspicions before now, +and determined, as she said, to keep a sharp lookout +on young miss in future. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281'></a>281</span><a name='chXXIII' id='chXXIII'></a>CHAPTER XXIII.—ONE WEEK OF GRACE.</h2> +<p> +There never was a woman more distressed and +puzzled than Miss Henderson. She consulted with +her sister, Miss Lucy; she consulted with her favorite +teacher, Miss Thompson. They talked into +the small hours of the night, and finally it was resolved +that Evelyn should have another chance. +</p> +<p> +“I must appeal to her honor; it is impossible that +any girl could be quite destitute of that quality,” +said Miss Henderson. +</p> +<p> +“I am sure you are doing right, sister,” said Miss +Lucy. “Once you harden a girl you do for her. +Whatever Evelyn Wynford’s faults may be, she will +hold a high position one day. It would be terrible—more +than terrible—if she grew up a wicked +woman. How awful to have power and not to use +it aright! My dear Maria, whatever you are, be +merciful.” +</p> +<p> +“I must pray to God to guide me aright,” answered +Miss Maria. “This is a case for a right judgment +in all things. Poor child! I pity her from my +heart; but how to bring her to the necessary confession +is the question.” +</p> +<p> +Miss Henderson went to bed, but not to sleep. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282'></a>282</span> +Early in the morning she arose, having made up her +mind what to do. +</p> +<p> +Accordingly, when Audrey and Evelyn arrived in +the pretty little governess-cart—Audrey with a high +color in her cheeks, looking as sweet and fresh and +good and nice as English girl could look, and Evelyn +tripping after her with a certain defiance on her +white face and a look of hostility in her brown eyes—they +were both greeted by Miss Henderson herself. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, Audrey dear,” she said in a cheerful and +friendly tone, “how are you this morning?—How do +you do, Evelyn?—No, Audrey, you are not late; +you are quite in nice time. Will you go to the +schoolroom, my dear? I will join you presently +for prayers.—Evelyn, can I have a word with you?” +</p> +<p> +“Why so?” asked Evelyn, backing a little. +</p> +<p> +“Because I have something I want to say to you.” +</p> +<p> +Audrey also stood still. She cast a hostile glance +at Miss Henderson, saying to herself: +</p> +<p> +“After all, my head-mistress is horribly unfair; +she is doubtless going to tell Evelyn that she suspects +her.” +</p> +<p> +“Evelyn,” said Audrey, “I will wait for you in the +dressing-room if Miss Henderson has no objection.” +</p> +<p> +“But I have, for it may be necessary for me to +detain your cousin for a short time,” said Miss +Henderson. “Go, Audrey; do not keep me any +longer.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn stood sullenly and perfectly still in the +hall; Audrey disappeared in the direction of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283'></a>283</span> +schoolrooms. Miss Henderson now took Evelyn’s +hand and led her into her private sitting-room. +</p> +<p> +“What do you want me for?” asked the little +girl. +</p> +<p> +“I want to say something to you, Evelyn.” +</p> +<p> +“Then say it, please.” +</p> +<p> +“You must not be pert.” +</p> +<p> +“I do not know what ‘pert’ is.” +</p> +<p> +“What you are now. But there, my dear child, +please control yourself; believe me, I am truly sorry +for you.” +</p> +<p> +“Then you need not be,” said Evelyn, with a toss +of her head. “I do not want anybody to be sorry +for me. I am one of the most lucky girls in the +world. Sorry for me! Please don’t. Mothery +could never bear to be pitied, and I won’t be pitied; +I have nothing to be pitied for.” +</p> +<p> +“Who did you say never cared to be pitied?” +asked Miss Henderson. +</p> +<p> +“Never you mind.” +</p> +<p> +“And yet, Evelyn, I think I have heard the words. +You allude to your mother. I understand from Lady +Frances that your mother is dead. You loved her, +did you not?” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn gave a quick nod; her face seemed to say, +“That is nothing to you.” +</p> +<p> +“I see you did, and she was fond of you.” +</p> +<p> +In spite of herself Evelyn gave another nod. +</p> +<p> +“Poor little girl; how sad to be without her!” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t,” said Evelyn in a strained voice. +</p> +<p> +“You lived all your early days in Tasmania, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284'></a>284</span> +your mother was good to you because she loved you, +and you loved her back; you tried to please her +because you loved her.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, bother!” said Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“Come here, dear.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn did not budge an inch. +</p> +<p> +“Come over to me,” said Miss Henderson. +</p> +<p> +Miss Henderson was not accustomed to being disobeyed. +Her tone was not loud, but it was quiet +and determined. She looked full at Evelyn. Her +eyes were kind. Evelyn felt as if they mesmerized +her. Step by step, very unwillingly, she approached +the side of the head-mistress. +</p> +<p> +“I love girls like you,” said Miss Henderson then. +</p> +<p> +“Bother!” said Evelyn again. +</p> +<p> +“And I do not mind even when they are sulky +and rude and naughty, as you are now; still, I love +them—I love them because I am sorry for them.” +</p> +<p> +“You need not be sorry for me; I won’t have you +sorry for me,” said Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“If I must not be sorry for you I must be something +else.” +</p> +<p> +“What?” +</p> +<p> +“Angry with you.” +</p> +<p> +“Why so? I never! What do you mean now?” +</p> +<p> +“I must be angry with you, Evelyn—very angry. +But I will say no more by way of excusing my own +conduct. I will say nothing of either sorrow or +anger. I want to state a fact to you.” +</p> +<p> +“Get it over,” said Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +Miss Henderson now approached the table; she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285'></a>285</span> +opened the History at the reign of Edward I., +and taking two tiny fragments of torn paper from +the pages of the book, she laid them in her open +palm. In her other hand she held the mutilated +copy of <em>Sesame and Lilies</em>. The print on the torn +scrap exactly corresponded with the print in the injured +volume. Miss Henderson glanced from Evelyn +to the scraps of paper, and from Evelyn to the copy +of Ruskin. +</p> +<p> +“You have intelligence,” she said; “you must see +what this means.” +</p> +<p> +She then carefully replaced the bits of paper in +the History and laid it on the table by her side. +</p> +<p> +“Between now,” she said, “and this time yesterday +Miss Thompson discovered these scraps of paper +in the copy of the History which you had to read +on the morning of the day when you first came to +school. The scraps are evidently part of the pages +torn from the injured book. Have you anything +to say with regard to them?” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn shook her head; her face was white and her +eyes bright. But there was a small red spot on each +cheek—a spot about the size of a farthing. It did +not grow any larger. It gave a curious effect to the +pallid face. The obstinacy of the mouth was very +apparent. The cleft in the chin still further showed +the curious bias of the girl’s character. +</p> +<p> +“Have you anything to say—any remark to +make?” +</p> +<p> +Again the head was slowly shaken. +</p> +<p> +“Is there any reason why I should not immediately after +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286'></a>286</span> +prayers to-day explain these circumstances +to the whole school, and allow the school to draw its +own conclusions?” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn now raised her eyes and fixed them on +Miss Henderson’s face. +</p> +<p> +“You will not do that, will you?” she asked. +</p> +<p> +“Have you ever, Evelyn, heard of such a thing as +circumstantial evidence?” +</p> +<p> +“No. What is it?” +</p> +<p> +“You are very ignorant, my dear child—ignorant +as well as wilful; wilful as well as wicked.” +</p> +<p> +“No, I am not wicked; you shall not say it!” +</p> +<p> +“Tell me, is there any reason why I should not +show what I have now shown you to the rest of +the school, and allow the school to draw its own +conclusion?” +</p> +<p> +“You won’t—will you?” +</p> +<p> +“Must I explain to you, Evelyn, what this means?” +</p> +<p> +“You can say anything you like.” +</p> +<p> +“These scraps of paper prove beyond doubt that +you, for some extraordinary reason, were the person +who tore the book. Why you did it is beyond my +conception, is beyond Miss Thompson’s conception, +is beyond the conception of my sister Lucy; but that +you did do it we none of us for a moment doubt.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, you are wicked! How dare you think such +things of me?” +</p> +<p> +“Tell me, Evelyn—tell me why you did it. Come +here and tell me. I will not be unkind to you, my +poor little girl. I am sorry for one so ignorant, so +wanting in all conceptions of right or wrong. Tell +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287'></a>287</span> +me, dear, and as there is a God in heaven, Evelyn, I +will forgive you.” +</p> +<p> +“I will not tell you what I did not do,” said the +angry child. +</p> +<p> +“You are vexed now and do not know what you +are saying. I will go away, and come back again +at the end of half an hour; perhaps you will tell me +then.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn stood silent. Miss Henderson, taking the +History with her, left the room. She turned the +key in the lock. Evelyn rushed to the window. +Could she get out by it? She rushed to the door +and tried to open it. Window and door defied her +efforts. She was locked in. She was like a wild +creature in a trap. To scream would do no good. +Never before had the spoilt child found herself in +such a position. A wild agony seized her; even now +she did not repent. +</p> +<p> +If only mothery were alive! If only she were +back on the ranch! If only Jasper were by her +side! +</p> +<p> +“Oh mothery! oh Jasper!” she cried; and then +a sob rose to her throat, tears burst from her eyes. +The tension for the time was relieved; she huddled up +in a chair, and sobbed as if her heart would break. +</p> +<p> +Miss Henderson came back again in half an hour. +Evelyn was still sobbing. +</p> +<p> +“Well, Evelyn,” she said, “I am just going into +the schoolroom now for prayers. Have you made +up your mind? Will you tell me why you did it, and +how you did it, and why you denied it? Just three +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288'></a>288</span> +questions, dear; answer truthfully, and you will have +got over the most painful and terrible crisis of your +life. Be brave, little girl; ask God to help you.” +</p> +<p> +“I cannot tell you what I do not know,” burst +now from the angry child. “Think what you like. +Do what you like. I am at your mercy; but I hate +you, and I will never be a good girl—never, never! +I will be a bad girl always—always; and I hate you—I +hate you!” +</p> +<p> +Miss Henderson did not speak a word. The most +violent passion cannot long retain its hold when the +person on whom its rage is spent makes no reply. +Even Evelyn cooled down a little. Miss Henderson +stood quite still; then she said gently: +</p> +<p> +“I am deeply sorry. I was prepared for this. It +will take more than this to subdue you.” +</p> +<p> +“Are you going into the schoolroom with those +scraps of paper, and are you going to tell all the +girls I am guilty?” said Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“No, I shall not do that; I will give you another +chance. There was to have been a holiday to-day, +but because of that sin of yours there will be no +holiday. There was to be a visit on Saturday to the +museum at Chisfield, which the girls were all looking +forward to; they are not to go on account of +you. There were to be prizes at the break-up; they +will not be given on account of you. The girls will +not know that you are the cause of this deprivation, +but they will know that the deprivation is theirs because +there is a guilty person in the school, and +because she will not confess. Evelyn, I give you a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289'></a>289</span> +week from now to think this matter over. Remember, +my dear, that I know you are guilty; remember +that my sister Lucy knows it, and Miss Thompson; +but before you are publicly disgraced we wish to +give you a chance. We will treat you during the +week that has yet to run as we would any other girl +in the school. You will be treated until the week +is up as though you were innocent. Think well +whether you will indeed doom your companions to +so much disappointment as will be theirs during the +next week, to so dark a suspicion. During the next +week the school will practically be sent to Coventry. +Those who care for the girls will have to hold aloof +from them. All the parents will have to be written +to and told that there is an ugly suspicion hanging +over the school. Think well before you put your +companions, your schoolfellows, into this cruel +position.” +</p> +<p> +“It is you who are cruel,” said Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“I must ask God to melt your hard heart, Evelyn.” +</p> +<p> +“And are you really going to do all this?” +</p> +<p> +“Certainly.” +</p> +<p> +“And at the end of the week?” +</p> +<p> +“If you have not confessed before then I shall be +obliged to confess for you before all the school. +But, my poor child, you will; you must make +amends. God could not have made so hard a +heart!” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn wiped away her tears. She scarcely knew +what she felt; she scarcely comprehended what was +going to happen. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290'></a>290</span> +</p> +<p> +“May I bathe my eyes,” she said, “before I go +with you into the schoolroom?” +</p> +<p> +“You may. I will wait for you here.” +</p> +<p> +The little girl left the room. +</p> +<p> +“I never met such a character,” said Miss Henderson +to herself. “God help me, what am I to do +with her? If at the end of a week she has not confessed +her sin, I shall be obliged to ask Lady Frances +to remove her. Poor child—poor child!” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn came back looking pale but serene. She +held out her hand to Miss Henderson. +</p> +<p> +“I do not want your hand, Evelyn.” +</p> +<p> +“You said you would treat me for a week as if I +were innocent.” +</p> +<p> +“Very well, then; I will take your hand.” +</p> +<p> +Miss Henderson entered the schoolroom holding +Evelyn’s hand. Evelyn was looking as if nothing +had happened; the traces of her tears had vanished. +She sat down on her form; the other girls glanced at +her in some wonder. Prayers were read as usual; +the head-mistress knelt to pray. As her voice rose +on the wings of prayer it trembled slightly. She +prayed for those whose hearts were hard, that God +would soften them. She prayed that wrong might +be set right, that good might come out of evil, and +that she herself might be guided to have a right +judgment in all things. There was a great solemnity +in her prayer, and it was felt throughout the hush +in the big room. When she rose from her knees +she ascended to her desk and faced the assembled +girls. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291'></a>291</span> +</p> +<p> +“You know,” she said, “what an unpleasant task +lies before me. The allotted time for the confession +of the guilty person who injured my book, <em>Sesame +and Lilies</em>, has gone by. The guilty person has not +confessed, but I may as well say that the injury has +been traced home to one of your number—but to +whom, I am at present resolved not to tell. I give +that person one week in order to make her confession. +I do this for reasons which my sister and I +consider all-sufficient; but during that week, I am +sorry to say, my dear girls, you must all bear with her +and for her the penalty of her wrong-doing. I must +withhold indulgences, holidays, half-holidays, visits +from friends; all that makes life pleasant and bright +and home-like will have to be withdrawn. Work +will have to be the order of the hour—work without +the impetus of reward—work for the sake of +work. I am sorry to have to do this, but I feel that +such a course of conduct is due to myself. In a +week’s time from now, if the girl has not confessed, +I must take further steps; but I can assure the +school that the cloud of my displeasure will then alone +visit the guilty person, on whom it will fall with +great severity.” +</p> +<p> +There was a long, significant pause when Miss +Henderson ceased speaking. She was about to descend +from her seat when Brenda Fox spoke. +</p> +<p> +“Is this quite fair?” she said. “I hope I am not +asking an impertinent question, but is it fair that the +innocent should suffer for the guilty?” +</p> +<p> +“I must ask you all to do so. Think of the history +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292'></a>292</span> +of the past, girls. Take courage; it is not the first +time.” +</p> +<p> +“I think,” said Brenda Fox later on that same day +to Audrey, “that Miss Henderson is right.” +</p> +<p> +“Then I think her wrong,” answered Audrey. +“Of course I do not know her as well as you do, +Brenda, and I am also ignorant with regard to the +ordinary rules of school-life, but I cannot but feel it +would be much better, if the guilty girl will not +confess, to punish her at once and put an end to the +thing.” +</p> +<p> +“It would be pleasanter for us,” replied Brenda +Fox; “but then, Miss Henderson never thinks of +that.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean?” +</p> +<p> +“I mean that Miss Henderson is the sort of +woman who would think very little of small personal +pain and inconvenience compared with the injury +which might be permanently inflicted on a girl who +was harshly dealt with.” +</p> +<p> +“Still I do not quite understand. If any girl in +the school did such a disgraceful thing it ought to be +known at once.” +</p> +<p> +“Miss Henderson evidently does know, but for +some reason she hopes the girl will repent.” +</p> +<p> +“And we are to be punished?” +</p> +<p> +“Is it not worth having a little discomfort if the +girl’s character can be saved?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, of course; if it does save her.” +</p> +<p> +“We must hope for that. For my part,” said +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293'></a>293</span> +Brenda in a reverent tone, “I shall pray about it. +I believe in prayer.” +</p> +<p> +“And so do I,” answered Audrey. “But do you +know, Brenda, that I think Miss Henderson was +greatly wanting in tact when she mentioned my poor +little cousin’s name two days ago.” +</p> +<p> +“Why so? Your cousin did happen to be alone +in the room.” +</p> +<p> +“But it seemed to draw a very unworthy suspicion +upon her head.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh no, no, Audrey!” answered Brenda. “Who +could think that your cousin would do it? Besides, +she is quite a stranger; it was her first day at +school.” +</p> +<p> +“Then have you the least idea who did it?” +</p> +<p> +“None; no one has. We are all very fond of Miss +Thompson. We are all fond of Miss Henderson; +we respect her and Miss Lucy as most able and worthy +mistresses. We enjoy our school-life. Who could +have been so unkind?” +</p> +<p> +Audrey had an uncomfortable sensation at her +heart that Evelyn at least did not enjoy her school-life; +that Evelyn disliked Miss Thompson, and +openly said that she hated Miss Henderson. Still, +that Evelyn could really be guilty did not for an +instant visit her brain. +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile Evelyn went recklessly on her way. +The <em>dénouement</em>, of whatever nature, was still a week +off. For a week she could be gay or impertinent or +rude or defiant or good, just as the mood took her; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294'></a>294</span> +at the end of the week, or towards the end, she would +run away. She would go to Jasper and tell her she +must hide her. This was her resolve. She was as +inconsequent as an infant. To save herself trouble +and pain was her one paramount idea; even her +schoolfellows’ annoyance and distress scarcely worried +her. As she and Audrey always spent their +evenings at home, the dulness of the school, the increase +of lessons and the absence of play, the walks +two and two in absolute silence, scarcely depressed +her; she could laugh and play at home, and talk to +her uncle and draw him out to tell her stories of her +father. The one redeeming trait in her character +was her love for Uncle Edward. She was certainly +going downhill very rapidly at this time. Poor child! +who was there to understand her, to bring her to a +standstill, to help her to choose right? +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295'></a>295</span><a name='chXXIV' id='chXXIV'></a>CHAPTER XXIV.—“WHO IS E. W.?”</h2> +<p> +The one person who might have helped Evelyn +was too busy with her own troubles just then to think +a great deal about her. Poor Sylvia was visited +with a very great dread. Her father’s manner was +strange; she began to fear that he suspected Jasper’s +presence in the house. If Jasper left, Sylvia felt +that things must come to a crisis; she could not +stand the life she had lived before the comfortable +advent of this kindly but ill-informed woman. Sylvia +was really very much attached to Jasper, and although +she argued much over Evelyn, and disagreed +strongly with her with regard to the best way to +treat this unruly little member of society, Sylvia’s +very life depended on Jasper’s purse and Jasper’s +tact. +</p> +<p> +One by one the fowls disappeared, the same boy +receiving them over the hedge day by day from +Jasper. The boy sold each of the old hens for sixpence, +and reaped quite a harvest in consequence. +He was all too willing to keep Jasper’s secret. +Jasper bought tender young cockerels from a neighbor +in the village, conveyed them home under her +arm, killed them, and dressed them in various and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296'></a>296</span> +dainty manners for Mr. Leeson’s meals. He was +loud in his praise of Sylvia, and told her that if the +worst came to the worst she could go out as a lady +cook. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing could give me such horror, my dear +child,” he said, “as to think that a Leeson, and a +member of one of the proudest families in the kingdom, +should ever demean herself to earn money; but, +my dear girl, in these days of chance and change one +must be prepared for the worst—there never is any +telling. Sylvia, I go through anxious moments—very, +very anxious moments.” +</p> +<p> +“You do, father,” answered the girl. “You watch +the post too much. I cannot imagine,” she continued, +“why you are so fretted and so miserable, for +surely we must spend very, very little indeed.” +</p> +<p> +“We spend more than we ought, Sylvia—far more. +But there, dear, I am not complaining; I suppose a +young girl must have dainties and fine dress.” +</p> +<p> +“Fine dress!” said Sylvia. She looked down at +her shabby garment and colored painfully. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Leeson faced her with his bright and sunken +dark eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Come here,” he said. +</p> +<p> +She went up to him, trembling and her head +hanging. +</p> +<p> +“I saw you two days ago; it was Sunday, and +you went to church. I was standing in the shrubbery. +I was lost—yes, lost—in painful thoughts. +Those recipes which I was about to give to the world +were occupying my mind, and other things as well. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297'></a>297</span> +You rushed by in your shabby dress; you went into +the house by the back entrance. Sylvia dear, I +sometimes think it would be wise to lock that door. +With you and me alone in the house it might be +safest to have only one mode of ingress.” +</p> +<p> +“But I always lock it when I go out,” said Sylvia; +“and it saves so much time to be able to use the back +entrance.” +</p> +<p> +“It is just like you, Sylvia; you argue about +every thing I say. However, to proceed. You went +in; I wondered at your speed. You came out again +in a quarter of an hour transformed. Where did you +get that dress?” +</p> +<p> +“What dress, father?” +</p> +<p> +“Do not prevaricate. Look me straight in the +face and tell me. You were dressed in brown of +rich shade and good material. You had a stylish and +fanciful and hideous hat upon your head; it had +feathers. My very breath was arrested when I saw +the merry-andrew you made of yourself. You had +furs, too—doubtless imitations, but still, to all appearance, +rich furs—round neck and wrist. Sylvia, +have you during these months and years been +secretly saving money?” +</p> +<p> +“No, father.” +</p> +<p> +“You say ‘No, father,’ in a very strange tone. +If you had no money to buy the dress, how did you +get it?” +</p> +<p> +“It was—given to me.” +</p> +<p> +“By whom?” +</p> +<p> +“I would rather not say.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298'></a>298</span> +</p> +<p> +“But you must say.” +</p> +<p> +Here Mr. Leeson took Sylvia by both her wrists; +he held them tightly in his bony hands. He was +seated, and he pulled her down towards him. +</p> +<p> +“Tell me at once. I insist upon knowing.” +</p> +<p> +“I cannot—there! I will not.” +</p> +<p> +“You defy me?” +</p> +<p> +“If that is defying you, father, yes. The dress +was given to me.” +</p> +<p> +“You refuse to say by whom?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, father.” +</p> +<p> +“Then leave my presence. I am angry, hurt. +Sylvia, you must return it.” +</p> +<p> +“Again, no, father.” +</p> +<p> +“Sylvia, have you ever heard of the Fifth Commandment?” +</p> +<p> +“I have, father; but I will break it rather than +return the dress. I have been a good daughter to +you, but there are limits. You have no right to +interfere. The dress was given to me; I did not +steal it.” +</p> +<p> +“Now you are intolerable. I will not be agitated +by you; I have enough to bear. Leave me this +minute.” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia left the room. She did not go to Jasper; +she felt that she could not expose her father in the +eyes of this woman. She ran up to her own bedroom, +locked the door, and flung herself on her bed. +Of late she had not done this quite so often. Circumstances +had been happier for her of late: her father +had been strange, but at the same time affectionate; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299'></a>299</span> +she had been fed, too, and warmed; and, oh! the +pretty dress—the pretty dress—she had liked it. +She was determined that she would not give it up; +she would not submit to what she deemed tyranny. +She wept for a little; then she got up, dried her +tears, put on her cloak (sadly thin from wear), and +went out. Pilot came, looked into her face, and +begged for her company. She shook her head. +</p> +<p> +“No, darling; stay at home—guard him,” she +whispered. +</p> +<p> +Pilot understood, and turned away. Sylvia found +herself on the high-road. As she approached the +gate, and as she spoke to Pilot, eager eyes watched +her over the wire screen which protected the lower +part of Mr. Leeson’s sitting-room. +</p> +<p> +“What can all this mean?” he said to himself. +“There is a mystery about Sylvia. Sometimes I feel +that there is a mystery about this house. Sylvia +used to be a shocking cook; now the most dainty +chef who has ever condescended to cook meals for +my pampered palate can scarcely excel her. She +confessed that she did not get the recipe from the +gipsy; the gipsies had left the common, so she could +not get what I gave her a shilling to obtain. Or, did +I give her the shilling? I think not—I hope not. +Oh, good gracious! if I did, and she lost it! I did +not; I must have it here.” +</p> +<p> +He fumbled anxiously in his waistcoat pocket. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes,” he said, with a sigh of relief. “I put +it here for her, but she did not need it. Thank goodness, +it is safe!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300'></a>300</span> +</p> +<p> +He looked at it affectionately, replaced it in its +harbor of refuge, and thought on. +</p> +<p> +“Now, who gave her those rich and extravagant +clothes? Can she possibly have been ransacking her +mother’s trunks? I was under the impression that +I had sold all my poor wife’s things, but it is possible +I may have overlooked something. I will go and +have a look now in the attics. I had her trunks +conveyed there. I will go and have a look.” +</p> +<p> +When Mr. Leeson was engaged in what he was +pleased to call a voyage of discovery, he, as a rule, +stepped on tiptoe. As he wore, for purposes of +economy, felt slippers when in the house, his steps +made no noise. Now, it so happened that when +Jasper arrived at The Priory she brought not only +her own luggage, which was pretty considerable, +but two or three boxes of Evelyn’s finery. These +trunks having filled up Jasper’s bedroom and the +kitchens to an unnecessary extent, she and Sylvia +had contrived to drag them up to the attics in a +distant part of the house without Mr. Leeson hearing. +The trunks, therefore, mostly empty, which +had contained the late Mrs. Leeson’s wardrobe and +Evelyn’s trunks were now all together, in what was +known as the back attic—that attic which stood, +with Sylvia’s room between, exactly over the kitchen. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Leeson knew, as he imagined, every corner +of the house. He was well aware of the room +where his wife’s trunks were kept, and he went +there now, determined, as he expressed it, to ferret +out the mystery which was unsettling his life. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301'></a>301</span> +</p> +<p> +He reached the attic in question, and stared about +him. There were the trunks which he remembered +so well. Many marks of travel were on them—names +of foreign hotels, names of distant places. +Here was a trophy of a good time at Florence; +here a remembrance of a delightful fortnight at +Rome; here, again, of a week in Cairo; here, yet +more, of a never-to-be-forgotten visit to Constantinople. +He stared at the hall-marks of his past life +as he gazed at his wife’s trunks, and for a time +memory overpowered the lonely man, and he stood +with his hands clasped and his head slightly bent, +thinking—thinking of the days that were no more. +No remorse, it is true, seized his conscience. He +did not recognize how, step by step, the demon of +his life had gained more and more power over him; +how the trunks became too shabby for use, but the +desire for money prevented his buying new ones. +Those labels were old, and the places he and his +wife had visited were much changed, and the hotels +where they had stayed had many of them ceased to +exist, but the labels put on by the hall porters remained +on the trunks and bore witness against Mr. +Leeson. He turned quickly from the sight. +</p> +<p> +“This brings back old times,” he said to himself, +“and old times create old feelings. I never knew +then that she would be cursed by the demon of extravagance, +and that her child—her only child—would +inherit her failing. Well, it is my bounden +duty to nip it in the bud, or Sylvia will end her +days in the workhouse. I thought I had sold most +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302'></a>302</span> +of the clothes, but doubtless she found some materials +to make up that unsuitable costume.” +</p> +<p> +He dragged the trunks forward. They were unlocked, +being supposed to contain nothing of value. +He pulled them open and went on his knees to examine +them. Most of them were empty; some contained +old bundles of letters; there was one in the +corner which still had a couple of muslin dresses +and an old-fashioned black lace mantilla. Mr. Leeson +remembered the mantilla and the day when he +bought it, and how pretty his handsome wife had +looked in it. He flung it from him now as if it distressed +him. +</p> +<p> +“Faugh!” he said. “I remember I gave ten +guineas for it. Think of any man being such a +fool!” +</p> +<p> +He was about to leave the attic, more mystified +than ever, when his eyes suddenly fell upon the two +trunks which contained that portion of Evelyn +Wynford’s wardrobe which Lady Frances had discarded. +The trunks were comparatively new. +They were handsome and good, being made of +crushed cane. They bore the initials E. W. in large +white letters on their arched roofs. +</p> +<p> +“But who in the name of fortune is E. W.?” +thought Mr. Leeson; and now his heart beat in ungovernable +excitement. “E. W.! What can those +initials stand for?” +</p> +<p> +He came close to the trunks as though they fascinated +him. They were unlocked, and he pulled them +open. Soon Evelyn’s gay and useless wardrobe was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303'></a>303</span> +lying helter-skelter on the attic floor—silk dresses, +evening dresses, morning dresses, afternoon dresses, +furs, hats, cloaks, costumes. He kicked them about +in his rage; his anger reached white-heat. What +was the meaning of this? +</p> +<p> +E. W. and E. W.’s clothes took such an effect on +his brain that he could scarcely speak or think. He +left the attic with all the things scattered about, and +stumbled rather than walked down-stairs. He had +nearly got to his own part of the house when he +remembered something. He went back, turned the +key in the attic door, and put it in his pocket. He +then breathed a sigh of relief, and went back to his +sitting-room. The fire was nearly out; the day +was colder than ever—a keen north wind was blowing. +It came in at the badly fitting windows and +shook the old panes of glass. The attic in which +Mr. Leeson had stood so long had also been icy-cold. +He shivered and crept close to the remains of the +fire. Then a thought came to him, and he deliberately +took up the poker and poked out the +remaining embers. They flamed up feebly on the +hearth and died out. +</p> +<p> +“No more fires for me,” he said to himself; “I +cannot afford it. She is ruining—ruining me. Who +is E. W.? Where did she get all those clothes? +Oh, I shall go mad!” +</p> +<p> +He stood shivering and frowning and muttering. +Then a change came over him. +</p> +<p> +“There is a secret, and I mean to discover it,” he +said to himself; “and until I do I shall say nothing. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304'></a>304</span> +I shall find out who E. W. is, where those trunks +came from, what money Sylvia stole to purchase +those awful and ridiculous and terrible garments. +I shall find out before I act. Sylvia thinks that she +can make a fool of her old father; she will discover +her mistake.” +</p> +<p> +The postman’s ring was heard at the gate. The +postman was never allowed to go up the avenue. +Mr. Leeson kept a box locked in the gate, with a +little slit for the postman to drop in the letters. +He allowed no one to open this box but himself. +Without even putting on his greatcoat, he went +down the snowy path now, unlocked the box, and +took out a letter. He returned with it to the +house; it was addressed to himself, and was from +his broker in London. The letter contained news +which affected him pretty considerably. The gold +mine in which he had invested nearly the whole of +his available capital was discovered to be by no +means so rich in ore as was at first anticipated. +Prices were going down steadily, and the shares +which Mr. Leeson had bought were now worth only +half their value. +</p> +<p> +“I’ll sell out—I’ll sell out this minute,” thought +the wretched man; “if I don’t I shall lose all.” +</p> +<p> +But then he paused, for there was a postscript to +the letter. +</p> +<p> +“It would be madness to sell now,” wrote the +broker. “Doubtless the present scare is a passing +one; the moment the shares are likely to go up +then sell.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305'></a>305</span> +</p> +<p> +Mr. Leeson flung the letter from him and tore his +gray hair. He paced up and down the room. +</p> +<p> +“Disaster after disaster,” he murmured. “I am +like Job; all these things are against me. But +nothing cuts me like Sylvia. To buy those things—two +trunks full of useless finery! Oh yes, I have +money on the premises—money which I saved and +never invested; I wonder if that is safe. For all I +can tell——But, oh, no, no, no! I will not think +that. That way madness lies. I will bury the +canvas bag to-night; I have delayed too long. No +one can discover that hiding-place. I will bury the +canvas bag, come what may, to-night.” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Leeson wrote to his broker, telling him to +seize the first propitious moment to sell out from the +gold-mine, and then sat moodily, getting colder and +colder, in front of the empty grate. +</p> +<p> +Sylvia came in presently. +</p> +<p> +“Dinner is ready, father,” she said. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t want dinner,” he muttered. +</p> +<p> +She went up to him and laid her hand on his arm. +</p> +<p> +“Why are you like ice?” she said. +</p> +<p> +He pushed her away. +</p> +<p> +“The fire is out,” she continued; “let me light it.” +</p> +<p> +“No!” he thundered. “Leave it alone; I wish +for no fire. I tell you I am a beggar, and worse; +and I wish for no fire!” +</p> +<p> +“Oh father—father darling!” said the girl. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t ‘darling’ me; don’t come near me. I +am displeased with you. You have cut me to the +quick. I am angry with you. Leave me.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306'></a>306</span> +</p> +<p> +“You may be angry,” she answered, “but I will +not leave you ; and if you are cold—cold to death—and +cannot afford a fire, you will warm yourself with +me. Let me put my arms round you; let me lay +my cheek against yours. Feel how my cheek glows. +There, is not that better?” +</p> +<p> +He struggled, but she insisted. She sat on his +knee now and put the cloak she was wearing, thin +and poor enough in itself, round his neck. Inside +the cloak she circled him with her arms. Her dark +luxuriant hair fell against his white and scanty +locks; she pressed her face close to his. +</p> +<p> +“You may hate me, but I am going to stay with +you,” she said. “How cold you are!” +</p> +<p> +Just for a minute or two Mr. Leeson bore the +loving caress and the endearing words. She was +very sweet, and she was his—his only child—bone of +his bone. Yes, it was nicer to be warm than cold, +nicer to be loved than to be hated, nicer to——But +was he loved? Those trunks up-stairs; that +costly, useless finery; those initials which were not +Sylvia’s! +</p> +<p> +“Oh that I could tell her!” he said to himself. +“She pretends; she is untrue—untrue as our first +mother. What woman was ever yet to be trusted?” +</p> +<p> +“Go, Sylvia,” he replied vehemently; and he +started up and shook her off cruelly, so that she +fell and hurt herself. +</p> +<p> +She rose, pushed her hair back from her forehead +and gazed at him in bewilderment. Was he going +mad? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307'></a>307</span> +</p> +<p> +“Come and eat your dinner before it gets cold,” +she said. “It is extravagant to waste good food; +come and eat it.” +</p> +<p> +“Made from some of those old fowls?” he queried; +and a scornful smile curled his lips. +</p> +<p> +“Come and eat it; it costs you practically nothing,” +she added. “Come, it is extravagant to +waste it.” +</p> +<p> +He pondered in his own mind; there were still +about three fowls left. He would not take her hand +but he followed her into the dining-room. He sat +down before the dainty dish, helped her to a small +portion, and ate the rest. +</p> +<p> +“Now you are better,” she said cheerfully. +</p> +<p> +He gave her a glance which seemed to her to be +one of almost venom. +</p> +<p> +“I am going into my sitting-room,” he said; “do +not disturb me again to-day.” +</p> +<p> +“But you must have a fire!” +</p> +<p> +“I decline to have a fire.” +</p> +<p> +“You will die of cold.” +</p> +<p> +“Much you care.” +</p> +<p> +“Father!” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Sylvia, much you care; you are like the +one who gave you being. I will not say any more.” +</p> +<p> +She started away at this; he knew she would. +She was patient with him almost beyond the limits +of human patience, but she could not stand having +her mother abused. +</p> +<p> +He went down the passage, and locked himself in +his sitting-room. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308'></a>308</span> +</p> +<p> +“Now I can think,” he thought; “and to-night +when Sylvia is in bed I will bury the last canvas +bag.” +</p> +<p> +When Sylvia went into the kitchen Jasper asked +her at once what was the matter. She stood for a +moment without speaking; then she said in a low, +broken-hearted voice: +</p> +<p> +“Father sometimes gets these moods, but I never +saw him as bad before. He refuses to have a fire in +the parlor; he will die of this cold.” +</p> +<p> +“Let him,” muttered Jasper under her breath. +She did not say these words aloud; she knew Sylvia +too well by this time. +</p> +<p> +“What has put him into this state of mind?” she +asked as she dished up a hot dinner for Sylvia and +herself. +</p> +<p> +“It was my dress, Jasper; I ought not to have +allowed you to make it for me. I ran in to put it +on to go to church on Sunday; and he saw me +and drew his own conclusions, as he said. He asked +me where I got it, and I refused to tell him.” +</p> +<p> +“Now, if I were you, dear,” said Jasper, “I +would just up and tell him the whole story. I +would tell him that I am here, and that I mean to +stay, and that he has been living on me for some +time now. I would tell him everything. He would +rage and fume, but not more than he has raged and +fumed. Things are past bearing, darling. Why, +your pretty, young, and brave heart will be broken. +I would not bear it. It is best for him too, dear; +he must learn to know you, and if necessary to fear +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309'></a>309</span> +you. He cannot go on killing himself and every +one else with impunity. It is past bearing, Sylvia, +my love—past bearing.” +</p> +<p> +“I know, Jasper—I know—but I dare not tell +him. You cannot imagine what he is when he is +really roused. He would turn you out.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, darling, and you would come with me. +Why should we not go out?” +</p> +<p> +“In the first place, Jasper, you have no money to +support us both. Why, poor, dear old thing, you are +using up all your little savings to keep me going! +And in the next place, even if you could afford it, +I promised mother that I would never leave him. +I could not break my word to her. Oh! it hurt +much; but the pain is over. I will never leave +him while he lives, Jasper.” +</p> +<p> +“Dear, dear!” said Jasper, “what a power of love +is wasted on worthless people! It is the most +extraordinary fact on earth.” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia half-smiled. She thought of Evelyn, who +was also in her opinion more or less worthless, and +how Jasper was wasting both substance and heart +on her. +</p> +<p> +“Well,” she said, “I can eat if I can do nothing +else ; but the thought of father dying of cold does +come between me and all peace.” +</p> +<p> +She finished her dinner, and then went and stood +by the window. +</p> +<p> +“It is a perfect miracle he has not found me out +before,” said Jasper; “and, by the same token,” she +added, “I heard footsteps in the attic up-stairs while +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310'></a>310</span> +I was preparing his fowl for dinner. My heart stood +still. It must have been he; and I thought he +would see the smoke curling up through that stack +of chimneys just alongside of the attics. What was +he doing up stairs?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I know—I know!” said Sylvia; and her +face turned very white, and her eyes seemed to +start from her head. “He went to look in mother’s +trunks; he thought that I had got my brown dress +from there.” +</p> +<p> +“And he will discover Evelyn’s trunks as sure as +fate,” said Jasper; “and what a state he will be in! +That accounts for it, Sylvia. Well, darling, discovery +is imminent now; and for my part the sooner +it is over the better.” +</p> +<p> +“I wonder if he did discover! Something has put +him into a terrible rage,” thought the girl. +</p> +<p> +She went out of the kitchen, and stole softly +up-stairs to the attic where the trunks were kept. +It was locked. Doubt was now, of course, at an +end. Sylvia went back and told her discovery to +Jasper. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311'></a>311</span><a name='chXXV' id='chXXV'></a>CHAPTER XXV.—UNCLE EDWARD.</h2> +<p> +According to her promise, Jasper went that evening +to meet Evelyn at the stile. Evelyn was there, +and the news she had for her faithful nurse was the +reverse of soothing. +</p> +<p> +“You cannot stand it,” said Jasper; “you cannot +demean yourself. I don’t know that I’d have done +it—yes, perhaps I would—but having done it, you +must stick to your guns.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said Evelyn in a mournful tone; “I must +run away. I have quite, quite, absolutely made up +my mind.” +</p> +<p> +“And when, darling?” said Jasper, trembling a +good deal. +</p> +<p> +“The night before the week is up. I will come to +you here, Jasper, and you must take me.” +</p> +<p> +“Of course, love; you will come back with me to +The Priory. I can hide you there as well as anywhere +on earth—yes, love, as well as anywhere on +earth.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I’d be so frightened! It would be so close +to them all!” +</p> +<p> +“The closer the better, dear. If you went into +any village or any town near you would be discovered; +but they’d never think of looking for you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312'></a>312</span> +at The Priory. Why, darling, I have lived there +unsuspected for some time now—weeks, I might +say. Sylvia will not tell. You shall sleep in my +bed, and I will keep you safe. Only you must +bring some money, Evelyn, for mine is getting sadly +short.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said Evelyn. “I will ask Uncle Edward; +he will not refuse me. He is very kind to me, and +I love him better than any one on earth—better +even than Jasper, because he is father’s very own +brother, and because I am his heiress. He likes to +talk to me about the place and what I am to do +when it belongs to me. He is not angry with me +when I am quite alone with him and I talk of these +things; only he has taught me to say nothing about +it in public. If I could be sorry for having got into +this scrape it would be on his account; but there, I +was not brought up with his thoughts, and I cannot +think things wrong that he thinks wrong. Can you, +Jasper?” +</p> +<p> +“No, my little wild honey-bird—not I. Well, +dearie, I will meet you again to-morrow night; and +now I must be going back.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn returned to the house. She went up to +her room, changed her shoes, tidied her hair, and +came down to the drawing-room. Lady Frances was +leaning back in a chair, turning over the pages of +a new magazine. She called Evelyn to her side. +</p> +<p> +“How do you like school?” she said. Her tones +were abrupt; the eyes she fixed on the child were +hard. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313'></a>313</span> +</p> +<p> +Evelyn’s worst feelings were always awakened by +Lady Frances’s manner to her. +</p> +<p> +“I do not like it at all,” she said. “I wish to +leave.” +</p> +<p> +“Your wishes, I am afraid, are not to be considered; +all the same, you may have to leave.” +</p> +<p> +“Why?” asked Evelyn, turning white. She wondered +if Lady Frances knew. +</p> +<p> +Her aunt’s eyes were fixed, as though they were +gimlets, on her face. +</p> +<p> +“Sit down,” said Lady Frances, “and tell me how +you spend your day. What class are you in? What +lessons are you learning?” +</p> +<p> +“I am in a very low class indeed?” said Evelyn. +“Mothery always said I was clever.” +</p> +<p> +“I do not suppose your mother knew.” +</p> +<p> +“Why should she not know, she who was so very +clever herself? She taught me all sorts of things, +and so did poor Jasper.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! I am glad at least that I have removed +that dreadful woman out of your path,” said Lady +Frances. +</p> +<p> +Evelyn smiled and lowered her eyes. Her manner +irritated her aunt extremely. +</p> +<p> +“Well,” she said, “go on; we will not discuss the +fact of the form you ought to be in. What lessons +do you do?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, history, grammar; I suppose, the usual English +subjects.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes; but history—that is interesting. English +history?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314'></a>314</span> +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Aunt Frances.” +</p> +<p> +“What part of the history?” +</p> +<p> +“We are doing the reigns of the Edwards now.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! can you tell me anything with regard to +the reign of Edward I.?” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn colored. Lady Frances watched her. +</p> +<p> +“I am certain she knows,” thought the little girl. +“But, oh, this is terrible! Has that awful Miss +Henderson told her? What shall I do? I do not +think I will wait until the week is up; I think I will +run away at once.” +</p> +<p> +“Answer my question, Evelyn,” said her aunt. +</p> +<p> +Evelyn did mutter a tiny piece of information with +regard to the said reign. +</p> +<p> +“I shall question you on your history from time +to time,” said Lady Frances. “I take an interest in +this school experiment. Whether it will last or not +I cannot say; but I may as well say one thing—if +for any reason your presence is not found suitable in +the school where I have now sent you, you will go to +a very different order of establishment and to a much +stricter <em>régime</em> elsewhere.” +</p> +<p> +“What is a <em>régime?</em>” asked Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“I am too tired to answer your silly questions. +Now go and read your book in that corner. Do not +make a noise; I have a headache.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn slouched away, looking as cross and ill-tempered +as a little girl could look. +</p> +<p> +“Audrey darling,” called her mother in a totally +different tone of voice, “play me that pretty thing +of Chopin’s which you know I am so fond of.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315'></a>315</span> +</p> +<p> +Audrey approached the piano and began to play. +</p> +<p> +Evelyn read her book for a time without attending +much to the meaning of the words. Then she +observed that her uncle, who had been asleep behind +his newspaper, had risen and left the room. Here +was the very opportunity that she sought. If she +could only get her Uncle Edward quite by himself, +and when he was in the best of good humors, he +might give her some money. She could not run +away without money to go with. Jasper, she knew, +had not a large supply. Evelyn, with all her ignorance +of many things, had early in her life come into +contact with the want of money. Her mother had +often and often been short of funds. When Mrs. +Wynford was short, the ranch did without even, at +times, the necessaries of life. Evelyn had a painful +remembrance of butterless breakfasts and meatless +dinners; of shoes which were patched so often that +they would scarcely keep out the winter snows; of +little garments turned and turned again. Then +money had come back, and life became smooth and +pleasant; there was an abundance of good food for +the various meals, and Evelyn had shoes to her +heart’s content, and the sort of gay-colored garments +which her mother delighted in. Yes, she understood +Jasper’s appeal for money, and determined on +no account to go to that good woman’s protection +without a sufficient sum in hand. +</p> +<p> +Therefore, as Audrey was playing some of the +most seductive music of that past master of the art, +Chopin, and Lady Frances lay back in her chair +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316'></a>316</span> +with closed eyes and listened, Evelyn left the room. +She knew where to find her uncle, and going down +a corridor, opened the door of his smoking-room +without knocking. He was seated by the fire smoking. +A newspaper lay by his side; a pile of letters +which had come by the evening post were waiting to +be opened. When Evelyn quietly opened the door +he looked round and said: +</p> +<p> +“Ah, it is you, Eve. Do you want anything, my +dear?” +</p> +<p> +“May I speak to you for a minute or two, Uncle +Edward?” +</p> +<p> +“Certainly, my dear Evelyn; come in. What is +the matter, dear?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, nothing much.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn went and leant up against her uncle. She +had never a scrap of fear of him, which was one +reason why he liked her, and thought her far more +tolerable than did his wife or Audrey. Even Audrey, +who was his own child, held him in a certain awe; +but Evelyn leant comfortably now against his side, +and presently she took his arm of her own accord +and passed it securely round her waist. +</p> +<p> +“Now, that is nice,” she said; “when I lean up +against you I always remember that you are father’s +brother.” +</p> +<p> +“I am glad that you should remember that fact, +Evelyn.” +</p> +<p> +“You are pleased with me on the whole, aren’t +you, Uncle Edward?” asked the little girl. Evelyn +backed her head against his shoulder as she spoke, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317'></a>317</span> +and looked into his face with her big and curious +eyes. +</p> +<p> +“On the whole, yes.” +</p> +<p> +“But Aunt Frances does not like me.” +</p> +<p> +“You must try to win her affection, Evelyn; it +will all come in good time.” +</p> +<p> +“It is not pleasant to be in the house with a person +who does not like you, is it, Uncle Edward?” +</p> +<p> +“I can understand you, Evelyn; it is not pleasant.” +</p> +<p> +“And Audrey only half-likes me.” +</p> +<p> +“My dear little girl,” said her uncle, rousing himself +to talk in a more serious strain, “would it not +be wisest for you to give over thinking of who likes +you and who does not, and to devote all your time to +doing what is right?” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn made a wry face. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t care about doing what is right,” she +said; “I don’t like it.” +</p> +<p> +Her uncle smiled. +</p> +<p> +“You are a strange girl; but I believe you have +improved,” he said. +</p> +<p> +“You would be sorry if I did anything very, +very naughty, Uncle Edward?” +</p> +<p> +“I certainly should.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn lowered her eyes. +</p> +<p> +“He must not know. I must keep him from +knowing somehow, but I wonder how I shall,” she +thought. +</p> +<p> +“And perhaps you would be sorry,” she continued, +“if I were not here—if your naughty, naughty Eve +was no longer in the house?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318'></a>318</span> +</p> +<p> +“I should. I often think of you. I——” +</p> +<p> +“What, Uncle Edward?” +</p> +<p> +“Love you, little girl.” +</p> +<p> +“Love me! Do you?” she asked in a tone of +affection. “Do you really? Please say that again.” +</p> +<p> +“I love you, Evelyn.” +</p> +<p> +“Uncle Edward, may I give you just the tiniest +kiss?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, dear.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn raised her soft face and pressed a light +kiss on her uncle’s cheek. She was quite silent then +for a minute; truth to tell, her heart was expanding +and opening out and softening, and great thrills +of pure love were filling it, so that soon, soon that +heart might have melted utterly and been no longer +a hard heart of stone. But, alas! as these good +thoughts visited her, there came also the remembrance +of the sin she had committed, and of the +desperate measures she was about to take to save +herself—for she had by no means come to the stage +of confessing that sin, and by so doing getting rid of +her naughtiness. +</p> +<p> +“Uncle Edward,” she said abruptly, “I want you +to give me a little money. I have come here to ask +you. I want it all for my very own self. I want +some money which no one else need know anything +about.” +</p> +<p> +“Of course, dear, you shall have money. How much +do you want?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, a good bit. I want to give Jasper a +present.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319'></a>319</span> +</p> +<p> +“Your old nurse?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes. You know it was unkind of Aunt Frances +to send her away; mothery wished her to stay +with me.” +</p> +<p> +“I know that, Evelyn, and as far as I personally +am concerned, I am sorry; but your aunt knows very +much more about little girls than I do.” +</p> +<p> +“She does not know half so much about this +girl.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, anyhow, dear, it was her wish, and you +and I must submit.” +</p> +<p> +“But you are sorry?” +</p> +<p> +“For some reasons, yes.” +</p> +<p> +“And you would like me to help Jasper?” +</p> +<p> +“Certainly. Do you know where your nurse is +now, Evelyn?” +</p> +<p> +“I do.” +</p> +<p> +“Where?” +</p> +<p> +“I would rather not say; only, may I send her +some money?” +</p> +<p> +“That seems reasonable enough,” thought the +Squire. +</p> +<p> +“How much do you want?” he asked. +</p> +<p> +“Would twenty pounds be too much?” +</p> +<p> +“I think not. It is a good deal, but she was a +faithful servant. I will give you twenty pounds for +her now.” +</p> +<p> +The Squire rose and took out his check-book. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, please,” said Evelyn, “I want it in gold.” +</p> +<p> +“But how will you send it to her?” +</p> +<p> +“Never, never mind; I must have it in gold.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320'></a>320</span> +</p> +<p> +“Poor child! She is in earnest,” thought the +Squire. “Perhaps the woman will come to meet her +somewhere. I really cannot see why she should be +tabooed from having a short interview with her old +nurse. Frances and I differ on this head. Yes, I +will let her have the money; the child has a good +deal of heart when all is said and done.” +</p> +<p> +So the Squire put two little rolls, neatly made up +in brown paper, into Evelyn’s hands. +</p> +<p> +“There,” he said; “it is a great deal of money to +trust a little girl with, but you shall have it; only +you must not ask me for any more.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, what a darling you are, Uncle Edward! +I feel as if I must kiss you again. There! those +kisses are full of love. Now I must go. But, oh, +I say, <em>what</em> a funny parcel!” +</p> +<p> +“What parcel, dear?” +</p> +<p> +“That long parcel on that table.” +</p> +<p> +“It is a gun-case which I have not yet unpacked. +Now run away.” +</p> +<p> +“But that reminds me. You said I might go out +some day to shoot with you.” +</p> +<p> +“On some future day. I do not much care for +girls using firearms; and you are so busy now with +your school.” +</p> +<p> +“You think, perhaps, that I cannot fire a gun, +but I can aim well; I can kill a bird on the wing as +neatly as any one. I told Audrey, and she would +not believe me. Please—please show me your new +gun. +</p> +<p> +“Not now; I have not looked at it myself yet.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_321'></a>321</span> +</p> +<p> +“But you do believe that I can shoot?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh yes, dear—yes, I suppose so. All the same, +I should be sorry to trust you; I do not approve of +women carrying firearms. Now leave me, Evelyn; +I have a good deal to attend to.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn went to bed to think over her uncle’s +words; her disgrace at school; the terrible <em>dénouement</em> +which lay before her; the money, which seemed +to her to be the only way out, and which would +insure her comfort with Jasper wherever Jasper +might like to take her; and finally, and by no means +least, she meditated over the subject of her uncle’s +new gun. On the ranch she had often carried a gun +of her own; from her earliest days she had been +accustomed to regard the women of her family as +first-class shots. Her mother had herself taught +her how to aim, how to fire, how to make allowance +in order to bring her bird down on the wing, +and Evelyn had followed out her instructions many +times. She felt now that her uncle did not believe +her, and the fear that this was the case irritated her +beyond words. +</p> +<p> +“I do not pretend to be learned,” thought Evelyn, +“and I do not pretend to be good, but there is one +thing that I am, and that is a first-rate shot. Uncle +Edward might show me his new gun. How little +he guesses that I can manage it quite as well as he +can himself!” +</p> +<p> +Two or three days passed without anything special +occurring. Evelyn was fairly good at school; it was +not, she considered, worth her while any longer to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_322'></a>322</span> +shirk her lessons. She began in spite of herself, and +quite against her declared inclination, to have a +sort of liking for her books. History was the only +lesson which she thoroughly detested. She could +not be civil to Miss Thompson, whom she considered +her enemy; but to her other teachers she was fairly +agreeable, and had already to a certain extent won +the hearts of more than one of the girls in her form. +She was bright and cheerful, and could say funny +things; and as also she brought an unlimited supply +of chocolates and other sweetmeats to school, +these facts alone insured her being more or less of +a favorite. At home she avoided her aunt and +Audrey, and evening after evening she went to the +stile to have a chat with Jasper. +</p> +<p> +Jasper never failed to meet her little girl, as she +called Evelyn, at their arranged rendezvous. Evelyn +managed to slip out without, as she thought, any +one noticing her; and the days went by until there +was only one day left before Miss Henderson would +proclaim to the entire school that Evelyn Wynford +was the guilty person who had torn the precious +volume of Ruskin. +</p> +<p> +“When you come for me to-morrow night, Jasper,” +said Evelyn, “I will go away with you. Are you +quite sure that it is safe to take me back to The +Priory?” +</p> +<p> +“Quite, quite safe, darling; hardly a soul knows +that I am at The Priory, and certainly no one will +suspect that you are there. Besides, the place is all +undermined with cellars, and at the worst you and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_323'></a>323</span> +I could hide there together while the house was +searched.” +</p> +<p> +“What fun!” cried Evelyn, clapping her hands. +“I declare, Jasper, it is almost as good as a fairy +story.” +</p> +<p> +“Quite as good, my little love.” +</p> +<p> +“And you will be sure to have a very, very nice +supper ready for me to-morrow night?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh yes, dear; just the supper you like best—chocolate +and sweet cakes.” +</p> +<p> +“And you will tuck me up in bed as you used to?” +</p> +<p> +“Darling, I have put a little white bed close to my +own, where you shall sleep.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh Jasper, it will be nice to be with you again! +And you are positive Sylvia will not tell?” +</p> +<p> +“She is sad about you, Evelyn, but she will not +tell. I have arranged that.” +</p> +<p> +“And that terrible old man, her father, will he +find out?” +</p> +<p> +“I think not, dear; he has not yet found out about +me at any rate.” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps, Jasper, I had better go back now; it is +later than usual.” +</p> +<p> +“Be sure you bring the twenty pounds when you +come to-morrow night,” said Jasper; “for my funds, +what with one thing and another, are getting low.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I will bring the money,” replied Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +She returned to the house. No one saw her as +she slipped in by the back entrance. She ran up to +her room, smoothed her hair, and went down to the +drawing-room. Lady Frances and Audrey were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_324'></a>324</span> +alone in the big room. They had been talking together, +but instantly became silent when Evelyn +entered. +</p> +<p> +“They have been abusing me, of course,” thought +the little girl; and she flashed an angry glance first +at one and then at the other. +</p> +<p> +“Evelyn,” said her aunt, “have you finished learning +your lessons? You know how extremely particular +Miss Henderson is that school tasks should +be perfectly prepared.” +</p> +<p> +“My lessons are all right, thank you,” replied +Evelyn in her brusquest voice. She flung herself +into a chair and crossed her legs. +</p> +<p> +“Uncross your legs, my dear; that is a very +unlady-like thing to do.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn muttered something, but did what her +aunt told her. +</p> +<p> +“Do not lean back so much, Evelyn; it is not +good style. Do not poke out your chin, either; +observe how Audrey sits.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t want to observe how Audrey sits,” said +Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +Lady Frances colored. She was about to speak, +but a glance from her daughter restrained her. Just +then Read came into the room. Between Read and +Evelyn there was already a silent feud. Read now +glanced at the young lady, tossed her head a trifle, +and went up to Lady Frances. +</p> +<p> +“I am very sorry to trouble you, madam,” she +said, “but if I may see you quite by yourself for a +few moments I shall be very much obliged.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325'></a>325</span> +</p> +<p> +“Certainly, Read; go into my boudoir and I will +join you there,” said her mistress. “I know,” added +Lady Frances graciously, “that you would not disturb +me if you had not something important to say.” +</p> +<p> +“No, madam; I should be very sorry to do so.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Frances and Read now left the room, and +Audrey and Evelyn were alone. Audrey uttered a +sigh. +</p> +<p> +“What is the matter, Audrey?” asked her cousin. +</p> +<p> +“I am thinking of the day after to-morrow,” +answered Audrey. “The unhappy girl who has kept +her secret all this time will be openly denounced. +It will be terribly exciting.” +</p> +<p> +“You do not pretend that you pity her!” said +Evelyn in a voice of scorn. +</p> +<p> +“Indeed I do pity her.” +</p> +<p> +“What nonsense! That is not at all your way.” +</p> +<p> +“Why should you say that? It is my way. I +pity all people who have done wrong most terribly.” +</p> +<p> +“Then have you ever pitied me since I came to +England?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh yes, Evelyn—oh, indeed I have!” +</p> +<p> +“Please keep your pity to yourself; I don’t +want it.” +</p> +<p> +Audrey relapsed into silence. +</p> +<p> +By and by Lady Frances came back; she was still +accompanied by Read. +</p> +<p> +“What does a servant want in this room?” said +Evelyn in her most disagreeable voice. +</p> +<p> +“Evelyn, come here,” said her aunt; “I have +something to say to you.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_326'></a>326</span> +</p> +<p> +Evelyn went very unwillingly. Read stood a little +in the background. +</p> +<p> +“Evelyn,” said Lady Frances, “I have just heard +something that surprises me extremely, that pains +me inexpressibly; it is true, so there is no use in your +denying it, but I must tell you what Read has discovered.” +</p> +<p> +“Read!” cried Evelyn, her voice choking with +passion and her face white. “Who believes what a +tell-tale-tit of that sort says?” +</p> +<p> +“You must not be impertinent, my dear. I wish +to tell you that Read has found you out. Your maid +Jasper has not left this neighborhood, and you, Evelyn—you +are naughty enough and daring enough +to meet her every night by the stile that leads into +the seven-acre meadow. Read observed your absence +one night, and followed you herself to-night, +and she discovered everything.” +</p> +<p> +“Did you hear what I was saying to Jasper?” +asked Evelyn, turning her white face now and looking +full at Read. +</p> +<p> +“No, Miss Evelyn,” replied the maid; “I would +not demean myself to listen.” +</p> +<p> +“You would demean yourself to follow,” said +Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“Confess your sin, Evelyn, and do not scold Read,” +interrupted Lady Frances. +</p> +<p> +“I have nothing to confess, Aunt Frances.” +</p> +<p> +“But you did it?” +</p> +<p> +“Certainly I did it.” +</p> +<p> +“You dared to go to meet a woman privately, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_327'></a>327</span> +clandestinely, whom I, your aunt, prohibited the +house?” +</p> +<p> +“I dared to go to meet the woman my mother +loved,” replied Evelyn, “and I am not a bit ashamed +of it; and if I had the chance I would do it again.” +</p> +<p> +“You are a very, very naughty girl. I am more +than angry with you. I am pained beyond words. +What is to become of you I know not. You are a +bad girl; I cannot bear to think that you should be +in the same house with Audrey.” +</p> +<p> +“Loving the woman whom my mother loved does +not make me a bad girl,” replied Evelyn. “But as +you do not like to have me in the room, Aunt Frances, +I will go away—I will go up-stairs. I think you are +very, very unkind to me; I think you have been so +from the first.” +</p> +<p> +“Do not dare to say another word to me, miss; +go away immediately.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn left the room. She was half-way up-stairs +when she paused. +</p> +<p> +“What is the use of being good?” she said to +herself. “What is the use of ever trying to please +anybody? I really did not mean to be naughty +when first I came, and if Aunt Frances had been +different I might have been different too. What +right had she to deprive me of Jasper when mothery +said that Jasper was to stay with me? It is Aunt +Frances’s fault that I am such a bad girl now. Well, +thank goodness! I shall not be here much longer; I +shall be away this time to-morrow night. The only +person I shall be sorry to leave is Uncle Edward. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_328'></a>328</span> +Audrey and I will be going to school early in the +morning, and then there will be the fuss and bustle +and the getting away before Read sees me. Oh, +that dreadful old Read! what can I do to blind her +eyes to-morrow night? Throw dust into them in +some fashion I must. I will just go and have one +word of good-by with Uncle Edward now.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn ran down the corridor which led to her +uncle’s room. She tapped at the door. There was +no answer. She opened the door softly and peeped +in. The room was empty. She was just about to +go away again, considerably crestfallen and disappointed, +when her eyes fell upon the gun-case. Instantly +a sparkle came into her eyes; she went up to +the case, and removing the gun, proceeded to examine +it. It was made on the newest pattern, and +was light and easily carried. It held six chambers, +all of which could be most simply and conveniently +loaded. +</p> +<p> +Evelyn knew well how to load a gun, and finding +the proper cartridges, now proceeded to enjoy herself +by making the gun ready for use. Having +loaded it, she returned it to its case. +</p> +<p> +“I know what I’ll do,” she thought. “Uncle +Edward thinks that I cannot shoot; he thinks that +I am not good at any one single thing. But I will +show him. I’ll go out and shoot two birds on the +wing before breakfast to-morrow; whether they are +crows or whether they are doves or whether they +are game, it does not matter in the least; I’ll bring +them in and lay them at his feet, and say: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_329'></a>329</span> +</p> +<p> +“Here is what your wild niece Evelyn can do; +and now you will believe that she has one accomplishment +which is not vouchsafed to other girls.” +</p> +<p> +So, having completed her task of putting the gun +in absolute readiness for its first essay in the field, +she returned the case to its corner and went up-stairs +to bed. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_330'></a>330</span><a name='chXXVI' id='chXXVI'></a>CHAPTER XXVI.—TANGLES.</h2> +<p> +When Audrey and her mother found themselves +alone, Lady Frances turned at once to her daughter. +</p> +<p> +“Audrey,” she said, “I feel that I must confide +in you.” +</p> +<p> +“What about, mother?” asked Audrey. +</p> +<p> +“About Evelyn.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, mother?” +</p> +<p> +Audrey’s face looked anxious and troubled; Lady +Frances’s scarcely less so. +</p> +<p> +“The child hates me,” said Lady Frances. +“What I have done to excite such a feeling is more +than I can tell you; from the first I have done my +utmost to be kind to her.” +</p> +<p> +“It is difficult to know how best to be kind to +Evelyn,” said Audrey in a thoughtful voice. +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean, my dear?” +</p> +<p> +“I mean, mother, that she is something of a little +savage. She has never been brought up with our +ideas. Do you think, mother—I scarcely like to say +it to one whom I honor and love and respect as I +do you—but do you think you understand her?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I do not,” said Lady Frances. “I have +never understood her from the first. Your father +seems to manage her better.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_331'></a>331</span> +</p> +<p> +“Ah, yes,” said Audrey; “but then, she belongs +to him.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Frances looked annoyed. +</p> +<p> +“She belongs to us all,” she remarked. “She is +your first cousin, and my niece, of course, by marriage. +Her father was a very dear fellow; how such a daughter +could have been given to him is one of those +puzzles which will never be unraveled. But now, +dear, we must descend from generalities to facts. +Something very grave and terrible has occurred. +Read did right when she told me about Evelyn’s secret +visits to Jasper at the stile. You know how from the +very first I have distrusted and disliked that woman. +You must not suppose, Audrey, that I felt no pain +when I turned the woman away after the letter +which Evelyn’s mother had written to me; but +there are times when it is wrong to yield, and I felt +that such was the case.” +</p> +<p> +“I knew, my darling mother, that you must have +acted from the best of motives,” said Audrey. +</p> +<p> +“I did, my dearest child; I did. Well, Evelyn +has managed to meet this woman, and instead of +being removed from her influence, is under it to a +remarkable and dangerous degree—for the woman, +of course, thinks herself wronged, and Evelyn agrees +with her. Now, the fact is this, Audrey: I happen +to know about that very disagreeable occurrence +which took place at Chepstow House.” +</p> +<p> +“What, mother—what?” cried Audrey. “You +speak as if you knew something special.” +</p> +<p> +“I do, Audrey.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_332'></a>332</span> +</p> +<p> +“But what, mother?” +</p> +<p> +Audrey’s face turned red; her eyes shone. She +went close to her mother, knelt by her, and took +her hand. +</p> +<p> +“Who has spoken to you about it?” she asked. +</p> +<p> +“Miss Henderson.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh mother! and what did she say?” +</p> +<p> +“My darling, I am afraid you will be terribly +grieved; I can scarcely tell you how upset I am. +Audrey, the strongest, the very strongest, circumstantial +evidence points to Evelyn as the guilty +person.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh mother! Evelyn! But why? Oh, surely, +surely whoever accuses poor Evelyn is mistaken!” +</p> +<p> +“I agreed with you, Audrey; I felt just as indignant +as you do when first I heard what Miss Henderson +told me; but the more I see of Evelyn the +more sure I am that she would be capable of this +action, that if the opportunity came she would do +this cruel and unjustifiable wrong, and after having +done it the unhappy child would try to conceal it.” +</p> +<p> +“But, mother darling, what motive could she +have?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, dear, let me tell you. Miss Henderson +seems to be well aware of the entire story. On +the first day when Evelyn went to school she was +asked during class to read over the reign of Edward +I. in the history of England. Evelyn, in her usual +pert way which we all know so well, declared that +she knew the reign, and while the other girls in her +form were busy with their lessons she amused herself +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_333'></a>333</span> +looking about her. As it was the first day, Miss +Thompson took no notice; but when the girls went +into the playground for recess she called Evelyn to +her and questioned her with regard to the history. +Evelyn’s wicked lie was immediately manifest, for +she did not know a single word about the reign. Miss +Thompson was naturally angry, and desired her to +stay in the schoolroom and learn the reign while the +other girls were at play. Evelyn was angry, but +could not resist. About six o’clock that evening Miss +Thompson came into the schoolroom, found Ruskin’s +<em>Sesame and Lilies</em>, which she had left there that +morning, and took it away with her. She was preparing +a lecture out of the book, and did not open it +at once. When she did so she perceived, to her horror, +that some pages had been torn out. You know, my +dear, what followed. You know what a strained and +unhappy condition the school is now in.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh yes, mother—yes, I know all that; the only +part that is new to me is that Evelyn was kept indoors +to learn her history.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, dear, and that supplies the motive; not to +one like you, my Audrey, but to such a perverted, +such an unhappy and ignorant child as poor Evelyn, +one who has never learnt self-control, one whose +passions are ever in the ascendency.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, poor Evelyn, poor Evelyn!” said Audrey. +“But still, mother—still——Oh, I am sure she +never did it! She has denied it, mother; whatever +she is, she is not a coward. She might have done +it in a fit of rage; but if she did she would confess. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_334'></a>334</span> +Why should she wreak her anger on Miss Henderson? +Oh, mother darling, there is nothing proved +against her!” +</p> +<p> +“Wait, Audrey; I have not finished my story. +Two days passed before Miss Thompson needed to +open the history-book which Evelyn had been using; +when she did, she found, lying in the pages which +commenced the reign of Edward I., some scraps of +torn paper, all too evidently torn out of <em>Sesame and +Lilies</em>. +</p> +<p> +“Mother!” +</p> +<p> +“It is true, Audrey.” +</p> +<p> +“Who told you this?” +</p> +<p> +“Miss Henderson.” +</p> +<p> +“Does Miss Henderson believe that Evelyn is +guilty?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes; and so do I.” +</p> +<p> +“Mother, mother, what will happen?” +</p> +<p> +“Who knows? But Miss Henderson is determined—and, +yes, my dear, I must say I agree with +her—she is determined to expose Evelyn; she said +she would give her a week in which to repent.” +</p> +<p> +“And that week will be up the day after to-morrow,” +said Audrey. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Audrey—yes; there is only to-morrow +left.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh mother, how can I bear it?” +</p> +<p> +“My poor child, it will be dreadful for you.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh mother, why did she come here? I could +almost hate her! And yet—no, I do not hate her—no, +I do not; I pity her.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_335'></a>335</span> +</p> +<p> +“You are an angel! When I think that you, my +sweet, will be mixed up in this, and—and injured by +it, and brought to low esteem by it, oh, my dearest, +what can I say?” +</p> +<p> +Audrey was silent for a moment. She bent her +head and looked down; then she spoke. +</p> +<p> +“It is a trial,” she said, “but I am not to be pitied +as Evelyn is to be pitied. Mother darling, there is +but one thing to be done.” +</p> +<p> +“What is that, dearest?” +</p> +<p> +“To get her to repent—to get her to confess between +now and the morning after next. Oh mother! +leave her to me.” +</p> +<p> +“I will, Audrey. If any one can influence her, +you can; you are so brave, so good, so strong!” +</p> +<p> +“Nay, I have but little influence over her,” said +Audrey. “Let me think for a few moments, +mother.” +</p> +<p> +Audrey sank into a chair and sat silent. Her +sweet, pure, high-bred face was turned in profile to +her mother. Lady Frances glanced at it, and +thought over the circumstances which had brought +Evelyn into their midst. +</p> +<p> +“To think that that girl should supplant her!” +thought the mother; and her anger was so great +that she could not keep quiet. She was going out +of the room to speak to her husband, but before she +reached the door Audrey called her. +</p> +<p> +“What are you going to do, mother?” +</p> +<p> +“It is only right that I should tell you, Audrey. +An idea has come to me. Evelyn respects your +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_336'></a>336</span> +father; if I told him just what I have told you he +might induce her to confess.” +</p> +<p> +“No, mother,” said Audrey suddenly; “do not +let us lower her in his eyes. The strongest possible +motive for Evelyn to confess her sin will be that +father does not know; that he need never know +if she confesses. Do not tell him, please, mother; I +have got another thought.” +</p> +<p> +“What is that, my darling?” +</p> +<p> +“Do you not remember Sylvia—pretty Sylvia?” +</p> +<p> +“Of course. A dear, bright, fascinating girl!” +</p> +<p> +“Evelyn is fond of her—fonder of Sylvia than +she is of me; perhaps Sylvia could induce her to +confess.” +</p> +<p> +“It is a good thought, Audrey. I will ask Sylvia +over here to dine to-morrow evening.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, mother darling, that is too late! May I +not send a messenger for her to come in the morning? +Oh mother, if she could only come +now!” +</p> +<p> +“No dearest; it is too late to-night.” +</p> +<p> +“But Evelyn ought to see her before she goes to +school.” +</p> +<p> +“My dearest, you have both to be at school at +nine o’clock.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know what is to be done! I do feel +that I have very little influence, and Sylvia may +have much. Oh dear! oh dear!” +</p> +<p> +“Audrey, I am almost sorry I have told you; +you take it too much to heart.” +</p> +<p> +“Dear mother, you must have told me; I could +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_337'></a>337</span> +not have stood the shock, the surprise, unprepared. +Oh mother, think of the morning after next! Think +of our all standing up in school, and Evelyn, my +cousin, being proclaimed guilty! And yet, mother, +I ought only to think of Evelyn, and not of myself; +but I cannot help thinking of myself—I cannot—I +cannot.” +</p> +<p> +“Something must be done to help you, Audrey. +Let me think. I will write a line to Miss Henderson +and say I am detaining you both till afternoon +school. Then, dearest, you can have your talk with +Evelyn in the morning, and afterwards Sylvia can +see her, and perhaps the unhappy child may be +brought to repentance, and may speak to Miss +Henderson and confess her sin in the afternoon. +That is the best thing. Now go to bed, and do not +let the trouble worry you, my sweet; that would +indeed be the last straw.” +</p> +<p> +Audrey left the room. But during that night she +could not sleep. From side to side of her pillow she +tossed; and early in the morning, an hour or more +before her usual time of rising, she got up. She +dressed herself quickly and went in the direction of +Evelyn’s room. Her idea was to speak to Evelyn +there and then before her courage failed her. She +opened the door of her cousin’s room softly. She +expected to see Evelyn, who was very lazy as a rule, +sound asleep in bed; but, to her astonishment, the +room was empty. Where could she be? +</p> +<p> +“What can be the matter?” thought Audrey; and +in some alarm she ran down-stairs. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_338'></a>338</span> +</p> +<p> +The first person she saw was Evelyn, who was +making straight for her uncle’s room, intending to +go out with the well-loaded gun. Evelyn scowled +when she saw her cousin, and a look of anger swept +over her face. +</p> +<p> +“What are you doing up so early, Evelyn?” asked +Audrey. +</p> +<p> +“May I ask what are <em>you</em> doing up so early,” +retorted Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“I got up early on purpose to talk to you.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t want to talk just now.” +</p> +<p> +“Do come with me, Evelyn—please do. Why +should you turn against me and be so disagreeable? +Oh, dear! oh dear! I am so terribly sorry for you! +Do you know that I was awake all night thinking of +you?” +</p> +<p> +“Then you were very silly,” said Evelyn, “for certainly +I was not awake thinking of you. What is +it you want to say?” she continued. +</p> +<p> +She recognized that she must give up her sport. +How more than provoking! for the next morning +she would be no longer at Wynford Castle; she +would be under the safe shelter of her beloved +Jasper’s wing. +</p> +<p> +“The morning is quite fine,” said Audrey; “do +come out and let us walk.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn looked very cross, but finally agreed, and +they went out together. Audrey wondered how +she should proceed. What could she say to influence +Evelyn? In truth, they were not the sort of +girls who would ever pull well together. Audrey had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_339'></a>339</span> +been brought up in the strictest school, with the +highest sense of honor. Evelyn had been left to +grow up at her own sweet will; honorable actions +had never appealed to her. Tricks, cheating, smart +doings, clever ways, which were not the ways +of righteousness, were the ways to which she had +been accustomed. It was impossible for her to see +things with Audrey’s eyes. +</p> +<p> +“What do you want to say to me?” said Evelyn. +“Why do you look so mysterious?” +</p> +<p> +“I want to say something—something which I +must say. Evelyn, do not ask me any questions, but +do just listen. You know what is going to happen +to-morrow morning at school?” +</p> +<p> +“Lessons, I suppose,” said Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“Please don’t be silly; you must know what I +mean.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, you allude to the row about that stupid, +stupid book. What a fuss! I used to think I liked +school, but I don’t now. I am sure mistresses don’t +go on in that silly way in Tasmania, for mothery said +she loved school. Oh, the fun she had at school! +Stolen parties in the attics; suppers brought in +clandestinely; lessons shirked! Oh dear! oh dear! +she had a time of excitement. But at this school +you are all so proper! I do really think you English +girls have no spunk and no spirit.” +</p> +<p> +“But I’ll tell you what we have,” said Audrey; +and she turned and faced her cousin. “We have +honor; we have truth. We like to work straight, +not crooked; we like to do right, not wrong. Yes, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_340'></a>340</span> +we do, and we are the better for it. That is what +we English girls are. Don’t abuse us, Evelyn, for +in your heart of hearts—yes, Evelyn, I repeat it—in +your heart of hearts you must long to be one +of us.” +</p> +<p> +There was something in Audrey’s tone which +startled Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“How like Uncle Edward you look!” she said; +and perhaps she could not have paid her cousin a +higher compliment. +</p> +<p> +The look which for just a moment flitted across +the queer little face of the Tasmanian girl upset +Audrey. She struggled to retain her composure, but +the next moment burst into tears. +</p> +<p> +“Oh dear!” said Evelyn, who hated people who +cried, “what is the matter?” +</p> +<p> +“You are the matter. Oh, why—<em>why</em> did you +do it?” +</p> +<p> +“I do what?” said Evelyn, a little startled, and +turning very pale. +</p> +<p> +“Oh! you know you did it, and—and—— There +is Sylvia Leeson coming across the grass. Do let +Sylvia speak to you. Oh, you know—you know +you did it!” +</p> +<p> +“What is the matter?” said Sylvia, running up, +panting and breathless. “I have been asked to +breakfast here. Such fun! I slipped off without +father knowing. But are not you two going to +school? Why was I asked? Audrey, what are you +crying about?” +</p> +<p> +“About Evelyn. I am awfully unhappy——” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_341'></a>341</span> +</p> +<p> +“Have you told, Evelyn?” asked Sylvia breathlessly. +</p> +<p> +“No,” said Evelyn; “and if you do, Sylvia——” +</p> +<p> +“Sylvia, do you know about this?” cried Audrey. +</p> +<p> +“About what?” asked Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +“About the book which got injured at Miss Henderson’s +school.” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia glanced at Evelyn; then her face flushed, +her eyes brightened, and she said emphatically: +</p> +<p> +“I know; and dear little Evelyn will tell you herself.—Won’t +you, darling—won’t you?” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn looked from one to the other. +</p> +<p> +“You are enough, both of you, to drive me mad,” +she said. “Do you think for a single moment that +I am going to speak against myself? I hate you, +Sylvia, as much as I ever loved you.” +</p> +<p> +Before either girl could prevent her she slipped +away, and flying round the shrubberies, was lost to +view. +</p> +<p> +“Then she did do it?” said Audrey. “She told +you?” +</p> +<p> +Sylvia shut her lips. +</p> +<p> +“I must not say any more,” she answered. +</p> +<p> +“But, Sylvia, it is no secret. Miss Henderson +knows; there is circumstantial evidence. Mother +told me last night. Evelyn will be exposed before +the whole school.” +</p> +<p> +Now Jasper, for wise reasons, had said nothing to +Sylvia of Evelyn’s proposed flight to The Priory, and +consequently she was unaware that the naughty +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_342'></a>342</span> +girl had no intention of exposing herself to public +disgrace. +</p> +<p> +“She must be brought to confess,” continued +Audrey, “and you must find her and talk to her. +You must show her how hopeless and helpless she +is. Show her that if she tells, the disgrace will +not be quite so awful. Oh, do please get her to +tell!” +</p> +<p> +“I can but try,” said Sylvia; “only, somehow,” +she added, “I have not yet quite fathomed Evelyn.” +</p> +<p> +“But I thought she was fond of you?” +</p> +<p> +“You see what she said. She did confide something +to me, only I must not tell you any more; +and she is angry with me because she thinks I have +not respected her confidence. Oh, what is to be +done? Yes, I will go and have a talk with her. +Go in, please, Audrey; you look dead tired.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh! as if anything mattered,” said Audrey. +“I could almost wish that I were dead; the disgrace +is past enduring.” +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_343'></a>343</span><a name='chXXVII' id='chXXVII'></a>CHAPTER XXVII.—THE STRANGE VISITOR IN THE BACK BEDROOM.</h2> +<p> +In vain Sylvia pleaded and argued. She brought +all her persuasions to bear; she brought all her +natural sweetness to the fore. She tried love, with +which she was so largely endowed; she tried tact, +which had been given to her in full measure; she +tried the gentle touch of scorn and sarcasm; finally +she tried anger, but for all she said and did she might +as well have held her peace. Evelyn put on that +stubbornness with which she could encase herself as +in armor; nowhere could Sylvia find a crack or a +crevice through which her words might pierce the +obdurate and naughty little heart. What was to +be done? At last she gave up in despair. Audrey +met her outside Evelyn’s room. Sylvia shook her +head. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t question me,” she said. “I am very unhappy. +I pity you from my heart. I can say +nothing; I am bound in honor to say nothing. +Poor Evelyn will reap her own punishment.” +</p> +<p> +“If,” said Audrey, “you have failed I give up all +hope.” +</p> +<p> +After lunch Evelyn and Audrey went back to +school. There were a good many classes to be held +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_344'></a>344</span> +that afternoon—one for deportment, another for +dancing, another for recitation. Evelyn could recite +extremely well when she chose. She looked almost +pretty when she recited some of the spirited ballads +of her native land for the benefit of the school. Her +eyes glowed, darkened, and deepened; the pallor of +her face was transformed and beautified by a faint +blush. There was a heart somewhere within her; +as Audrey watched her she was obliged to acknowledge +that fact. +</p> +<p> +“She is thinking of her dead mother now,” +thought the girl. “Oh, if only that mother had +been different we should not be placed in our present +terrible position!” +</p> +<p> +It was the custom of the school for the girls on +recitation afternoons to do their pieces in the great +hall. Miss Henderson, Miss Lucy, and a few visitors +generally came to listen to the recitations. Miss +Thompson was the recitation mistress, and right well +did she perform her task. If a girl had any dramatic +power, if a girl had any talent for seeing behind +the story and behind the dream of the poet, Miss +Thompson was the one to bring that gift to the surface. +Evelyn, who was a dramatist by nature, became +like wax in her hands; the way in which she +recited that afternoon brought a feeling of astonishment +to those who listened to her. +</p> +<p> +“What remarkable little girl is that?” said a lady +of the neighboring town to Miss Henderson. +</p> +<p> +“She is a Tasmanian and Squire Edward Wynford’s +niece,” replied Miss Henderson; but it was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_345'></a>345</span> +evident that she was not to be drawn out on the +subject, nor would she allow herself to express any +approbation of Evelyn’s really remarkable powers. +</p> +<p> +Audrey’s piece, compared with Evelyn’s, was tame +and wanting in spirit. It was well rendered, it is +true, but the ring of passion was absent. +</p> +<p> +“Really,” said the same lady again, “I doubt +whether recitations such as Miss Evelyn Wynford +has given are good for the school; surely girls +ought not to have their minds overexcited with such +things!” +</p> +<p> +Miss Henderson was again silent. +</p> +<p> +The time passed by, and the close of the day arrived. +Just as the girls were putting on their cloaks +and hats preparatory to going home, and some were +collecting round and praising Evelyn for her remarkable +performance of the afternoon, Miss Henderson +appeared on the scene. She touched the little girl +on the arm. +</p> +<p> +“One moment,” she said. +</p> +<p> +“What do you want?” said Evelyn, backing. +</p> +<p> +“To speak to you, my dear.” +</p> +<p> +Audrey gave Evelyn a beseeching look. Perhaps +if Audrey had refrained from looking at that moment, +Evelyn, excited by her triumph, touched by +the plaudits of her companions, might have done +what she was expected to do, and what immediately +followed need not have taken place. But Evelyn +hated Audrey, and if for no other reason but to +annoy her she would stand by her guns. +</p> +<p> +Miss Henderson took her hand, and entered a room +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_346'></a>346</span> +adjoining the cloakroom. She closed the door, and +said: +</p> +<p> +“The week is nearly up. You know what will +happen to-morrow?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said Evelyn, lowering her eyes. +</p> +<p> +“You will be present?” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn was silent. +</p> +<p> +“I shall see that you are. You must realize already +what a pitiable figure you will be, how deep +and lasting will be your disgrace. You have just +tasted the sweets of success; why should you undergo +that which will be said of you to-morrow, that which +no English girl can ever forgive? It will not be forgotten +in the school that owing to you much enjoyment +has been cut short, that owing to you a cloud +has rested on the entire place for several days—prizes +forgone, liberty curtailed, amusements debarred; +and, before and above all these things, the fearful +stigma of disgrace resting on every girl at Chepstow +House. But even now, Evelyn, there is time; even +now, by a full confession, much can be mitigated. +You know, my dear, how strong is the case against +you. To-morrow morning both Miss Thompson and +I proclaim before the entire school what has occurred. +You are, in short, as a prisoner at the bar. The +school will be the judges; they will declare whether +you are innocent or guilty.” +</p> +<p> +“Let me go,” said Evelyn. “Why do you torture +me? I said I did not do it, and I mean to stick to +what I said. Let me go.” +</p> +<p> +“Unhappy child! I shall not be able to retain +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_347'></a>347</span> +you in the school after to-morrow morning. But go +now—go. God help you!” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn walked across the hall. Her school companions +were still standing about; many wondered +why her face was so pale, and asked one another +what Miss Henderson had to say in especial to the +little girl. +</p> +<p> +“It cannot be,” said Sophie, “that she did it. +Why, of course she did not do it; she would have +no motive.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t let us talk about it,” said her companion. +“For my part I rather like Evelyn—there is something +so quaint and out-of-the-common about her—only +I wish she would not look so angry sometimes.” +</p> +<p> +“But how splendidly she recited that song of the +ranch!” said Sophie. “I could see the whole +picture. We must not expect her to be quite like +ourselves; before she came here she was only a wild +little savage.” +</p> +<p> +The governess-cart had come for the two girls. +They drove home in silence. Audrey was thinking +of the misery of the following morning. Evelyn was +planning her escape. She meant to go before dinner. +She had asked Jasper to meet her at seven o’clock +precisely. She had thought everything out, and +that seemed to be the best hour; the family would +be in their different rooms dressing. Evelyn would +make an excuse to send Read away—indeed, she +seldom now required her services, preferring to dress +alone. Read would be busy with her mistress and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_348'></a>348</span> +her own young lady, and Evelyn would thus be able +to slip away without her prying eyes observing it. +</p> +<p> +Tea was ready for the girls when they got home. +They took it almost without speaking. Evelyn +avoided looking at Audrey. Audrey felt that it +was now absolutely hopeless to say a word to +Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“I should just like to bid Uncle Edward good-by,” +thought the child. “Perhaps I may never come +back again. I do not suppose Aunt Frances will ever +allow me to live at the Castle again. I should like +to kiss Uncle Edward; he is the one person in this +house whom I love.” +</p> +<p> +She hesitated between her desire and her frantic +wish to be out of reach of danger as soon as possible, +but in the end the thought that her uncle might +notice something different from usual about her made +her afraid of making the attempt. She went up to +her room. +</p> +<p> +“It is not necessary to dress yet,” said Audrey, +who was going slowly in the direction of the pretty +schoolroom. +</p> +<p> +“No; but I have a slight headache,” said Evelyn. +“I will lie down for a few minutes before dinner. +And, oh! please, Audrey, tell Read I do not want +her to come and dress me this evening. I shall put +on my white frock, and I know how to fasten it +myself.” +</p> +<p> +“All right; I will tell her,” replied Audrey. +</p> +<p> +She did not say any more, but went on her way. +Evelyn entered her room. There she packed a few +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_349'></a>349</span> +things in a bag; she was not going to take much. +In the bottom of the bag she placed for security the +two little rolls of gold. These she covered over with +a stout piece of brown paper; over the brown paper +she laid the treasures she most valued. It did not +occur to her to take any of the clothes which her +Aunt Frances had bought for her. +</p> +<p> +“I do not need them,” she said to herself. “I +shall have my own dear old things to wear again. +Jasper took my trunks, and they are waiting for me +at The Priory. How happy I shall be in a few +minutes! I shall have forgotten the awful misery +of my life at Castle Wynford. I shall have forgotten +that horrid scene which is to take place to-morrow +morning. I shall be the old Evelyn again. How +astonished Sylvia will be! Whatever Sylvia is, she +is true to Jasper; and she will be true to me, and +she will not betray me.” +</p> +<p> +The time flew on; soon it was a quarter to seven. +Evelyn could see the minute and hour hand of the +pretty clock on her mantelpiece. The time seemed +to go on leaden wings. She did not dare to stir until +a few minutes after the dressing-gong had sounded; +then she knew she should find the coast clear. At +last seven silvery chimes sounded from the little +clock, and a minute later the great gong in the central +hall pealed through the house. There was the gentle +rustle of ladies’ silk dresses as they went to their +rooms to dress—for a few visitors had arrived at the +Castle that day. Evelyn knew this, and had made +her plans accordingly. The family had a good deal +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_350'></a>350</span> +to think of; Read would be specially busy. She +went to the table where she had put her little bag, +caught it up, took a thick shawl on her arm, and +prepared to rush down-stairs. She opened the door +of her room and peeped out. All was stillness in the +corridor. All was stillness in the hall below. She +hoped that she could reach the side entrance and get +away into the shrubberies without any one seeing +her. Cautiously and swiftly she descended the +stairs. The stairs were made of white marble, and +of course there was no sound. She crossed the big +hall and went down by a side corridor. Once she +looked back, having a horrible suspicion that some +one was watching her. There was no one in sight. +She opened the side door, and the next instant had +shut it behind her. She gave a gasp of pleasure. +She was free; the horrid house would know her no +more. +</p> +<p> +“Not until I go back as mistress and pay them all +out,” thought the angry little girl. “Never again +will I live at Castle Wynford until I am mistress +here.” +</p> +<p> +Then she put wings to her feet and began to run. +But, alas for Evelyn! the best-laid plans are sometimes +upset, and at the moment of greatest security +comes the sudden fall. For she had not gone a +dozen yards before a hand was laid on her shoulder, +and turning round and trying to extricate herself, +she saw her Aunt Frances. Lady Frances, who she +supposed was safe in her room was standing by her +side. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_351'></a>351</span> +</p> +<p> +“Evelyn,” she said, “what are you doing?” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing,” said Evelyn, trying to wriggle out of +her aunt’s grasp. +</p> +<p> +“Then come back to the house with me.” +</p> +<p> +She took the little girl’s hand, and they re-entered +the house side by side. +</p> +<p> +“You were running away,” said Lady Frances, +“but I do not permit that. We will not argue the +point; come up-stairs.” +</p> +<p> +She took Evelyn up to her room. There she +opened the door and pushed her in. +</p> +<p> +“Doubtless you can do without dinner as you intended +to run away,” said Lady Frances. “I will +speak to you afterwards; for the present you stay +in your room.” She locked the door and put the +key into her pocket. +</p> +<p> +The angry child was locked in. To say that +Evelyn was wild with passion, despair, and rage is +but lightly to express the situation. For a time she +was almost speechless; then she looked round her +prison. Were there any means of escape? Oh! +she would not stand it; she would burst open the +door. Alas, alas for her puny strength! the door +was of solid oak, firmly fastened, securely locked; +it would defy the efforts of twenty little girls of +Evelyn’s size and age. The window—she would escape +by the window! She rushed to it, opened it, +and looked out. Evelyn’s room was, it is true, on +the first floor, but the drop to the ground beneath +seemed too much for her. She shuddered as she +looked below. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_352'></a>352</span> +</p> +<p> +“If I were on the ranch, twenty Aunt Franceses +would not keep me,” she thought; and then she ran +into her sitting-room. +</p> +<p> +Of late she had scarcely ever used her sitting-room, +but now she remembered it. The windows here +were French; they looked on the flower-garden. +To drop down here would not perhaps be so difficult; +the ground at least would be soft. Evelyn +wondered if she might venture; but she had once +seen, long ago in Tasmania, a black woman try to +escape. She had heard the thud of the woman’s +body as it alighted on the ground, and the shriek +which followed. This woman had been found and +brought back to the house, and had suffered for weeks +from a badly-broken leg. Evelyn now remembered +that thud, and that broken leg, and the shriek of the +victim. It would be worse than folly to injure herself. +But, oh, was it not maddening? Jasper would +be waiting for her—Jasper with her big heart and +her great black eyes and her affectionate manner; +and the little white bed would be made, and the delicious +chocolate in preparation; and the fun and +the delightful escapade and the daring adventure +must all be at an end. But they should not—no, no, +they should not! +</p> +<p> +“What a fool I am!” thought Evelyn. “Why +should I not make a rope and descend in that way? +Aunt Frances has locked me in, but she does not +know how daring is the nature of Evelyn Wynford. +I inherit it from my darling mothery; I will not +allow myself to be defeated.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_353'></a>353</span> +</p> +<p> +Her courage and her spirits revived when she +thought of the rope. She must wait, however, at +least until half-past seven. The great gong sounded +once more. Evelyn rushed to her door, and heard +the rustle of the silken dresses of the ladies as they +descended. She had her eye at the keyhole, and +fancied that she detected the hated form of her aunt +robed in ruby velvet. A slim young figure in white +also softly descended. +</p> +<p> +“My cousin Audrey,” thought the girl. “Oh +dear! oh dear! and they leave me here, locked up +like a rat in a trap. They leave me here, and I am +out of everything. Oh, I cannot, will not stand +it!” +</p> +<p> +She ran to her bed, tore off the sheets, took a +pair of scissors, and cut them into strips. She had +all the ways and quick knowledge of a girl from the +wilds. She knew how to make a knot which would +hold. Soon her rope was ready. It was quite strong +enough to bear her light weight. She fastened it +to a heavy article of furniture just inside the French +windows of her sitting-room, and then dropping her +little bag to the ground below, she herself swiftly +descended. +</p> +<p> +“Free! free!” she murmured. “Free in spite of +her! She will see how I have gone. Oh, won’t she +rage? What fun! It is almost worth the misery +of the last half-hour to have escaped as I have done.” +</p> +<p> +There was no one now to watch the little culprit +as she stole across the grass. She ran up to the stile +where Jasper was still waiting for her. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_354'></a>354</span> +</p> +<p> +“My darling,” said Jasper, “how late you are! +I was just going back; I had given you up.” +</p> +<p> +“Kiss me, Jasper,” said Evelyn. “Hug me and +love me and carry me a bit of the way in your strong +arms; and, oh! be quick—be very quick—for we +must hide, you and I, where no one can ever, ever +find us. Oh Jasper, Jasper, I have had such a +time!” +</p> +<p> +It was not Jasper’s way to say much in moments +of emergency. She took Evelyn up, wrapped her +warm fur cloak well round the little girl, and proceeded +as quickly as she could in the direction of +The Priory. Evelyn laid her head on her faithful +nurse’s shoulder, and a ray of warmth and comfort +visited her miserable little soul. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I am lost but for you!” she murmured once +or twice. “How I hate England! How I hate Aunt +Frances! How I hate the horrid, horrid school, and +even Audrey! But I love you, darling, darling Jasper, +and I am happy once more.” +</p> +<p> +“You are not lost with me, my little white Eve,” +said Jasper. “You are safe with me; and I tell you +what it is, my sweet, you and I will part no more.” +</p> +<p> +“We never, never will,” said the little girl with +fervor; and she clasped Jasper still more tightly +round the neck. +</p> +<p> +But notwithstanding all Jasper’s love and good-will, +the little figure began to grow heavy, and the +way seemed twice as long as usual; and when Evelyn +begged and implored of her nurse to hurry, hurry, +hurry, poor Jasper’s heart began to beat in great +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_355'></a>355</span> +thumps, and finally she paused, and said with panting +breath: +</p> +<p> +“I must drop you to the ground, my dearie, and +you must run beside me, for I have lost my breath, +pet, and I cannot carry you any farther.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, how selfish I am!” said Evelyn at once. +“Yes, of course I will run, Jasper. I can walk quite +well now. I have got over my first fright. The +great thing of all is to hurry. And you are certain, +certain sure they will not look for me at The +Priory?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, now, darling, how could they? Nobody +but Sylvia knows that I live at The Priory, and +why should they think that you had gone there? +No; it is the police they will question, and the +village they will go to, and the railway maybe. +But it is fun to think of the fine chase we are giving +them, and all to no purpose.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn laughed, and the two, holding each other’s +hands, continued on their way. By and by they +reached the back entrance to The Priory. Jasper +had left the gate a little ajar. Pilot came up to show +attentions; he began to growl at Evelyn, but Jasper +laid her hand on his big forehead. +</p> +<p> +“A friend, good dog! A little friend, Pilot,” +was Jasper’s remark; and then Pilot wagged his +tail and allowed his friend Jasper—to whom he was +much attached, as she furnished him with unlimited +chicken-bones—to go to the house. Two or three +minutes later Evelyn found herself established in +Jasper’s snug, pretty little bedroom. There the fire +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_356'></a>356</span> +blazed; supper was in course of preparation. Evelyn +flung herself down on a chair and panted slightly. +</p> +<p> +“So this is where you live?” she said. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my darling, this is where I live.” +</p> +<p> +“And where is Sylvia?” asked Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“She is having supper with her father at the +present moment.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh! I should like to see her. How excited and +astonished she will be! She won’t tell—you are +sure of that, Jasper?” +</p> +<p> +“Tell! Sylvia tell!” said Jasper. “Not quite, +my dearie.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I should like to see her.” +</p> +<p> +“She’ll be here presently.” +</p> +<p> +“You have not told that I was coming?” +</p> +<p> +“No, darling; I thought it best not.” +</p> +<p> +“That is famous, Jasper; and do you know, I +am quite hungry, so you might get something to +eat without delay.” +</p> +<p> +“You did not by any chance forget the money?” +said Jasper, looking anxiously at Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +“Oh no; it is in my little black bag; you had +better take it while you think of it. It is in two +rolls; Uncle Edward gave it to me. It is all gold—gold +sovereigns; and there are twenty of them.” +</p> +<p> +“Are not you a darling, a duck, and all the rest!” +said Jasper, much relieved at this information. “I +would not worry you for the money, darling,” she +continued as she bustled about and set the milk on +to boil for Evelyn’s favorite beverage, “but that my +own funds are getting seriously low. You never +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_357'></a>357</span> +knew such a state as we live in here. But we have +fun, darling; and we shall have all the more fun +now that you have come.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn leant back in her chair without replying. +She had lived through a good deal that day, and +she was tired and glad to rest. She felt secure. +She was hungry, too; and it was nice to be petted +by Jasper. She watched the preparations for the +chocolate, and when it was made she sipped it eagerly, +and munched a sponge-cake, and tried to believe +that she was the happiest little girl in the world. +But, oh! what ailed her? How was it that she +could not quite forget the horrid days at the Castle, +and the dreadful days at school, and Audrey’s face, +and Lady Frances’s manner, and—last but not least—dear, +sweet, kind Uncle Edward? +</p> +<p> +“And I never proved to him that I could shoot +a bird on the wing,” she thought. “What a pity—what +a sad pity! He will find the gun loaded, and +how astonished he will be! And he will never, +never know that it was his Evelyn loaded it and +left it ready. Oh dear! I am sorry that I am not +likely to see Uncle Edward for a long time again. +I am sorry that Uncle Edward will be angry; I do +not mind about any one else, but I am sorry about +him.” +</p> +<p> +Just then there came the sound of a high-pitched +and sweet voice in the kitchen outside. +</p> +<p> +“There is Sylvia,” said Jasper. “I am going to +tell her now, and to bring her in.” +</p> +<p> +She went into the outside kitchen. Sylvia, in her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_358'></a>358</span> +shabbiest dress, with a pinched, cold look on her +face, was standing by the embers of the fire. +</p> +<p> +“Oh Jasper,” she said eagerly, “I do not know +what to make of my father to-night! He has evidently +had bad news by the post to-day—something +about his last investments. I never saw him so +low or so irritable, and he was quite cross about the +nice little hash you made for his supper. He says +that he will cut down the fuel-supply, and that I am +not to have big fires for cooking; and, worst of all, +Jasper, he threatens to come into the kitchen to see +for himself how I manage. Do you know, I feel +quite frightened to-night. He is very strange in +his manner, and suspicious; and he looks so cold, +too. No fire will he allow in the sitting-room. He +gets worse and worse.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, darling,” said Jasper as cheerfully as she +could, “this is an old story, is it not? He did eat +his hash, when all is said and done.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes; but I don’t like his manner. And you +know he discovered about the boxes in the box-room.” +</p> +<p> +“That is over and done with too,” said Jasper. +“He cannot say much about that; he can only puzzle +and wonder, but it would take him a long time to +find out the truth.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t like his way,” repeated Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +“And perhaps you don’t like my way either, +Sylvia,” said a strange voice; and Sylvia uttered a +scream, for Evelyn stood before her. +</p> +<p> +“Evelyn!” cried the girl. “Where have you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_359'></a>359</span> +come from? Oh, what is the matter? Oh, I do declare +my head is going round!” +</p> +<p> +She clasped her hands to her forehead in absolute +bewilderment. Jasper went and locked the kitchen +door. +</p> +<p> +“Now we are safe,” she said; “and you two had +best go into the bedroom. Yes, you had, for when +he comes along it is the wisest plan for him to find +the kitchen locked and the place in darkness. He +will never think of my bedroom; and, indeed, when +the curtains are drawn and the shutters shut you +cannot get a blink of light from the outside, however +hard you try.” +</p> +<p> +“Come, Sylvia,” said Evelyn. She took Sylvia’s +hand and dragged her into the bedroom. +</p> +<p> +“But why have you come, Evelyn? Why is it?” +said poor Sylvia, in great distress and alarm. +</p> +<p> +“You will have to welcome me whether you like +it or not,” said Evelyn; “and what is more, you +will have to be true to me. I came here because +I have run away—run away from the school and +the fuss and the disgrace of to-morrow—run away +from horrid Aunt Frances and from the horrid +Castle; and I have come here to dear old Jasper; +and I have brought my own money, so you need not +be at any expense. And if you tell you will—— But, +oh, Sylvia, you will not tell?” +</p> +<p> +“But this is terrible!” said Sylvia. “I don’t +understand—I cannot understand.” +</p> +<p> +“Sit down, Miss Sylvia, dearie,” said Jasper, “and +I will try to explain.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_360'></a>360</span> +</p> +<p> +Sylvia sank down on the side of the little white +bed. +</p> +<p> +“Now I know why you were getting this ready,” +she said. “You would not explain to me, and I +thought perhaps it was for me. Oh dear! oh dear!” +</p> +<p> +“I longed to tell you, but I dared not,” said Jasper. +“Would I let my sweet little lady die or be +disgraced? That is not in me. She will hide here +with me for a bit, and afterwards—it will come all +right afterwards, my dear Miss Sylvia. Why, +there, darlings! I love you both. And see what I +have been planning. I mean to go up-stairs to-night +and sleep in your room, Miss Sylvia. Yes, darling; +and you and Miss Evelyn can sleep together here. +The supper is all ready, and I have had as much as +I want. I mean to go quickly; and then if your +father comes along and rattles at the kitchen door +he’ll get no answer, and if he peers through the +keyhole, the place will be black as night. Then, +being made up of suspicions, poor man, he’ll tramp +up-stairs and he’ll thunder at your door; but it will +be locked, and after a time I’ll answer him in your +voice from the heart of the big bed, and all his suspicions +will melt away like snow when the sun +shines on it. That is all, Miss Sylvia; and I mean +to do it, and at once, too; for if we were so careful +and chary and anxious before, we must be twice +as careful and twice as chary now that I have got +the precious little Eve to look after.” +</p> +<p> +Jasper’s plan was carried out to the letter. +Sylvia did not like it, but at the same time she did +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_361'></a>361</span> +not know how to oppose it; and when Evelyn put +her arms round her neck and was soft and gentle—she +who was so hard with most, and so difficult to +manage—and when she pleaded with tears in her +big brown eyes and a pathetic look on her white +face, Sylvia yielded for the present. Whatever +happened, she would not betray her. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_362'></a>362</span><a name='chXXVIII' id='chXXVIII'></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.—THE ROOM WITH THE LIGHT THAT FLICKERED.</h2> +<p> +Now, all might have gone well for the little conspirators +but for Evelyn herself. But when the girls, +tired with talking, tired with the spirit of adventure, +had lain down—Sylvia in Jasper’s bed, and Evelyn +in the new little white couch which had been got so +lovingly ready for her—Sylvia, tired out, soon fell +asleep; but Evelyn could not rest. She was pleased, +excited, relieved, but at the same time she had a +curious sense of disappointment about her. Her +heart beat fast; she wondered what was happening. +It seemed to her that in this tiny room at the back +of the kitchen she was in a sort of prison. The +sense of being in prison was anything but pleasant +to this child of a free country and of an untrained +mother. She slipped softly out of bed, and going to +the window, unbarred the heavy shutters and looked +out. +</p> +<p> +There was a moon in the sky, and the garden +stood in streaks of bright light, and of dense shadow +where the thick yew-hedge shut away the cold rays +of the moon. Evelyn’s white little face was pressed +against the pane. Pilot stalked up and down outside, +now and then baying to the moon, now and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_363'></a>363</span> +then uttering a suspicious bark, but he never glanced +in the direction of the window out of which Evelyn +looked. To the right of the window lay the hens’ +run and hen-house which have already been mentioned +in these pages. Evelyn knew nothing about +them, however; she thought the view ugly and uninteresting. +She disliked the thick yew-hedge and +the gnarled old yew-tree, and grumbling under her +breath, she turned from the window, having quite +forgotten to close the shutters. She got into bed +now and fell asleep, little knowing what mischief +she had done. +</p> +<p> +For it was on that very same night that Mr. Leeson +determined, not to bury his bags of gold, but to dig +them up. He was in a weak and trembling condition, +and what he considered the most terrible misfortune +had overpowered him, for the large sums +which he had lately invested in the Kilcolman Gold-mines +had been irretrievably lost; the gold-mines +were nothing more nor less than a huge fraud, and +all the shareholders had lost their money. The +daily papers were full of the fraudulent scheme, and +indignation was rife against the promoters of the +company. But little cared Mr. Leeson for that; one +fact alone concerned him. He, who grudged a +penny to give his only child warmth and comfort, +had by one fell blow lost thousands of pounds. He +was almost like a man bereft of his senses. When +Sylvia had left him that evening he had stood for +some time in the cold and desolate parlor; then he +sat down and began to think. His money was invested +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_364'></a>364</span> +in more than one apparently promising speculation. +He meant to call it all in—to collect it +all and leave the country. He would not trust another +sovereign in any bank in the kingdom; he +would guard his own money; above all things, he +would guard his precious savings. He had saved +during his residence at The Priory something over +twelve hundred pounds. This money, which really +represented income, not capital, had been taken from +what ought to have been spent on the necessaries of +life. More and more had he saved, until a penny +saved was more valuable in his eyes than any virtue +under the sun; and as he saved and added sovereign +to sovereign, he buried his money in canvas bags +in the garden. But the time had come now to dig +up his gold and fly. There were three trunks in the +box-room; he would divide the money between the +three. They were strong, covered with cow-hide, +old-fashioned, safe to endure even such a weight as +was to be put into them. He had made all his plans. +He meant to take Sylvia, leave The Priory, and go. +What further savings he could effect in a foreign +land he knew not; he only wanted to be up and +doing. This night, just when the moon set, would +be the very time for his purpose. He was anxious—very +anxious—about those fresh trunks which had +been put into the attic; there was something also +about Sylvia which aroused his suspicions. He felt +certain that she was not quite so open with him as +formerly. Those suppers were too good, too delicate, +too tasty to be eaten without suspicion. At the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_365'></a>365</span> +best she was burning too much fuel. He would go +round to the kitchen this very night and see for +himself that the fire was out—dead out. Why +should Sylvia warm herself by the kitchen fire while +he shivered fireless and almost candleless in the +desolate parlor? Soon after ten o’clock, therefore, +he started on his rounds. He went through room +after room, looking into each; he had never been +so restless. He felt that a great and terrible task lay +before him, and so bewildered was his mind, so +much was his balance shaken, that he thought +more of the twelve hundred pounds which he had +saved than of the thousands which he had lost by +foolish investment. The desolate rooms in the old +Priory were all as they had ever been—scarcely any +furniture in some, no furniture at all in others; they +were bare and bleak and ugly. He went to the +kitchen; the door was locked. He shook it and +called aloud; there was no answer. +</p> +<p> +“The child has gone to bed,” he said to himself. +“That is well.” +</p> +<p> +He stooped down and tried to look through the +keyhole; only darkness met his gaze. He turned +and shambled up-stairs. He turned the handle of +Sylvia’s door. How wise had been Jasper when she +had guessed that the master of the house would do +just what he did do! +</p> +<p> +“Sylvia!” he called aloud—“Sylvia!” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, father,” said a voice which seemed to be +quite the voice of his daughter. +</p> +<p> +“Are you in bed?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_366'></a>366</span> +</p> +<p> +“Yes. Do you want me?” +</p> +<p> +“No; stay where you are. Good night.” +</p> +<p> +“Good night,” answered the pretended Sylvia. +</p> +<p> +But Mr. Leeson, as he went down-stairs, did not +hear the stifled laughter which was smothered in +the pillows. He waited until the moon was on the +wane, and then, armed with the necessary implements, +went into the garden. He would certainly +remove half the bags that night; the remainder +might wait until to-morrow. +</p> +<p> +He reached the garden; he arrived at the spot +where his treasure was buried, and then he stood still +for a moment, and looked around him. Everything +seemed all right—silent as the grave—still as death. +It was a windless night; the moon would very soon +set and there would be darkness. He wanted darkness +for his purpose. Pilot came shuffling up. +</p> +<p> +“Good dog! guard—guard. Good dog!” said his +master. +</p> +<p> +Pilot had been trained to know what this meant, +and he went immediately and stood within a foot or +two of the main entrance. Mr. Leeson did not know +that a gate at the back entrance was no longer +firmly secured and chained, as he imagined it to be. +He thought himself safe, and began to work. +</p> +<p> +He had dug up six of the bags, and there were +six more yet to be unearthed, when, suddenly raising +his head, he saw a light in a window on the ground +floor. It was a very faint light, and seemed to come +and go. +</p> +<p> +He was much puzzled. His heart beat strangely; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_367'></a>367</span> +suspicion visited him. Had any one seen him? If +so he was lost. He dared not wait another moment; +he took two of the bags of gold and dragged them as +best he could into the house. He went out again to +fetch another two, and yet another two. He put +the six canvas bags in the empty hall, and then returning +to the garden, he pressed down the earth +and covered it with gravel, and tried to make it +look as if no one had been there—as if no one had +disturbed it. But he was trembling all over, and as +he did so he looked again at the flickering, broken +light which came dimly, like something gray and uncertain, +from within the room. +</p> +<p> +He went on tiptoe softly, very softly, up to the window +and peered in. He could not see much—nothing, +in fact, except one thing. The room had a fire. That +was enough for him. +</p> +<p> +Furious anger shook the man to his depths. He +hurried into the house. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_368'></a>368</span><a name='chXXIX' id='chXXIX'></a>CHAPTER XXIX.—WHAT COULD IT MEAN?</h2> +<p> +Anger gave Mr. Leeson a false strength. He put +the canvas bags of gold into a large cupboard in the +parlor; he locked the door and put the key into his +pocket. Then he went gingerly and on tiptoe to +another cupboard, and took down out of the midst +of an array of dirty empty bottles one which contained +a very little brandy. He kept this brandy +here so that no one should guess at its existence. +He poured himself out about a thimbleful of the potent +spirit and drank it off. He then returned the +bottle to its place, and fumbling in a lower shelf, collected +some implements together. With these he +went out into the open air. +</p> +<p> +He now approached the window where the light +shone—the faint, dim light which flickered against the +blind and seemed almost to go out, and then shone +once more. Slowly and dexterously he cut, with a +diamond which he had brought for the purpose, a +square of glass out of the lower pane. He put the +glass on the ground, and slipping in his hand, pushed +back the bolt. All his movements were quiet. He +said “Ah!” once or twice under his breath. When +he had gently and very softly lifted the sash, he took +a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_369'></a>369</span> +some drops which stood on his forehead. Then he +said “Ah!” once more, and slipped softly, deftly, +and quietly into the room. He had made no noise +whatsoever. The young sleepers never moved. +He stood in the fire-lit, and in his opinion lavishly +furnished, room. Here was a small white bed and +an occupant; here a larger bed and another occupant. +He crept on tiptoe towards the two beds. He bent +down over the little occupant of the smaller bed. +</p> +<p> +A girl—a stranger! A girl with long, fair hair, +and light lashes lying on a white cheek. A curious-looking +girl! She moaned once or twice in her +sleep. He did not want to awaken her. +</p> +<p> +He looked towards the other bed, in which lay +Sylvia, pretty, debonair, rosy in her happy, warm +slumber. She had flung one arm outside the counterpane. +Her lips parted; she uttered the words: +</p> +<p> +“Darling father! Poor, poor father!” +</p> +<p> +The man who listened started back as though +something had struck him. +</p> +<p> +Sylvia in that bed—Sylvia who had spoken to him +not two hours ago up-stairs? What did it mean? +What could it mean? And who was this stranger? +And what did the fire mean, and all the furniture? +A carpet on the floor, too! A carpet on his floor—his! +And a fire which he had never warranted in +his grate, and beds which he had never ordered in +his room! Oh! was it not enough to strike a man +mad with fury? And yet again! what was this? +A table and the remains of supper! Good living, +warmth, luxuries, under the roof of the man who was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_370'></a>370</span> +fireless and cold and, as he himself fondly and foolishly +believed, a beggar! +</p> +<p> +He stood absolutely dumb. He would not awaken +the sleepers. A strange sensation visited him. He +was determined not to give way to his passions; he +was determined, before he said a word to Sylvia, to +regain his self-control. +</p> +<p> +“Once I said bitter things to her mother; I will +not err in that direction any more,” he said to himself. +“And in her sleep she called me ‘Father’ +and ‘Poor father.’ But all the same I shall cast +her away. She is no longer my Sylvia. I disown +her; I disinherit her. She goes out into the cold. +She is ruining her father. She has deceived me; she +shall never be anything to me again. Paw! how I +hate her!” +</p> +<p> +He went to the window, got out just as he had got +in, drew down the sash, and stepped softly across +the dark lawn. +</p> +<p> +He was very cold now, and he felt faint; the +effect of the tiny supply of brandy which he had +administered to himself had worn off. He went +into his desolate parlor. How cold it was! He +thought of the big fire in the bedroom which he had +left. How poor and desolate was this room by contrast! +What a miserable bed he reposed on at night—absolutely +not enough blankets—but Sylvia lay +like a bird in its nest, so warm, so snug! Oh! how +bad she was! +</p> +<p> +“Her mother was never as bad as that,” he muttered +to himself. “She was extravagant, but she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_371'></a>371</span> +was not like Sylvia. She never willingly deceived +me. Sylvia to have a strange and unknown girl—a +stranger—in the house! All my suspicions are +verified. My doubts are certainties. God help me! +I am a miserable old man.” +</p> +<p> +He cowered down, and the icy cold of the room +struck through his bones. He looked at the grate, +and observed that a fire had been laid there. +</p> +<p> +“Sylvia did that,” he said to himself. “The little +minx did not like to feel that she was so warm and +I so cold, so she laid the fire; she thought that I +would indulge myself. I! But am I not suffering +for her? While she lies in the lap of luxury I die of +cold and hunger, and all for her. But I will do it no +longer. I will light the fire; I will have a feast; I +will eat and drink and be merry, and forget that I +had a daughter.” +</p> +<p> +So the unfortunate man, half-mad with bewilderment +and the grief of his recent losses, lit a blazing +fire, and going to his cupboard, took out his brandy +and drank what was left in the bottle. He was +warm now, and his pulse beat more quickly. He +remembered his six bags of gold, and the other six +bags in the garden, and he resolved that if necessary +he would fly without Sylvia. Sylvia could stay behind. +If she managed to have such luxuries without +his aid, she could go on having them; he would +leave her a trifle—yes, a trifle—and save the rest for +himself, and be no longer tortured by an unworthy +and deceitful daughter. But as he thought these +things he became more and more puzzled. The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_372'></a>372</span> +Sylvia lying on that bed was undoubtedly his +daughter; but his daughter had spoken to him from +her own room at a reasonable hour—between ten +and eleven o’clock—that same night. How could +there be two Sylvias? +</p> +<p> +“The mystery thickens,” he muttered to himself. +“This is more than I can stand. I will ferret the +thing out—yes, and to the very bottom. Those +trunks in the attic! I suppose they belong to that +ugly child. That voice in Sylvia’s room! Well, of +course it was Sylvia’s voice; but what about the +other Sylvia down-stairs? I must see into this matter +without delay.” +</p> +<p> +He went up-stairs and found himself outside +Sylvia’s door. He turned the handle, but it was +locked. There was a light in the room, doubtless +caused by another fire. He looked through the keyhole; +the door was locked from within, for the key +was in the lock. +</p> +<p> +More and more remarkable! How could Sylvia +lock the door from within if she was not in the +room? Really the matter was enough to daze any +man. Suddenly he made up his mind. It was now +five o’clock in the morning; in a short time the day +would break. Sylvia was an early riser. If Sylvia +or any one else was in that room he would wait on +the threshold to confront that person. Oh, of course +it was Sylvia; she had slipped back again and was +in bed, and thought he would never discover her. +How astonished she would be when she saw him +seated outside her door! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_373'></a>373</span> +</p> +<p> +So Mr. Leeson fetched a broken-down chair from +his own bedroom, placed it softly just outside the +door of the room where Jasper was reposing, and +prepared himself to watch. He was far too excited +to sleep, and the hours dragged slowly on. There +was an old eight-day clock in the hall, and it struck +solemnly hour after hour. Six o’clock—seven +o’clock. Sylvia rose soon after seven. He waited +now impatiently. The days were beginning to +lengthen, and it was light—not full daylight, but +nearly so. He heard a stir in the room. +</p> +<p> +“Ha, ha, Miss Sylvia!” he said to himself, “I +shall catch you, take you by the hand, bring you +down to my parlor, tell you exactly what I think +of——Hullo! she is making a good deal of noise. +How strong she is! How she bounded out of +bed!” +</p> +<p> +He listened impatiently. His heart warmed now +to the work which lay before him. He was, on the +whole, enjoying himself at the thought of discovering +to Sylvia how black he thought her iniquities. +</p> +<p> +“No child of my own any more!” he said to himself. +“‘Poor father,’ indeed! ‘Darling father, +forsooth!’ No, no, Sylvia; acts speak louder than +words, and you were convicted out of your own +mouth, my daughter.” +</p> +<p> +Jasper dressed with despatch. She washed; she +arranged her toilet. She came to the door; she +opened it. Mr. Leeson looked up. +</p> +<p> +Jasper fell back. +</p> +<p> +“Merciful heavens!” cried the woman; and then +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_374'></a>374</span> +Mr. Leeson grasped her hand and dragged her out +of the room. +</p> +<p> +“Who are you, woman?” he said. “How dare +you come into my house? What are you doing in +my daughter’s room?” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, Mr. Leeson,” said Jasper quietly, “discovered +at last. Well, sir, and I am not sorry.” +</p> +<p> +“But who are you? What are you? What are +you doing in my daughter’s room?” +</p> +<p> +“Will you come down to the parlor with me, Mr. +Leeson, or shall I explain here?” +</p> +<p> +“You do not stir a step from this place until you +tell me.” +</p> +<p> +“Then I will, sir—I will. I have been living in +this house for the last six weeks. During that time +I have paid Miss Sylvia, and she has had money +enough to keep the breath of life within her. Be +thankful that I came, Mr. Leeson, for you owe me +much, and I owe you nothing. Ah! do you recognize +me now? The gipsy—forsooth!—the gipsy +who gave you a recipe for making the old hen +tender! Ha, ha! I laugh as I thought never to +laugh again when I recall that day.” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Leeson stood cold and white, looking full at +Jasper. Suddenly a great dizziness took possession +of him; he stretched out his hand wildly. +</p> +<p> +“There is something wrong with me,” he said. +“I don’t think I am well.” +</p> +<p> +“Poor old gentleman!” said Jasper—“no wonder!” +and her voice became mild. “The shock of +it all, and the confusion! Sakes alive! I am not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_375'></a>375</span> +going to take you into that icy bedroom of yours. +Lean on me. There now, sir. You have not lost a +penny by me; you have saved, on the contrary, and +I have kept your daughter alive, and I have given +you the best food, made out of the tenderest chickens, +out of my own money, mark you—out of my own +money—for weeks and weeks. Come down-stairs, +sir; come and I will get you a bit of breakfast.” +</p> +<p> +“I—cannot—see,” muttered Mr. Leeson again. +</p> +<p> +“Well then, sir, I suppose you can feel. Anyhow, +here is a good, strong right arm. Lean on it—all +your weight if you like. Now then, we will get +down-stairs.” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Leeson was past resistance. Jasper pulled +his shaky old hand through her arm, and half-carried, +half-dragged him down to the parlor. There +she put him in a big armchair near the fire, and +was bustling out of the room to get breakfast when +he called her back. +</p> +<p> +“So you really are the woman who had the +recipe for making old hens tender?” +</p> +<p> +“Bless you, Mr. Leeson!—bless you!—yes, I am +the woman.” +</p> +<p> +“You will let me buy it from you?” +</p> +<p> +“Certainly—yes,” replied Jasper, not quite knowing +whether to laugh or to cry. “But I am going +to get you some breakfast now.” +</p> +<p> +“And who is the other girl?” +</p> +<p> +“Does he know about her too?” thought Jasper. +“What can have happened in the night?” +</p> +<p> +“If you mean my dear little Miss Eve, why, no +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_376'></a>376</span> +one has a better right to be here, for she belongs to +me and I pay for her—yes, every penny; and, for +the matter of that, she only came last night. But +do not fash yourself now, my good sir; you are past +thought, I take it, and you want a hearty meal.” +</p> +<p> +Jasper bustled away; Mr. Leeson lay back in his +chair. Was the world turning upside down? What +had happened? Oh, if only he could feel well! If +only that giddiness would leave him! What was +the matter? He had been so well and so fierce and +so strong a few hours ago, and now—now even his +anger was slipping away from him. He had felt +quite comforted when he leaned on Jasper’s strong +arm; and when she pushed him into the armchair +and wrapped an old blanket round him, he had +enjoyed it rather than otherwise. Oh! he ought to +be nearly mad with rage; and yet somehow—somehow +he was not. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_377'></a>377</span><a name='chXXX' id='chXXX'></a>CHAPTER XXX.—THE LOADED GUN.</h2> +<p> +Now, it so happened that the fuss and confusion incident +on Evelyn’s departure had penetrated to every +individual in the Castle with the exception of the +Squire; but the Squire had been absent all day on business. +He had been attending a very important meeting +in a neighboring town, and, as his custom was, +told his wife that he should probably not return +until the early morning. When this was the case +the door opening into his private apartments was +left on the latch. He could himself open it with his +latch-key and let himself in, go to bed in a small +room prepared for the purpose, and not disturb the +rest of the family. Lady Frances had many times +during the previous evening lamented her husband’s +absence, but when twelve o’clock came and the police +who had been sent to search for Evelyn could nowhere +find the little girl, and when the different servants +had searched the house in vain, and all that +one woman could think of had been done, Lady +Frances, feeling uncomfortable, but also convinced +in her own mind that Evelyn and Jasper were quite +safe and snug somewhere, resolved to go to bed. +</p> +<p> +“It is no use, Audrey,” she said to her daughter; +“you have cried yourself out of recognition. My +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_378'></a>378</span> +dear child, you must go to bed now, and to sleep. +That naughty, naughty girl is not worth our all +being ill.” +</p> +<p> +“But, oh, mother! what has happened to her?” +</p> +<p> +“She is with Jasper, of course.” +</p> +<p> +“But suppose she is not, mother?” +</p> +<p> +“I do not suppose what is not the case, Audrey. +She is beyond doubt with that pernicious woman, +and as far as I am concerned I wash my hands of +her.” +</p> +<p> +“And—the disgrace to-morrow?” said poor +Audrey. +</p> +<p> +“My darling, you at least shall not be subjected to +it. If I could find Evelyn I would take her myself +to the school, and make her stand up before the +scholars and tell them all that she had done; or if +she refused I would tell for her. But as she is not +here you are not going to be disgraced, my precious. +I shall write a line to Miss Henderson telling her +that the guilty party has flown, and that you are far +too distressed to go to school; and I shall beg her +to take any steps she thinks best. Really and truly +that girl has made the place too hot to live in; +I shall ask your father to take us abroad for the +winter.” +</p> +<p> +“But surely, mother, you will not allow poor little +Evelyn to get quite lost; you will try to find her?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, my dear! have I not been trying? Do not +say any more to me about her to-night. I am really +so irritated that I may say something I shall be sorry +for afterwards.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_379'></a>379</span> +</p> +<p> +So Audrey went to bed, and being young, she soon +dropped asleep. Lady Frances, being dead tired, +also slept; and the Squire, who knew nothing of all +the fuss and trouble, came in at an early hour in the +morning. +</p> +<p> +He lay down to sleep, and awoke after a short +slumber. He then got up, dressed, and went into +his grounds. +</p> +<p> +Lady Frances and Audrey were at breakfast—Lady +Frances very pale, and Audrey with traces of +her violent weeping the night before still on her +face—when a servant burst in great terror and excitement +into the room. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, your ladyship,” he exclaimed, “the Squire +is lying in the copse badly shot with his own gun! +One of the grooms is with him, and Jones has gone +for the doctor, and I came at once to tell your +ladyship.” +</p> +<p> +Poor Lady Frances in her agony scarcely knew +what she was doing. Audrey asked a frenzied question, +and soon the two were bending over the stricken +man. The Squire was shot badly in the side. A +new fowling-piece lay a yard or two away. +</p> +<p> +“How did it happen?” said Lady Frances. +“What can it mean?” +</p> +<p> +Audrey knelt by her father, took his icy-cold hand +in hers, and held it to her lips. Was he dead? +</p> +<p> +As he lay there the young girl for the first time +in all her life learned how passionately, how dearly +she loved him. What would life be without him? +In some ways she was nearer to her mother than to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_380'></a>380</span> +her father, but just now, as he lay looking like +death itself, he was all in all to her. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, when will the doctor come?” said Lady +Frances, raising her haggard face. “Oh, he is +bleeding to death—he is bleeding to death!” +</p> +<p> +With all her knowledge—and it was considerable—with +all her common-sense, on which she prided +herself, Lady Frances knew very little about illness +and still less about wounds. She did not know how +to stop the bleeding, and it was well the doctor, a +bright-faced young man from the neighboring village, +was soon on the spot. He examined the +wounds, looked at the gun, did what was necessary +to stop the immediate bleeding, and soon the Squire +was carried on a hastily improvised litter back to +his stately home. +</p> +<p> +An hour ago in the prime of life, in the prime +of strength; now, for all his terrified wife and +daughter could know, he was already in the shadow +of death. +</p> +<p> +“Will he die, doctor?” asked Audrey. +</p> +<p> +The young doctor looked at her pitifully. +</p> +<p> +“I cannot tell,” he replied; “it depends upon +how far the bullet has penetrated. It is unfortunate +that he should have been shot in such a dangerous +part of the body. How did it happen?” +</p> +<p> +A groom now came up and told a hasty tale. +</p> +<p> +“The Squire called me this morning,” he said, +“and told me to go into his study and bring him +out his new fowling-piece, which had been sent from +London a few days ago. I brought it just as it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_381'></a>381</span> +was. He took it without noticing it much. I was +about to turn round and say to him, ‘It is at full +cock—perhaps you don’t know, sir,’ but I thought, +of course, he had loaded it and prepared it himself; +and the next minute he was climbing a hedge. I +heard a report, and he was lying just where you +found him.” +</p> +<p> +The question which immediately followed this +recital was, “Who had loaded the gun?” +</p> +<p> +Another doctor was summoned, and another telegraphed +for from London, and great was the agitation +and misery. By and by Audrey found herself +alone. She could scarcely understand her own +sensations. In the first place, she was absolutely +useless. Her mother was absorbed in the sickroom; +the servants were all occupied—even Read was engaged +as temporary nurse until a trained one should +arrive. Poor Audrey put on her hat and went out. +</p> +<p> +“If only my dear Miss Sinclair were here!” she +thought. “Even if Evelyn were here it would be +better than nothing. Oh, no wonder we quite forget +Evelyn in a time of anguish like the present!” +</p> +<p> +Then a fearful thought stabbed her to the heart. +</p> +<p> +“If anything happens——” She could not get her +lips to form the word she really thought of. Once +again she used the conventional phrase: +</p> +<p> +“If anything happens, Evelyn will be mistress +here.” +</p> +<p> +She looked wildly around her. +</p> +<p> +“Oh! I must find some one; I must speak to some +one,” she thought. “I will go to Sylvia; it is no +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_382'></a>382</span> +great distance to The Priory. I will go over there +at once.” +</p> +<p> +She walked quickly. She was glad of the exercise—of +any excuse to keep moving. She soon +reached The Priory, and was just about to put her +hand on the latch to open the big gates when a girl +appeared on the other side—a girl with a white face, +somewhat sullen in outline, with big brown eyes, +and a quantity of fair hair falling over her shoulders. +Even in the midst of her agitation Audrey gave a +gasp. +</p> +<p> +“Evelyn!” she said. +</p> +<p> +“I am not going with you,” said Evelyn. She +backed away, and a look of apprehension crossed +her face. “Why have you come here? You never +come to The Priory. What are you doing here? +Go away. You need not think you will have anything +to do with me in the future. I know it is all +up with me. I suppose you have come from the +school to—to torture me!” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t, Evelyn—don’t,” said Audrey. “Oh, the +misery you caused us last night! But that is nothing +to what has happened now. Listen, and forget +yourself for a minute.” +</p> +<p> +Poor Audrey tottered forward; her composure +gave way. The next moment her head was on her +cousin’s shoulder; she was sobbing as if her heart +would break. +</p> +<p> +“Why, how strange you are!” said Evelyn, distressed +and slightly softened, but, all the same, much +annoyed at what she believed would frustrate all her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_383'></a>383</span> +plans. For things had been going so well! The +poor, silly old man who lived at The Priory was too +ill to take any notice. She and Sylvia could do +as they pleased. Jasper was Mr. Leeson’s nurse. +Mr. Leeson was delirious and talking wild nonsense. +Evelyn was in a scene of excitement; she was petted +and made much of. Why did Audrey come to remind +her of that world from which she had fled? +</p> +<p> +“I suppose it was rather bad this morning at +school,” she said. “I can imagine what a fuss they +kicked up—what a shindy—all about nothing! But +there! yes, of course, I do not mind saying now that +I did do it. I was sorry afterwards; I would not +have done it if I had known—if I had guessed that +everybody would be so terribly miserable. But you +do not suppose—you do not suppose, Audrey, that +I, who am to be the owner of Castle Wynford some +day——” +</p> +<p> +But at these words Audrey gave a piercing cry: +</p> +<p> +“Some day! Oh, Evelyn, it may be to-day!” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean?” said Evelyn, her face +turning very white. She pushed Audrey, who was +a good deal taller than her cousin, away and looked +up at her. Audrey had now ceased crying; she +wiped the tears from her cheeks. +</p> +<p> +“I must tell you,” she said. “It is my father. +He shot himself by accident this morning. His new +gun from London was loaded. I suppose he did +not know it; anyhow, he knocked the gun against +something and it went off, and—he is at death’s +door.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_384'></a>384</span> +</p> +<p> +“What—do—you say?” asked Evelyn. +</p> +<p> +A complete change had come over her. Her eyes +looked dim and yet wild. She took Audrey by the +arm and shook her. +</p> +<p> +“The gun from London loaded, and it went off, +and—— Is he hurt much—much? Speak, Audrey—speak!” +</p> +<p> +She took her cousin now and shook her frantically. +</p> +<p> +“Speak!” she said. “You are driving me mad!” +</p> +<p> +“What is the matter with you, Evelyn?” +</p> +<p> +“Speak! Is he—hurt—much?” +</p> +<p> +“Much!” said Audrey. “The doctor does not +know whether he will ever recover. Oh, what have +I done to you?” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing,” said Evelyn. “Get out of my way.” +</p> +<p> +Like a wild creature she darted from her cousin, +and, fast and fleet as her feet could carry her, rushed +back to Castle Wynford. +</p> +<p> +It took a good deal to touch a heart like Evelyn’s, +but it was touched at last; nay, more, it was +wounded; it was struck with a blow so deep, so sudden, +so appalling, that the bewildered child reeled +as she ran. Her eyes grew dark with emotion. She +was past tears; she was almost past words. By +and by, breathless, scared, bewildered, carried completely +out of herself, she entered the Castle. There +was no one about, but a doctor’s brougham stood +before the principal entrance. Evelyn looked +wildly around her. She knew her uncle’s room. +She ran up-stairs. Without waiting for any one to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_385'></a>385</span> +answer, she burst open the door. The room was +empty. +</p> +<p> +“He must be very badly hurt,” she whispered to +herself. “He must be in his little room on the +ground floor.” +</p> +<p> +She went down-stairs again. She ran down the +corridor where often, when in her best moments, she +had gone to talk to him, to pet him, to love him. +She entered the sitting-room where the gun had +been. A great shudder passed through her frame +as she saw the empty case. She went straight +through the sitting-room, and, unannounced, undesired, +unwished-for, entered the bedroom. +</p> +<p> +There were doctors round the bed; Lady Frances +was standing by the head; and a man was lying +there, very still and quiet, with his eyes shut and a +peaceful smile on his face. +</p> +<p> +“He is dead,” thought Evelyn—“he is dead!” +She gave a gasp, and the next instant lay in an +unconscious heap on the floor. +</p> +<p> +When the unhappy child came to herself she was +lying on a sofa in the sitting-room. A doctor was +bending over her. +</p> +<p> +“Now you are better,” he said. “You did very +wrong to come into the bedroom. You must lie +still; you must not make a fuss.” +</p> +<p> +“I remember everything,” said Evelyn. “It was +I who did it. It was I who killed him. Don’t—don’t +keep me. I must sit up; I must speak. Will +he die? If he dies I shall have killed him. You +understand, I—I shall have done it!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_386'></a>386</span> +</p> +<p> +The doctor looked disturbed and distressed. Was +this poor little girl mad? Who was she? He had +heard of an heiress from Australia: could this be the +child? But surely her brain had given way under +the extreme pressure and shock! +</p> +<p> +“Lie still, my dear,” he said gently; and he put +his hand on the excited child’s forehead. +</p> +<p> +“I will be good if you will help me,” said the girl; +and she took both his hands in hers and raised her +burning eyes to his face. +</p> +<p> +“I will do anything in my power.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t you see what it means to me?—and I must +be with him. Is he dead?” +</p> +<p> +“No, no.” +</p> +<p> +“Is he in great danger?” +</p> +<p> +“I will tell you, if you are good, after the doctor +from London comes.” +</p> +<p> +“But I did it.” +</p> +<p> +“Excuse me, miss—I do not know your name—you +are talking nonsense.” +</p> +<p> +“Let me explain. Oh! there never was such a +wicked girl; I do not mind saying it now. I loaded +the gun just to show him that I could shoot a bird +on the wing, and—and I forgot all about it; I forgot +I had left the gun loaded. Oh, how can I ever +forgive myself?” +</p> +<p> +The doctor asked her a few more questions. He +tried to soothe her. He then said if she would stay +where she was he would bring her the very first +news from the London doctor. The case was not +hopeless, he assured her; but there was danger—grave +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_387'></a>387</span> +danger—and any shock would bring on hemorrhage, +and hemorrhage would be fatal. +</p> +<p> +The little girl listened to him, and as she listened +a new and wonderful strength was given to her. At +that instant Evelyn Wynford ceased to be a child. +She was never a child any more. The suffering and +the shock had been too mighty; they had done for +her what perhaps nothing else could ever do—they +had awakened her slumbering soul. +</p> +<p> +How she lived through the remainder of that day +she could never tell to any one. No one saw her in +the Squire’s sitting-room. No one wanted the +room; no one went near it. Audrey was back again +at the Castle, comforting her mother and trying to +help her. When she spoke of Evelyn, Lady Frances +shuddered. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t mention her,” she said. “She had the +impertinence to rush into the room; but she also had +the grace to——” +</p> +<p> +“What, mother?” +</p> +<p> +“She was really fond of her uncle, Audrey; I +always said so. She fainted—poor, miserable girl—when +she saw the state he was in.” +</p> +<p> +But Lady Frances did not know of Evelyn’s confession +to the young doctor; nor did Dr. Watson +tell any one. +</p> +<p> +It was late and the day had passed into night +when the doctor came in and sat down by Evelyn’s +side. +</p> +<p> +“Now,” he said, “you have been good, and have +kept your word, and have obliterated yourself.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_388'></a>388</span> +</p> +<p> +She did not ask him the meaning of the word, +although she did not understand it. She looked at +him with the most pathetic face he had ever +seen. +</p> +<p> +“Speak,” she said. “Will he live?” +</p> +<p> +“Dr. Harland thinks so, and he is the very best +authority in the world. He hopes in a day or two +to remove the pellets which have done the mischief. +The danger, as I have already told you, lies in renewed +hemorrhage; but that I hope we can prevent. +Now, are you going to be a very good girl?” +</p> +<p> +“What can I do?” asked Evelyn. “Can I go to +him and stay with him?” +</p> +<p> +“I wonder,” said the doctor—“and yet,” he +added, “I scarcely like to propose it. There is a +nurse there; your aunt is worn out. I will see +what I can do.” +</p> +<p> +“If I could do that it would save me,” said +Evelyn. “There never, never has been quite such +a naughty girl; and I—I did it—oh! not meaning +to hurt him, but I did it. Oh! it would save me if +I might sit by him.” +</p> +<p> +“I will see,” said the doctor. +</p> +<p> +He felt strangely interested in this queer, erratic, +lost-looking child. He went back again to the sickroom. +The Squire was conscious. He was lying in +comparative ease on his bed; a trained nurse was +within reach. +</p> +<p> +“Nurse,” said the doctor. +</p> +<p> +The woman went with him across the room. +</p> +<p> +“I am going to stay here to-night.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_389'></a>389</span> +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir; I am glad to hear it.” +</p> +<p> +“It is quite understood that Lady Frances is to +have her night’s rest?” +</p> +<p> +“Her ladyship is quite worn out, sir. She has +gone away to her room. She will rest until two in +the morning, when she will come down-stairs and +help me to watch by the patient.” +</p> +<p> +“Then I will sit with him until two o’clock,” said +the doctor. “At two o’clock I will lie down in the +Squire’s sitting-room, where I can be within call. +Now, I want to make a request.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“I am particularly anxious that a little girl who +is in very great trouble, but who has learnt self-control, +should come in and sit in the armchair by the +Squire’s side. She will not speak, but will sit there. +Is there any objection?” +</p> +<p> +“Is it the child, sir, who fainted when she came +into the room to-day?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes; she was almost mad, poor little soul; but +I think she is all right now, and she has learnt her +lesson. Nurse, can you manage it?” +</p> +<p> +“It must be as you please, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“Then I will risk it,” said the doctor. +</p> +<p> +He went back to Evelyn, and said a few words to +her. +</p> +<p> +“You must wash your face,” he said, “and tidy +yourself; and you must have a good meal.” +</p> +<p> +Evelyn shook her head. +</p> +<p> +“If you do not do exactly what I tell you I cannot +help you.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_390'></a>390</span> +</p> +<p> +“Very well; I will eat and eat until you tell me +to stop,” she answered. +</p> +<p> +“Go, and be quick, then,” said the doctor, “for +we are arranging things for the night.” +</p> +<p> +So Evelyn went, and returned in a few minutes; +then the doctor took her hand and led her into the +sickroom, and she sat by the side of the patient. +</p> +<p> +The room was very still—not a sound, not a movement. +The sick man slept; Evelyn, with her eyes +wide open, sat, not daring to move a finger. +</p> +<p> +What she thought of her past life during that +time no one knows; but that soul within her was +coming more and more to the surface. It was a +strong soul, although it had been so long asleep, and +already new desires, unselfish and beautiful, were +awakening in the child. Between twelve and one +that night the Squire opened his eyes and saw a +little girl, with a white face and eyes big and dark, +seated close to him. +</p> +<p> +He smiled, and his hand just went out a quarter +of an inch to Evelyn. She saw the movement, and +immediately her own small fingers clasped his. She +bent down and kissed his hand. +</p> +<p> +“Uncle Edward, do not speak,” she said. “It +was I who loaded the gun. You must get well, +Uncle Edward, or I shall die.” +</p> +<p> +He did not answer in any words, but his eyes +smiled at her; and the next moment she had sunk +back in her chair, relieved to her heart’s core. Her +eyes closed; she slept. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_391'></a>391</span><a name='chXXXI' id='chXXXI'></a>CHAPTER XXXI.—FOR UNCLE EDWARD’S SAKE.</h2> +<p> +The Squire was a shade better the next morning; +but Mr. Leeson, not two miles away, lay at the point +of death. Fever had claimed him for its prey, and +he continued to be wildly delirious, and did not +know in the least what he was doing. Thus two +men, each unknown to the other, but who widely +influenced the characters of this story, lay within +the Great Shadow. +</p> +<p> +Evelyn Wynford continued to efface herself. This +was the first time in her whole life she had ever done +so; but when Lady Frances appeared, punctual to +the hour, to take her place at her husband’s side, the +little girl glided from the room. +</p> +<p> +It was early on the following morning, when the +mistress of the Castle was standing for a few bewildered +moments in her sitting-room, her hand +pressed to her forehead, her eyes looking across the +landscape, tears dimming their brightness, that a +child rushed into her presence. +</p> +<p> +“Go away, Evelyn,” she said. “I cannot speak +to you.” +</p> +<p> +“Tell me one thing,” said Evelyn; “is he better?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_392'></a>392</span> +</p> +<p> +“Is he out of danger?” +</p> +<p> +“The doctors think so.” +</p> +<p> +“Then, Aunt Frances, I can thank God; and what +is more, I—even I, who am such an awfully naughty +girl—can love God.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t like cant,” said Lady Frances; and she +turned away with a scornful expression on her lips. +</p> +<p> +Evelyn sprang to her, clutched both her hands, and +said excitedly: +</p> +<p> +“Listen; you must. I have something to say. +It was I who did it!” +</p> +<p> +“You, Evelyn—you!” +</p> +<p> +Lady Frances pushed the child from her, and +moved a step away. There was such a look of +horror on her face that Evelyn at another moment +must have recoiled from it; but nothing could daunt +her now in this hour of intense repentance. +</p> +<p> +“I did it,” she repeated—“oh, not meaning to do +it! I will tell you; you must listen. Oh, I have been +so—so wicked, so—so naughty, so stubborn, so selfish! +I see myself at last; and there never, never +was such a horrid girl before. Aunt Frances, you +shall listen. I loaded the gun, for I meant to go out +and shoot some birds on the wing. Uncle Edward +doubted that I could do it, and I wanted to prove to +him that I could; but I was prevented from going, +and I forgot about the gun; and the night before +last I ran away. I ran to Jasper. When you locked +me up in my room I got out of my sitting-room +window.” +</p> +<p> +“I know all that,” said Lady Frances. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_393'></a>393</span> +</p> +<p> +“I went to Jasper, and Jasper took me to The +Priory—to Sylvia’s home. Jasper has been staying +in the house with Sylvia for a long time, and I went +to Sylvia and to Jasper, and I hid there. Audrey +came yesterday morning and told me what had +happened; and, oh! I thought my heart would +break. But Uncle Edward has forgiven me.” +</p> +<p> +“What! Have you dared to see him?” +</p> +<p> +“The doctor gave me leave. I stayed with him +half last night, until you came at two o’clock; and I +told Uncle Edward, and he smiled. He has forgiven +me. Oh! I love him better than any one in all the +world; I could just die for him. And, Aunt Frances, +I did tear the book, and I did behave shockingly +at school; and I will go straight to Miss Henderson +and tell her, and I will do everything—everything you +wish, if only you will let me stay in the house with +Uncle Edward. For somehow—somehow,” continued +Evelyn in a whisper, her voice turning husky +and almost dying away, “I think Uncle Edward has +made religion and <em>God</em> possible to me.” +</p> +<p> +As Evelyn said the last words she staggered +against the table, deadly white. She put one hand +on a chair to steady herself, and looked up with +pathetic eyes at her aunt. +</p> +<p> +What was there in that scared, bewildered, and +yet resolved face which for the first time since she +had seen it touched Lady Frances? +</p> +<p> +“Evelyn,” she said, “you ask me to forgive you. +What you have said has shocked me very much, but +your manner of saying it has opened my eyes. If +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_394'></a>394</span> +you have done wrong, doubtless I am not blameless +I never showed you——” +</p> +<p> +“Neither sympathy nor understanding,” said +Evelyn. “I might have been different had you been +different. But please—please, do anything with me +now—anything—only let me stay for Uncle Edward’s +sake.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Frances sat down. +</p> +<p> +“I am a mother,” she said, “and I am not without +feeling, and not without sympathy, and not without +understanding.” +</p> +<p> +And then she opened her arms. Evelyn gave a +bewildered cry; the next moment she was folded in +their embrace. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, can I believe it?” she sobbed. +</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p> +Thus Evelyn Wynford found the Better Part, and +from that moment, although she had struggles and +difficulties and trials, she was in the very best sense +of the word a new creature; for Love had sought +her out, and Love can lead one by steep ascents on +to the peaks of self-denial, unselfishness, truth, and +honor. +</p> +<p> +Sylvia’s father, after a mighty struggle with +severe illness, came back again slowly, sadly to the +shores of life; and Sylvia managed him and loved +him, and he declared that never to his dying day +could he do without Jasper, who had nursed him +through his terrible illness. The instincts of a +miser had almost died out during his illness, and he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_395'></a>395</span> +was willing that Sylvia should spend as much money +as was necessary to secure good food and the comforts +of life. +</p> +<p> +The Squire got slowly better, and presently quite +well; and when another New Year dawned upon the +world, and once again the Wynfords of Wynford +Castle kept open house, Sylvia was there, and also +Mr. Leeson; and all the characters in this story met +under the same roof. Evelyn clung fast to her +uncle’s hand. Audrey glanced at her cousin, and +then she looked at Sylvia, and said in a low voice: +</p> +<p> +“Never was any one so changed; and, do you +know, since the accident she has never once spoken +of being the heiress. I believe if any thing happened +to father Evelyn would die.” +</p> +<div class='center'> +<p>THE END.</p> +</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Very Naughty Girl, by L. T. Meade + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A VERY NAUGHTY GIRL *** + +***** This file should be named 36853-h.htm or 36853-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/8/5/36853/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Meade + +Release Date: July 25, 2011 [EBook #36853] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A VERY NAUGHTY GIRL *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + A VERY NAUGHTY GIRL + + By L. T. MEADE + + Author of "Palace Beautiful," "Sweet Girl Graduate," + "Wild Kitty," "World of Girls," etc., etc. + + A. L. BURT COMPANY, + PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK. + + + + + CONTENTS + + CHAPTER PAGE + I. Sylvia and Audrey 1 + II. Arrival of Evelyn 10 + III. The Cradle Life of Wild Eve 25 + IV. "I Draw the Line at Uncle Ned" 36 + V. Frank's Eyes 43 + VI. The Hungry Girl 57 + VII. Staying to Dinner 68 + VIII. Evening-Dress 78 + IX. Breakfast in Bed 106 + X. Jasper was to Go 117 + XI. I Cannot Alter my Plans 126 + XII. Hunger 143 + XIII. Jasper to the Rescue 163 + XIV. Change of Plans 169 + XV. School 184 + XVI. Sylvia's Drive 198 + XVII. The Fall in the Snow 213 + XVIII. A Red Gipsy Cloak 228 + XIX. "Why Did you Do it?" 242 + XX. "Not Good Nor Honourable" 253 + XXI. The Torn Book 264 + XXII. "Stick to your Colors, Evelyn" 276 + XXIII. One Week of Grace 281 + XXIV. "Who is E.W.?" 295 + XXV. Uncle Edward 311 + XXVI. Tangles 330 + XXVII. The Strange Visitor in the Back Bedroom 343 + XXVIII. The Room with the Light that Flickered 362 + XXIX. What Could it Mean? 368 + XXX. The Loaded Gun 377 + XXXI. For Uncle Edward's Sake 391 + + + + +A VERY NAUGHTY GIRL + + + + +CHAPTER I.--SYLVIA AND AUDREY. + + +It was a day of great excitement, and Audrey Wynford stood by her +schoolroom window and looked out. She was a tall girl of sixteen, with +her hair hanging in a long, fair plait down her back. She stood with her +hands folded behind her and an expectant expression on her face. + +Up the avenue a stream of people were coming. Some came in cabs, some on +bicycles; some walked. They all turned in the direction of the front +entrance, and Audrey heard their voices rising and falling as they +entered the house, walked down the hall, and disappeared into some +region at the other end. + +"It is all detestable," she muttered; "and just when Evelyn is coming, +too. How strange she will think it! I wish father would drop this horrid +custom. I do not approve of it at all." + +Just then her governess, a bright-looking girl about six years Audrey's +senior, came into the room. + +"Well," she cried, "and what are you doing here? I thought you were +going to ride this afternoon." + +"How can I?" said Audrey, shrugging her shoulders. "I shall be met at +every turn." + +"And why not?" said Miss Sinclair. "You are not ashamed of being seen." + +"It is quite detestable," said Audrey. + +She crossed the room, flung herself into a deep straw armchair in front +of a blazing log fire, and took up a magazine. + +"It is all horrid," she continued as she rapidly turned the pages; "you +know it, Miss Sinclair, as well as I do." + +"If I were you," said Miss Sinclair, "I should be proud--very proud--to +belong to an old family who had kept a custom like this in vogue." + +"If you belonged to the old family you would not," said Audrey. "Every +one laughs at us. I call it perfectly horrid. What possible good can it +do that all the people of the neighborhood, and the strangers who come +to stay in the town, should make free of Wynford Castle on New Year's +Day? It makes me cross anyhow. I am sorry to be cross to you, Miss +Sinclair; but I am, and that is a fact." + +Miss Sinclair sat down on another chair. + +"I like it," she said after a pause. + +"Why?" asked Audrey. + +"There were some quite hungry people passing through the hall as I came +to you just now." + +"Let them be hungry somewhere else, not here," said the angry girl. "It +was all very well when some ancestor of mine first started the custom; +but that father, a man of the present day, up-to-date in every sense of +the word, should carry it on--that he should keep open house for every +individual who chooses to come here on New Year's Day--is past endurance. +Last year between two and three hundred people dined or supped or had +tea at the Castle, and I believe, from the appearance of the avenue, +there will be still more to-day. The house gets so dirty, for one thing, +for half of them don't think of wiping their feet; and then we run a +chance of being robbed, for how do we know that there are not +adventurers in the throng? If I were the country-folk I would be too +proud to come; but they are not--not a bit." + +"I cannot agree with you," said Miss Sinclair. "It is a splendid old +custom, and I hope it will not be abolished." + +"Perhaps Evelyn will abolish it when she comes in for the property," +said Audrey in a low tone. Her face looked scarcely amiable as she said +the words. + +Miss Sinclair regarded her with a puzzled expression. + +"Audrey dear," she said after a pause, "I am very fond of you." + +"And I of you," said Audrey a little unwillingly. "You are more friend +than governess. I should like best to go to school, of course; but as +father says that that is quite impossible, I have to put up with the +next best; and you are a very good next best." + +"Then if I am, may I just as a friend, and one who loves you very +dearly, make a remark?" + +"It is going to be something odious," said Audrey--"that goes without +saying--but I suppose I'll listen." + +"Don't you think you are just a wee bit in danger of becoming selfish, +Audrey?" said her governess. + +"Am I? Perhaps so; I am afraid I don't care." + +"You would if you thought it over; and this is New Year's Day, and it is +a lovely afternoon, and you might come for a ride--I wish you would." + +"I will not run the chance of meeting those folks on any consideration +whatever," said Audrey; "but I will go for a walk with you, if you +like." + +"Done," said Miss Sinclair. "I have to go on a message for Lady Wynford +to the lodge; will you come by the shrubberies and meet me there?" + +"All right," replied Audrey; "I will go and get ready." + +She left the room. + +After her pupil had left her, Miss Sinclair sat for a time gazing into +the huge log fire. + +She was a very pretty girl, with a high-bred look about her. She had +received all the advantages which modern education could afford, and at +the age of three-and-twenty had left Girton with the assurance from all +her friends that she had a brilliant future before her. The first step +in that future seemed bright enough to the handsome, high-spirited girl. +Lady Wynford met her in town, took a fancy to her on the spot, and asked +her to conduct Audrey's education. Miss Sinclair received a liberal +salary and every comfort and consideration. Audrey fell quickly in love +with her, and a more delightful pupil governess never had. The girl was +brimming over with intelligence, was keenly alive to the +responsibilities of her own position, was absolutely original, and as a +rule quite unselfish. + +"Poor Audrey! she has her trials before her, all the same," thought the +young governess now. "Well, I am very happy here, and I hope nothing +will disturb our present arrangement for some time. As to Evelyn, we +have yet to discover what sort of girl she is. She comes this evening. +But there, I am forgetting all about Audrey, and she must be waiting for +me." + +It so happened that Audrey Wynford was doing nothing of the sort. She +had hastily put on her warm jacket and fur cap and gone out into the +grounds. The objectionable avenue, with its streams of people coming and +going, was to be religiously avoided, and Audrey went in the direction +of a copse of young trees, which led again through a long shrubbery in +the direction of the lodge gates. + +It was the custom from time immemorial in the Wynford family to keep +open house on New Year's Day. Any wayfarer, gentle or simple, man or +woman, boy or girl, could come up the avenue and ring the bell at the +great front-door, and be received and fed and refreshed, and sent again +on his or her way with words of cheer. The Squire himself as a rule +received his guests, but where that was impossible the steward of the +estate was present to conduct them to the huge hall which ran across the +back of the house, where unlimited refreshments were provided. No one +was sent away. No one was refused admission on this day of all days. The +period of the reception was from sunrise to sundown. At sundown the +hospitality came to an end; the doors of the house were shut and no more +visitors were allowed admission. An extra staff of servants was +generally secured for the occasion, and the one and only condition made +by the Squire was, that as much food as possible might be eaten, that +each male visitor might drink good wine or sound ale to his heart's +content, that each might warm himself thoroughly by the huge log fires, +but that no one should take any food away. This, in the case of so +promiscuous an assemblage, was necessary. To Audrey, however, the whole +thing was more or less a subject of dislike. She regarded the first day +of each year as a penance; she shrank from the subject of the guests, +and on this special New Year's Day was more aggrieved and put out than +usual. More guests had arrived than had ever come before, for the people +of the neighborhood enjoyed the good old custom, and there was not a +villager, not a trades-person, nor even a landed proprietor near who did +not make it a point of breaking bread at Wynford Castle on New Year's +Day. The fact that a man of position sat down side by side with a tramp +or a laborer made no difference; there was no distinction of rank +amongst the Squire's guests on this day. + +Audrey heard the voices now as she disappeared into the shelter of the +young trees. She heard also the rumble of wheels as the better class of +guests arrived or went away again. + +"It is horrid," she murmured for about the twentieth time to herself; +and then she began to run in order to get away from what she called the +disagreeable noise. + +Audrey could run with the speed and grace of a young fawn, but she had +not gone half-through the shrubbery before she stopped dead-short. A +girl of about her own age was coming hurriedly to meet her. She was a +very pretty girl, with black eyes and a quantity of black hair and a +richly colored dark face. The girl was dressed somewhat fantastically in +many colors. Peeping out from beneath her old-fashioned jacket was a +scarf of deep yellow; the skirt of her dress was crimson, and in her hat +she wore two long crimson feathers. Audrey regarded her with not only +wonder but also disfavor. Who was she? What a vulgar, forward, +insufferable young person! + +"I say," cried the girl, coming up eagerly; "I have lost my way, and it +is so important! Can you tell me how I can get to the front entrance of +the Castle?" + +"You ought not to have come by the shrubbery," said Audrey in a very +haughty tone. "The visitors who come to the Castle to-day are expected +to use the avenue. But now that you have come," she added, "if you will +take this short cut you will find yourself in the right direction. You +have then but to follow the stream of people and you will reach the hall +door." + +"Oh, thank you!" said the girl. "I am so awfully hungry! I do hope I +shall get in before sunset. Good-by, and thank you so much! My name is +Sylvia Leeson; who are you?" + +"I am Audrey Wynford," replied Audrey, speaking more icily than ever. + +"Then you are the young lady of the Castle?" + +"I am Audrey Wynford." + +"How strange! One would think to meet you here, and one would think to +see me here, that we both belonged to Shakespeare's old play _As You +Like It_. But I must not stay another minute. It is so sweet of your +father to invite us all, and if I am not quick I shall lose the fun." + +She nodded with a flash of bright eyes and white teeth at the amazed +Audrey, and the next moment was lost to view. + +"What a girl!" thought Audrey as she pursued her walk. "How dared she! +She did not treat me with one scrap of respect, and she seemed to +think--a girl of that sort!--that she was my equal; she absolutely spoke +of us in the same breath. It was almost insulting. Sylvia and Audrey! We +meet in a wood, and we might be characters out of _As You Like It_. +Well, she is awfully pretty, but---- Oh dear! what a creature she is when +all is said and done--that wild dress, and those dancing eyes, and that +free manner! And yet--and yet she was scarcely vulgar; she was only--only +different from anybody else. Who is she, and where does she come from? +Sylvia Leeson. Rather a pretty name; and certainly a pretty girl. But to +think of her partaking of hospitality--all alone, too--with the _canaille_ +of Wynford!" + + + + +CHAPTER II.--ARRIVAL OF EVELYN. + + +Audrey met her governess at the lodge gates, and the two plunged down a +side-path, and were soon making for the wonderful moors about a mile +away from Wynford Castle. + +"What are you thinking about, Audrey?" said Miss Sinclair. + +"Do you happen to know," said Audrey, "any people in the village or +neighborhood of the name of Leeson?" + +"No, dear, certainly not. I do not think any people of the name live +here. Why do you ask?" + +"For such a funny reason!" replied Audrey. "I met a girl who had come by +mistake through the shrubberies. She was on her way to the Castle to get +a good meal. She told me her name was Sylvia Leeson. She was pretty in +an _outre_ sort of style; she was also very free. She had the cheek to +compare herself with me, and said that as my name was Audrey and hers +Sylvia we ought to be two of Shakespeare's heroines. There was something +uncommon about her. Not that I liked her--very far from that. But I +wonder who she is." + +"I don't know," said Miss Sinclair. "I certainly have not the least idea +that there is any one of that name living in our neighborhood, but one +can never tell." + +"Oh, but you know everybody round here," said Audrey. "Perhaps she is a +stranger. I think on the whole I am glad." + +"I heard a week ago that some people had taken The Priory," said Miss +Sinclair. + +"The Priory!" cried Audrey. "It has been uninhabited ever since I can +remember." + +"I heard the rumor," continued Miss Sinclair, "but I know no +particulars, and it may not be true. It is just possible that this girl +belongs to them." + +"I should like to find out," replied Audrey. "She certainly interested +me although----Oh, well, don't let us talk of her any more. Jenny +dear"--Audrey in affectionate moments called her governess by her +Christian name--"are you not anxious to know what Evelyn is like?" + +"I suppose I am," replied Miss Sinclair. + +"I think of her so much!" continued Audrey. "It seems so odd that she, a +stranger, should be the heiress, and I, who have lived here all my days, +should inherit nothing. Oh, of course, I shall have plenty of money, for +mother had such a lot; but it does seem so unaccountable that all +father's property should go to Evelyn. And now she is to live here, and +of course take the precedence of me, I do not know that I quite like it. +Sometimes I feel that she will rub me the wrong way; if she is very +masterful, for instance. She can be--can't she, Jenny?" + +"But why should we suppose that she will be?" replied Miss Sinclair. +"There is no good in getting prejudiced beforehand." + +"I cannot help thinking about it," said Audrey. "You know I have never +had any close companions before, and although you make up for everybody +else, and I love you with all my heart and soul, yet it is somewhat +exciting to think of a girl just my own age coming to live with me." + +"Of course, dear; and I am so glad for your sake!" + +"But then," continued Audrey, "she does not come quite as an ordinary +guest; she comes to the home which is to be hers hereafter. I wonder +what her ideas are, and what she will feel about things. It is very +mysterious. I am excited; I own it. You may be quite sure, though, that +I shall not show any of my excitement when Evelyn does come. Jenny, have +you pictured her yet to yourself? Do you think she is tall or short, or +pretty or ugly, or what?" + +"I have thought of her, of course," replied Miss Sinclair; "but I have +not formed the least idea. You will soon know, Audrey; she is to arrive +in time for dinner." + +"Yes," said Audrey; "mother is going in the carriage to meet her, and +the train is due at six-thirty. She will arrive at the Castle a little +before seven. Mother says she will probably bring a maid, and perhaps a +French governess. Mother does not know herself what sort she is. It is +odd her having lived away from England all this time." + +Audrey chatted on with her governess a little longer, and presently they +turned and went back to the house. The sun had already set, and the big +front-door was shut; the family never used it except on this special day +or when a wedding or a funeral left Wynford Castle. The pretty +side-door, with its sheltered porch, was the mode of exit and ingress +for the inhabitants of Wynford Castle. Audrey and her governess now +entered, and Audrey stood for a few moments to warm her hands by the +huge log fire on the hearth. Miss Sinclair went slowly up-stairs to her +room; and Audrey, finding herself alone, gave a quick sigh. + +"I wonder--I do wonder," she said half-aloud. + +Her words were evidently heard, for some one stirred, and presently a +tall man with a slight stoop came forward and stood where the light of +the big fire fell all over him. + +"Why, dad!" cried Audrey as she put her hand inside her father's arm. +"Were you asleep?" she asked. "How was it that Miss Sinclair and I did +not see you when we came in?" + +"I was sound asleep in that big chair. I was somewhat tired. I had +received three hundred guests; don't forget that," replied Squire +Wynford. + +"And they have gone. What a comfort!" said Audrey. + +"My dear little Audrey, I have fed them and warmed them and sent them on +their way rejoicing, and I am a more popular Squire Wynford of Castle +Wynford than ever. Why should you grumble because your neighbors, every +mother's son of them, had as much to eat and drink as they could desire +on New Year's Day?" + +"I hate the custom," said Audrey. "It belongs to the Middle Ages; it +ought to be exploded." + +"What! and allow the people to go hungry?" + +"Those who are likely to go hungry," continued Audrey, "might have money +given to them. We do not want all the small squires everywhere round to +come and feed at the Castle." + +"But the small squires like it, and so do the poor people, and so do I," +said Squire Wynford; and now he frowned very slightly, and Audrey gave +another sigh. + +"We must agree to differ, dad," she said. + +"I am afraid so, my dear. Well, and how are you, my pet? I have not seen +you until now. Very happy at the thought of your cousin's arrival?" + +"No, dad, scarcely happy, but excited all the same. Are not you a +little, wee bit excited too, father? It seems so strange her coming all +the way from Tasmania to take possession of her estates. I wonder--I do +wonder--what she will be like." + +"She takes possession of no estates while I live," said the Squire, "but +she is the next heiress." + +"And you are sorry it is not I; are you not, father?" + +"I don't think of it," said the Squire. "No," he added thoughtfully a +moment later, "that is not the case. I do think of it. You are better +off without the responsibility; you would never be suited to a great +estate of this sort. Evelyn may be different. Anyhow, when the time +comes it is her appointed work. Now, my dear"--he took out his +watch--"your cousin will arrive in a moment. Your mother has gone to meet +her. Do you intend to welcome her here or in one of the sitting-rooms?" + +"I will stay in the hall, of course," said Audrey a little fretfully. + +"I will leave you, then, my love. I have neglected a sheaf of +correspondence, and would like to look through my letters before +dinner." + +The Squire moved away, walking slowly. He pushed aside some heavy +curtains and vanished. Audrey still stood by the fire. Presently a +restless fit seized her, and she too flitted up the winding white marble +stairs and disappeared down a long corridor. She entered a pretty room +daintily furnished in blue and silver. A large log fire burned in the +grate; electric light shed its soft gleams over the furniture; there was +a bouquet of flowers and a little pot of ivy on a small table, also a +bookcase full of gaily-bound story-books. Nothing had been neglected, +even to the big old Bible and the old-fashioned prayer-book. + +"I wonder how she will like it," thought Audrey. "This is one of the +prettiest rooms in the house. Mother said she must have it. I wonder if +she will like it, and if I shall like her. Oh, and here is her +dressing-room, and here is a little boudoir where she may sit and amuse +herself and shut us out if she chooses. Lucky Evelyn! How strange it all +seems! For the first time I begin to appreciate my darling, beloved +home. Why should it pass away from me to her? Oh, of course I am not +jealous; I would not be mean enough to entertain feelings of that sort, +and---- I hear the sound of wheels. She is coming; in a moment I shall see +her. Oh, I do wonder--I do wonder! I wish Jenny were with me; I feel +quite nervous." + +Audrey dashed out of the room, rushed down the winding stairs, and had +just entered the hall when a footman pushed aside the heavy curtains, +and Lady Frances Wynford, a handsome, stately-looking woman, entered, +accompanied by a small girl. + +The girl was dragging in a great pile of rugs and wraps. Her hat was +askew on her head, her jacket untidy. She flung the rugs down in the +center of a rich Turkey carpet; said, "There, that is a relief;" and +then looked full at Audrey. + +Audrey was a head and shoulders taller than the heiress, who had thin +and somewhat wispy flaxen hair, and a white face with insignificant +features. Her eyes, however, were steady, brown, large, and intelligent. +She came up to Audrey at once. + +"Don't introduce me, please, Aunt Frances," she said. "I know this is +Audrey.--I am Evelyn. You hate me, don't you?" + +"No, I am sure I do not," said Audrey. + +"Well, I should if I were you. It would be much more interesting to be +hated. So this is the place. It looks jolly, does it not? Aunt Frances, +do you know where my maid is? I must have her--I must have her at once. +Please tell Jasper to come here," continued the girl, turning to a +man-servant who lingered in the background. + +"Desire Miss Wynford's maid to come into the hall," said Lady Frances in +an imperious tone; "and bring tea, Davis. Be quick." + +The man withdrew, and Evelyn, lifting her hand, took off her ugly felt +hat and flung it on the pile of rugs and cushions. + +"Don't touch them, please," she said as Audrey advanced. "That is +Jasper's work.--By the way, Aunt Frances, may Jasper sleep in my room? I +have never slept alone, not since I was born, and I could not survive +it. I want a little bed just the ditto of my own for Jasper. I cannot +live without Jasper. May she sleep close to me, please, Aunt Frances? +And, oh! I do hope and trust this house is not haunted. It does look +eerie. I am terrified at the thought of ghosts. I know I shall not be a +very pleasant inmate, and I am sorry for you all--and for you in special, +Audrey. What a grand, keep-your-distance sort of air you have! But I am +not going to be afraid of you. I do not forget that the place will +belong to me some day. Hullo, Jasper!" + +Evelyn flitted in a curious, elf-like way across the hall, and went up +to a dark woman who stood just by the velvet curtain. + +"Don't be shy, Jasper," she said. "You have nothing to be afraid of +here. It is all very grand, I know; but then it is to be mine some day, +and you are never to leave me--never. I was speaking to my aunt, Lady +Frances, and you are to have your little bed near mine. See that it is +arranged for to-night. And now, please, pick up these rugs and cushions +and my old hat, and take them to my room. Don't stare so, Jasper; do +what I tell you." + +Jasper somewhat sullenly obeyed. She was as graceful and deft in all her +actions as Evelyn was the reverse. Evelyn stood and watched her. When +she went slowly up the marble stairs, the heiress turned with a laugh to +her two companions. + +"How you stare!" she said; and she looked full at Audrey. "Do you regard +me as barbarian, or a wild beast, or what?" + +"I am interested in you," said Audrey in her low voice. "You are +decidedly out of the common." + +"Come," said Lady Frances, "we have no time for analyzing character just +now. Audrey, take your cousin to her room, and then go yourself and get +dressed for dinner." + +"Will you come, Evelyn?" said Audrey. + +She crossed the hall, Evelyn following her slowly. Once or twice the +heiress stopped to examine a mailed figure in armor, or an old picture +on which the firelight cast a fitful gleam. She said, "How ugly! A queer +old thing, that!" to the figure in armor, and she scowled up at the +picture. + +"You are not going to frighten me, you old scarecrow," she said; and +then she ran up-stairs by Audrey's side. + +"So this is what they call English grandeur!" she remarked. "Is not this +house centuries old?" + +"Parts of the house are," answered Audrey. + +"Is this part?" + +"No; the hall and staircase were added about seventy years ago." + +"Is my room in the old part or the new part?" + +"Your room is in what is called the medium part. It is a lovely room; +you will be charmed with it." + +"I by no means know that I shall. But show it to me." + +Audrey walked a little quicker. She began to feel a curious sense of +irritation, and knew that there was something about Evelyn which might +under certain conditions try her temper very much. They reached the +lovely blue-and-silver room, and Audrey flung open the door, expecting a +cry of delight from Evelyn. But the heiress was not one to give herself +away; she cast cool and critical eyes round the chamber. + +"Dear, dear!" she said--"dear, dear! So this is your idea of an English +bedroom!" + +"It is an English bedroom; there is no idea about it," said Audrey. + +"You are cross, are you not, Audrey?" was Evelyn's remark. "It is very +trying for you my coming here. I know that, of course; Jasper has told +me. I should be ignorant and quite lost were it not for Jasper, but +Jasper puts me up to things. I do not think I could live without her. +She has often described you--often and often. It would make you scream to +listen to her. She has taken you off splendidly. Really, all things +considered, you are very like what she has pictured you. I say, Audrey, +would you like to come up here after your next meal, whatever you call +it, and watch Jasper as she takes you off? She is the most splendid +mimic in all the world. In a day or two she will be able to imitate Aunt +Frances and every one in the house. Oh, it is killing to watch her and +to listen to her! You would like to see yourself through Jasper's eyes, +would you not, Audrey?" + +"No, thank you," replied Audrey. + +"How you kill me with that 'No, thank you,' of yours! Why, they are the +very words Jasper said you would be certain to say. Oh dear! this is +quite amusing." Evelyn laughed long and loud, wiping her eyes with her +handkerchief as she did so. "Oh dear! oh dear!" she said. "Don't look +any crosser, Audrey, or I shall die with laughing! Why, you will make me +scream." + +"That would be bad for you after your journey," said Audrey. "I see you +have hot water, and your maid is in the dressing-room. I will leave you +now. That is the dressing-bell; the bell for dinner will ring in half an +hour. I must go and dress." + +Audrey rushed out of the room, very nearly, but not quite, banging the +door after her. + +"If I stayed another moment I should lose my temper. I should say +something terrible," thought the girl. Her heart was beating fast; she +pressed her hand to her side. "If it were not for Jenny I do not believe +I could endure the house with that girl," was her next ejaculation. "To +think that she is a Wynford, and that the Castle--the lovely, beautiful +Castle--is to belong to her some day. Oh, it is maddening! Our darling +knight in armor--Sir Galahad I have always called him--and our Rembrandt: +one is a scarecrow, and the other a queer old thing. Oh Evelyn, you are +almost past bearing!" + +Audrey ran away to her room, where her maid, Eleanor, was waiting to +attend on her. Audrey was never in the habit of confiding in her maid; +and the girl, who was brimful of importance, curiosity, and news, did +not dare to express any of her feelings to Miss Audrey in her present +mood. + +"Put on my very prettiest frock to-night, please, Eleanor," said the +young lady. "Dress my hair to the best advantage. My white dress, did +you say? No, not white, but that pale, very pale, rose-colored silk with +all the little trimmings and flounces." + +"But that is one of your gayest dresses, Miss Audrey." + +"Never mind; I choose to look gay and well dressed." + +The girl proceeded with her young mistress's toilet, and a minute or two +before the second bell rang Audrey was ready. She made a lovely and +graceful picture as she looked at herself for a moment in the long +mirror. Her figure was already beautifully formed; she was tall, +graceful, dignified. The set of her young head on her stately neck was +superb. Her white shoulders gleamed under the transparent folds of her +lovely frock. Her rounded arms were white as alabaster. She slipped a +small diamond ring on one of her fingers, looked for a moment longingly +at a pearl necklace, but finally decided not to wear any more adornment, +and ran lightly down-stairs. + +The big drawing-room was lit with the softest light. The Squire stood by +the hearth, on which a huge log blazed. Lady Frances, in full +evening-dress, was carelessly turning the leaves of a novel. + +"What a quiet evening we are likely to have!" she said, looking up at +the Squire as she spoke. "To-morrow there are numbers of guests coming; +we shall be a big party, and Audrey and Evelyn will, I trust, have a +pleasant time.--My dear Audrey, why that dress this evening?" + +"I took a fancy to wear it, mother," said Audrey in a light tone. + +There was more color than usual in her cheeks, and her eyes were +brighter than her mother had ever seen them. Lady Frances was not a +woman of any special discernment. She was an excellent mother and a +splendid hostess. She was good to look at, and was just the sort of +_grande dame_ to keep up all the dignity of Wynford Castle, but she +never even pretended to understand her only child. The Squire, a +sensitive man in many ways, was also more or less a stranger to Audrey's +real character. He looked at her, it is true, a little anxiously now, +and a slight curiosity stirred his breast as to the possible effect +Evelyn's presence in the house might have on his beautiful young +daughter. As to Evelyn herself, he had not seen her, and did not even +care to inquire of his wife what sort of girl she was. He was deeply +absorbed over the silver currency question, and was writing an +exhaustive paper on it for the _Nineteenth Century_; he had not time, +therefore, to worry about domestic matters. Just then the drawing-room +door was flung open, and the footman announced, as though she were a +stranger: + +"Miss Evelyn Wynford." + +If Audrey was, according to Lady Frances's ideas, slightly overdressed +for so small a party, she was quite outshone by Evelyn, whose dress was +altogether unsuitable for her age. She wore a very thick silk, bright +blue in color, with a quantity of colored embroidery thrown over it. Her +little fat neck was bare, and her sleeves were short. Her scanty fair +hair was arranged on the top of her head, two diamond pins supporting it +in position; a diamond necklace was clasped round her neck, and she had +bracelets on her arms. She was evidently intensely pleased with herself, +and looked with the utmost confidence from Lady Frances to her uncle. +With a couple of long strides the Squire advanced to meet her. He looked +into her queer little face and all his indifference vanished. She was +his only brother's only child. He had loved his brother better than any +one on earth, and, come what might, he would give that brother's child a +welcome. So he took both of Evelyn's tiny hands, and suddenly stooping, +he lifted her an inch or so from the ground and kissed her twice. +Something in his manner made the little girl give a sort of gasp. + +"Why, it is just as if you were father come to life," she said. "I am +glad to see you, Uncle Ned." + +Still holding her hand, the Squire walked up to the hearth and stood +there facing Audrey and his wife. + +"You have been introduced to Audrey, have you not, Evelyn?" he said. + +"I did not need to be introduced. I saw a girl in the hall, and I +guessed it must be Audrey. 'Cute of me, was it not? Do you know, Uncle +Ned, I don't much like this place, but I like you. Yes, I am right-down +smitten with you, but I don't think I like anything else. You don't mind +if I am frank, Uncle Ned; it always was my way. We are brought up like +that in Tasmania--Audrey, don't frown at me; you don't look pretty when +you frown. But, oh! I say, the bell has gone, has it not?" + +"Yes, my dear," said Lady Frances. + +"And it means dinner, does it not?" + +"Certainly, Evelyn," said her uncle, bending towards her with the most +polished and stately grace. "Allow me, my niece, to conduct you to the +dining-room." + +"How droll you are, uncle!" said Evelyn. "But I like you all the same. +You are a right-down good old sort. I am awfully peckish; I shall be +glad of a round meal." + + + + +CHAPTER III.--THE CRADLE LIFE OF WILD EVE. + + +Eighteen years before the date of this story, two brothers had parted +with angry words. They were both in love with the same woman, and the +younger brother had won. The elder brother, only one year his senior, +could not stand defeat. + +"I cannot stay in the old place," he said. "You can occupy the Castle +during my absence." + +To this arrangement Edward Wynford agreed. + +"Where are you going?" he said to his brother Frank. + +"To the other side of the world--Australia probably. I don't know when I +shall return. It does not much matter. I shall never marry. The estate +will be yours. If Lady Frances has a son, it will belong to him." + +"You must not think of that," said Edward. "I will live at the Castle +for a few years in order to keep it warm for you, but you will come +back; you will get over this. If she had loved you, old man, do you +think I would have taken her from you? But she chose me from the very +first." + +"I don't blame you, Ned," said Frank. "You are as innocent of any +intention of harm to me as the unborn babe, but I love her too well to +stay in the old country. I am off. I don't want her ever to know. You +will promise me, won't you, that you will never tell her why I have +skulked off and dropped my responsibilities on to your shoulders? +Promise me that, at least, will you not?" + +Edward Wynford promised his brother, and the brother went away. + +In the former generation father and son had agreed to break off the +entail, and although there was no intention of carrying this action into +effect, and Frank, as eldest son, inherited the great estates of Wynford +Castle, yet at his father's death he was in the position of one who +could leave the estates to any one he pleased. + +During his last interview with his brother he said to him distinctly: + +"Remember, if Lady Frances has a son I wish him to be, after yourself, +the next heir to the property." + +"But if she has not a son?" said Edward. + +"In that case I have nothing to say. It is most unlikely that I shall +marry. The property will come to you in the ordinary way, and as the +entail is out off, you can leave it to whom you please." + +"Do not forget that at present you can leave the estate and the Castle +to whomever you please, even to an utter stranger," said Edward, with a +slight smile. + +To this remark Frank made no answer. The next day the brothers parted--as +it turned out, for life. Edward married Lady Frances, and they went to +live at Wynford Castle. Edward heard once from Frank during the voyage, +and then not at all, until he received a letter which must have been +written a couple of months before his brother's death. It was forwarded +to him in a strange hand, and was full of extraordinary and painful +tidings. Frank Wynford had died suddenly of acute fever, but before his +death he had arranged all his affairs. His letter ran as follows: + + "My dear Edward,--If I live you will never get this letter; if I die + it reaches you all in good time. When last we parted I told you I + should never marry. So much for man's proposals. When I got to + Tasmania I went on a ranch, and now I am the husband of the farmer's + daughter. Her name is Isabel. She is a handsome woman, and the + mother of a daughter. Why I married her I can not tell you, except + that I can honestly say it was not with any sense of affection. But + she is my wife, and the mother of a little baby girl. Edward, when I + last heard from you, you told me that you also had a daughter. If a + son follows all in due course, what I have to say will not much + signify; but if you have no son I should wish the estates eventually + to come to my little girl. I do not believe in a woman's + administration of large and important estates like mine, but what I + say to myself now is, as well my girl as your girl. Therefore, + Edward, my dear brother, I leave all my estates to you for your + lifetime, and at your death all the property which came to me by my + father's will goes to my little girl, to be hers when you are no + longer there. I want you to receive my daughter, and to ask your + wife to bring her up. I want her to have all the advantages that a + home with Lady Frances must confer on her. I want my child and your + child to be friends. I do no injustice to your daughter, Edward, + when I make my will, for she inherits money on her mother's side. I + will acquaint my wife with particulars of this letter, and in case I + catch the fever which is raging here now she will know how to act. + My lawyer in Hobart Town will forward this, and see that my will is + carried into effect. There is a provision in it for the maintenance + of my daughter until she joins you at Castle Wynford. Whenever that + event takes place she is your care. I have only one thing to add. + The child might go to you at once (I have a premonition that I am + about to die very soon), and thus never know that she had an + Australian mother, but the difficulty lies in the fact that the + mother loves the child and will scarcely be induced to part with + her. You must not receive my poor wife unless indeed a radical + change takes place in her; and although I have begged of her to give + up the child, I doubt if she will do it. I cannot add any more, for + time presses. My will is legal in every respect, and there will be + no difficulty in carrying it into effect." + +This strange letter was discovered by Frank Wynford's widow a month +after his death. It was sealed and directed to his brother in England. +She longed to read it, but restrained herself. She sent it on to her +husband's lawyer in Hobart Town, and in due course it arrived at Castle +Wynford, causing a great deal of consternation and distress both in the +minds of the Squire and Lady Frances. + +Edward immediately went out to Tasmania. He saw the little baby who was +all that was left of his brother, and he also saw that brother's wife. +The coarse, loud-voiced woman received him with almost abuse. What was +to be done? The mother refused to part with the child, and Edward +Wynford, for his own wife's sake and his own baby daughter's sake, could +not urge her to come to Castle Wynford. + +"I do not care twopence," she remarked, "whether the child has grand +relations or not. I loved her father, and I love her. She is my child, +and so she has got to put up with me. As long as I live she stays with +me here. I am accustomed to ranch life, and she will get accustomed to +it too. I will not spare money on her, for there is plenty, and she will +be a very rich woman some day. But while I live she stays with me; the +only way out of it is, that you ask me to your fine place in England. +Even if you do, I don't think I should be bothered to go to you, but you +might have the civility to ask me." + +Squire Wynford went away, however, without giving this invitation. He +spoke to his wife on the subject. In that conversation he was careful to +adhere to his brother's wish not to reveal to her that that brother's +deep affection for herself had been the cause of his banishment. Lady +Frances was an intensely just and upright woman. She had gone through a +very bad quarter of an hour when she was told that her little girl was +to be supplanted by the strange child of an objectionable mother, but +she quickly recovered herself. + +"I will not allow jealousy to enter into my life," she said; and she +even went the length of writing herself to Mrs. Wynford in Tasmania, and +invited her with the baby to come and stay at Wynford Castle. Mrs. +Wynford in Tasmania, however, much to the relief of the good folks at +home, declined the invitation. + +"I have no taste for English grandeur," she said. "I was brought up in a +wild state, and I would rather stay as I was reared. The child is well; +you can have her when she is grown up or when I am dead." + +Years passed after this letter and there was no communication between +little Evelyn Wynford, in the wilds of Tasmania, and her rich and +stately relatives at Castle Wynford. Lady Frances fervently hoped that +God would give her a son, but this hope was not to be realized. Audrey +was her only child, and soon it seemed almost like a dim, forgotten fact +that the real heiress was in Tasmania, and that Audrey had no more to do +in the future with the stately home of her ancestors than she would have +had had she possessed a brother. But when she was sixteen there suddenly +came a change. Mrs. Wynford died suddenly. There was now no reason why +Evelyn should not come home, and accordingly, untutored, uncared for, a +passionate child with a curious, wilful strain in her, she arrived on +New Year's Day at Castle Wynford. + +Evelyn Wynford's nature was very complex. She loved very few people, but +those she did love she loved forever. No change, no absence, no +circumstances could alter her regard. In her ranch life and during her +baby days she had clung to her mother. Mrs. Wynford was fierce and +passionate and wilful. Little Evelyn admired her, whatever she did. She +trotted round the farm after her; she learnt to ride almost as soon as +she could walk, and she followed her mother barebacked on the wildest +horses on the ranch. She was fearless and stubborn, and gave way to +terrible fits of passion, but with her mother she was gentle as a lamb. +Mrs. Wynford was fond of the child in the careless, selfish, and yet +fierce way which belonged to her nature. Mrs. Wynford's sole idea of +affection was that her child should be with her morning, noon, and +night; that for no education, for no advantages, should she be parted +from her mother for a moment. Night after night the two slept in each +other's arms; day after day they were together. The farmer's daughter +was a very strong woman, and as her father died a year or two after her +husband, she managed the ranch herself, keeping everything in order, and +not allowing the slightest insubordination on the part of her servants. +Little Evelyn, too, learnt her mother's masterful ways. She could +reprimand; she could insist upon obedience; she could shake her tiny +fists in the faces of those who dared to oppose her; and when she was +disporting herself so Mrs. Wynford stood by and laughed. + +"Hullo!" she used to cry. "See the spirit in the young un. She takes +after me. A nice time her English relatives will have with her! But she +will never go to them--never while I live." + +Although Mrs. Wynford had long ago made up her mind that Evelyn was to +have none of the immediate advantages of her birth and future prospects, +she was fond of talking to the child about the grandeur which lay before +her. + +"If I die, Eve," she said, "you will have to go across the sea in a big +ship to England. You would have a rough time of it, perhaps, on board, +but you won't mind that, my beauty." + +"I am not a beauty, mother," answered Evelyn. "You know I am not. You +know I am a very plain girl." + +"Hark to the child!" shrieked Mrs. Wynford. "It is as good as a play to +hear her. If you are not beautiful in body, my darling, you are +beautiful in your spirit. Yes, you have inherited from your proud +English father lots of gold and a lovely castle, and all your relations +will have to eat humble-pie to you; but you have got your spirit from +me, Eve--don't forget that." + +"Tell me about the Castle, mother, and about my father," said Evelyn, +nestling up close to her parent, as they sat by the roaring fire in the +winter evenings. + +Mrs. Wynford knew very little, and what she did know she exaggerated. +She gave Evelyn vivid pictures, however, in each and all of which the +principal figure was Evelyn herself--Evelyn claiming her rights, +mastering her relations, letting her unknown cousin know that she, +Evelyn, was the heiress, and that the cousin was nobody. Only one person +in the group of Evelyn's future relations did Mrs. Wynford counsel her +to be civil to. + +"The worst of it all is this, Eve," she said--"while your uncle lives you +do not own a pennypiece of the estate; and he may hold out for many a +long day, so you had best be agreeable to him. Besides, he is like your +father. Your father was a very handsome man and a very fine man, and I +loved him, child. I took a fancy to him from the day he arrived at the +ranch, and when he asked me to marry him I thought myself in rare good +luck. But he died soon after you were born. Had he lived I'd have been +the lady of the Castle, but I'd not go there without him, and you shall +never go while I live." + +"I don't want to, mother. You are more to me than twenty castles," said +the enthusiastic little girl. + +Mrs. Wynford had one friend whom Evelyn tolerated and presently loved. +That friend was a woman, partly of French extraction, who had come to +stay at the ranch once during a severe illness of its owner. Her name +was Jasper--Amelia Jasper; but she was known on the ranch by the title of +Jasper alone. She was not a lady in any sense of the word, and did not +pretend that she was one; but she was possessed of a certain strange +fascination which she could exercise at will over those with whom she +came in contact, and she made herself so useful to Mrs. Wynford and so +necessary to Evelyn that she was never allowed to leave the ranch again. +She soon obtained a great power over the curious, uneducated woman who +was Evelyn's mother; and when at last Mrs. Wynford found that she was +smitten with an incurable disease, and that at any moment death would +come to fetch her, she asked her dear friend Jasper to take the child to +England. + +"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Jasper. "I'll take Evelyn to England, +and stay with her there." + +Mrs. Wynford laughed. + +"You are clever enough, Jasper," she said; "but what a figure of fun you +would look in the grand sort of imperial residence that my dear late +husband has described to me! You are not a lady, you know, although you +are smart and clever enough to beat half the ladies out of existence." + +"I shall know how to manage," said Jasper. "I, too, have heard of the +ways of English grandees. I'll be Evelyn's maid. She cannot do without a +maid, can she? I'll take Evelyn back, and I will stay with her as her +maid." + +Mrs. Wynford hailed this idea as a splendid one, and she even wrote a +very badly spelt letter to Lady Frances, which Jasper was to convey and +deliver herself, if possible, to her proud ladyship, as the widow called +her sister-in-law. In this letter Mrs. Wynford demanded that Jasper was +to stay with Evelyn as long as Evelyn wished for her, and she finally +added: + +"I dare you, Lady Frances, fine lady as you are, to part the child from +her maid." + +When Mrs. Wynford died Evelyn gave way to the most terrible grief. She +refused to eat; she refused to leave her mother's dead body. She +shrieked herself into hysterics on the day of the funeral, and then the +poor little girl was prostrated with nervous fever. Finally, she became +so unwell that it was impossible for her to travel to England for some +months. And so it happened that nearly a year elapsed between the death +of the mother and the arrival of the child at Castle Wynford. + + + + +CHAPTER IV.--"I DRAW THE LINE AT UNCLE NED." + + +"Well, Jasper," said Evelyn in a very eager voice to her maid that first +night, "and how do you like it all?" + +"How do you like it, Evelyn?" was the response. + +"That is so like you, Jasper!" replied the spoilt little girl. "When all +is said and done, you are not a scrap original. You make me like you--I +cannot help myself--but in some ways you are too cautious to please me. +You don't want to say what you think of the place until you know my +opinion. Well, I don't care; I'll tell you out plump what I think of +everything. The place is horrid, and so are the people. I wish--oh! I +wish I was back again on the ranch with mother." + +Jasper looked down rather scornfully at the small girl, who, in a rich +and elaborately embroidered dressing-gown, was kneeling by the fire. +Evelyn's handsome eyes, the only really good feature she possessed, were +fixed full upon her maid's face. + +"The Castle is too stiff for me," she said, "and too--too airified and +high and mighty. Mother was quite right when she spoke of Castle +Wynford. I don't care for anybody in the place except Uncle Ned. I don't +know how I shall live here. Oh Jasper, don't you remember the evenings +at home? Cannot you recall that night when Whitefoot was ill, and you +and mothery and I had to sit up all through the long hours nursing her, +and how we thought the dear old moo-cow would die! Don't you remember +the mulled cider and the gingerbread and the doughnuts and the +apple-rings? How we toasted the apple-rings by the fire, and how they +spluttered, and how good the hot cider was? And don't you remember how +mothery sang, and how you and I caught each other's hands and danced, +and dear old Whitefoot looked up at us with her big, sorrowful eyes? It +is true that she died in the morning, but we had a jolly night. We'll +never have such times any more. Oh, I do wish my own mothery had not +died and gone to heaven! Oh, I do wish it--I do!" + +Evelyn crossed her arms tightly on her breast and began to sway herself +backwards and forwards. Tears streamed from her eyes; she did not +attempt to wipe them away. + +"Now then, it is my turn to speak," said Jasper. "I tell you what it is, +Eve; you are about the biggest goose that was ever born in this world. +Who would compare that stupid, rough old ranch with this lovely, +magnificent house? And it is your own, Eve--or rather it will be your +own. I took a good stare at the Squire, and I do not believe he will +live to be very old; and whenever he dies you are to take possession--you +and I together, Eve love--and out will go her ladyship, and out will go +proud Miss Audrey. That will be a fine day, darling--a day worth living +for." + +"Yes," said Evelyn slowly; "and then we'll alter things. We'll make the +Castle something like the ranch. We'll get over some of our friends, and +they shall live in the house. Mr. and Mrs. Petrie, who keep the egg-farm +not a mile from the ranch, and Mr. Thomas Longchamp and Pete and Dick +and Tom and Michael. I told them all when I was going away that when I +was mistress of the Castle they should come, and we'll go on much as we +went on at the ranch. If mothery up in heaven can see me she will be +glad. But, Jasper, why do you speak in that scornful way of my cousin +Audrey? I think she is very beautiful. I think she is quite the most +beautiful girl I have ever looked at. As to her being stately, she +cannot help being stately. I wish I could walk like her, and talk like +her, and speak like her; I do, Jasper--I do really." + +"Let me see," said Jasper in a contemplative tone. "You are learning to +love her, ain't you?" + +"I don't love easily. I love my own darling mothery, who is not dead at +all, for she is in heaven with father; and I love you, Jasper, and my +uncle Edward." + +"My word! and why him?" + +"I cannot help it; I love him already, and I'll love him more and more +the longer I see him and the more I know him. My father must have been +like that--a gentleman--a perfect gentleman. Oh! I was happy at the ranch, +and mothery was like no one else on the wide earth, but it gave me a +sort of quiver down my spine when Uncle Edward took my hand, and when he +kissed me. He is like what father was. Had father lived I'd have spent +all my days here, and I'd have been perhaps quite as graceful as Audrey, +and nearly as beautiful." + +"You will never be like her, so you need not think it. You are squat +like your mother, and you ain't got a decent feature in your face except +your eyes, and even they are only big, not dark; and your hair is skimpy +and your face white. You are a sort of mix'um-gather'um--a sort of +betwixt-and-between--neither very fair nor very dark, neither very short +nor very tall. You are thick-set, just the very image of your mother, +and you will always be thick-set and always mix'um-gather'um as long as +you live. There! I have spoken. I ain't going to be afraid of you. You +had better get into bed now, for it is late. You want your beauty-sleep, +and you won't get it unless you are quick. Now march! Put on your +night-dress and step into bed." + +"I have got to say my prayers first," said Evelyn, "and----" She paused +and looked full at her maid. "I have got to say something else. If you +talk like that I won't love you any more. You are not to do it. I won't +have it." + +"Won't she, then?" said Jasper. Her whole manner changed. "And have I +hurt her--have I--the little dear? Come to me, my darling. Why, you are +all trembling! Did you think I meant a word I said? Don't you know that +you are the jewel of my eyes and the core of my heart and all the rest? +Did your mother leave you to me for nothing, and would I ever leave you, +sweetest and best? And if it is squat you are, there is no one like you +for determination and fire of spirit. Eh, now, come to my arms and I'll +rock the bitterness out of you, for it is puzzled you are, and fretted +you are, and you shall not be--no, you shall not be either one or the +other ever again while old Jasper lives." + +Evelyn's eyes, which had flashed an almost ugly fire, now softened. She +looked at Jasper as if she meant to resist her. Then she wavered, and +came almost totteringly across the room, and the next moment the strange +woman had clasped the girl to her embrace and was rocking her backwards +and forwards, Evelyn's head lying on her breast just as if she were a +baby. + +"Now then, that's better," said Jasper. "I'll undress you as though we +were back again on the ranch, and when you are snug and safe in your +little white bed we'll have a bit of fun." + +"Fun!" said Evelyn. "What?" + +"Don't you know how you like a stolen supper? I have got chocolate here, +and a little pot, and a jug of cream, and a saucepan, and I'll make a +rich cup for you and another for myself; and here's a box of cakes, all +sorts and very good. While you are sipping your chocolate I'll take off +Miss Audrey and Lady Frances for you. The door is locked; no one can see +us. We'll be as snug as snug can be, and we'll have our fun just as if +we were back at the ranch." + +Evelyn was now all laughter and high spirits. She had no idea of +restraining herself. She called Jasper her honey and her honey-pot, and +kissed the good woman several times. She superintended the making of the +chocolate with eager words and many directions. Finally, a cup of the +rich beverage was handed to her, and she sipped it, luxuriously curled +up against her snowy pillows, and ate the sweet cakes, and watched +Jasper with happy eyes. + +"So it is Miss Audrey you'd like to take after?" said Jasper. "You think +you are not a patch on her. To be sure not--wait and we'll see." + +In an instant Jasper had transformed her features to a comical +resemblance of Audrey's. She spoke in mincing tones, with just +sufficient likeness to Audrey to cause Evelyn to scream with mirth. She +took light, quick steps across the room, and imitated Audrey's very +words. All of a sudden she changed her manner. She now resembled Miss +Sinclair, putting on the slightly precise language of the governess, +adjusting her shoulders and arranging her hands as she had seen Miss +Sinclair do for a brief moment that evening. Her personation of Miss +Sinclair was as good as her personation of Audrey, and Evelyn became so +excited that she very nearly spilt her chocolate. But her crowning +delight came when all of a sudden, without the slightest warning, Jasper +became Lady Frances herself. She now sailed rather than walked across +the apartment; her tones were stately and slow; her manner was the sort +which might inspire awe; her very words were those of Lady Frances. But +the delighted maid believed that she had a further triumph in store, +for, with a quick change of mien, she now had the audacity to personate +the Squire himself; but in one instant, like a flash, Evelyn was out of +bed. She put down her chocolate-cup and rushed towards Jasper. + +"The others as much as you like," she said, "but not Uncle Ned. You dare +not. You sha'n't. I'll turn you away if you do. I'll hate you if you do. +The others over and over again--they are lovely, splendid, grand--it puts +heart in me to see you--but not Uncle Ned." + +Jasper looked in astonishment at the little girl. + +"So you love him as much as that already?" she said. "Well, as you +please, of course." + +"Don't be cross, Jasper," said Evelyn. "I can stand all the others; I +can even like them. I told Audrey to-night how splendidly you can mimic, +and you shall mimic her to her face when I know her better. Oh, it is +killing--it is killing! But I draw the line at Uncle Ned." + + + + +CHAPTER V.--FRANK'S EYES. + + +Evelyn did not get up to breakfast the following morning. Breakfast at +the Castle was a rather stately affair. A loud, musical gong sounded to +assemble the family at a quarter to nine; then all those who were not +really ill were expected to appear in the small chapel, where the Squire +read prayers morning after morning before the assembled household. After +prayers, visitors and family alike trooped into the comfortable +breakfast-room, where a merry and hearty meal ensued. To be absent from +breakfast was to insure Lady Frances's displeasure; she had no patience +with lazy people. And as to lazy girls, her horror of them was so great +that Audrey would rather bear the worst cold possible than announce to +her mother that she was too ill to appear. Evelyn's absence, therefore, +was commented on with a very grave expression of face by both the Squire +and his wife. + +"I must speak to her," said Lady Frances. "It is the first morning, and +she does not understand our ways, but it must not occur again." + +"You will not be too hard on the child, dear," said her husband. +"Remember she has never had the advantage of your training." + +"Poor little creature!" said Lady Frances. "That, indeed, my dear +Edward, is plain to be seen." + +She bridled very slightly. Lady Frances knew that there was not a more +correct trainer of youth in the length and breadth of the county than +herself. Audrey, who looked very bright and handsome that morning, +ventured to glance at her mother. + +"Perhaps Evelyn is dressed and does not know that we are at breakfast," +she said. "May I go to her room and find out?" + +"No, Audrey, not this morning. I shall go to see Evelyn presently. By +the way, I hope you are ready for your visitors?" + +"I suppose so, mother. I don't really quite know who are coming." + +"The Jervices, of course--Henrietta, Juliet, and their brothers; there +are also the Claverings, Mary and Sophie. I think those are the only +young people, but with six in addition to you and Evelyn, you will have +your hands full, Audrey." + +"Oh, I don't mind," replied Audrey. "It will be fun.--You will help me +all you can, won't you, Jenny?" + +"Certainly, dear," replied Miss Sinclair. + +"It is the greatest possible comfort to me to have you in the house, +Miss Sinclair," said Lady Frances, now turning to the pretty young +governess. "You have not yet had an interview with Evelyn, have you?" + +"I talked to her a little last night," replied Miss Sinclair. "She seems +to me to be a child with a good deal of character." + +"She is like no child I ever met before," said Lady Frances, with a +shudder. "I must frankly say I never looked forward with any pleasure to +her arrival, but my worst fears did not picture so thoroughly +objectionable a little girl." + +"Oh, come, Frances--come!" said her husband. + +"My dear Edward, I do not give myself away as a rule; but it is just as +well that Miss Sinclair should see how much depends on her guidance of +the poor little girl, and that Audrey should know how objectionable she +is, and how necessary it is for us all to do what we can to alter her +ways. The first step, of course, is to get rid of that terrible woman +whom she calls Jasper." + +"But, mother," said Audrey, "that would hurt Evelyn's feelings very +much--she is so devoted to Jasper." + +"You must leave the matter to me, Audrey," said Lady Frances, rising. +"You may be sure that I will do nothing really cruel or unkind. But, my +dear, it is as well that you should learn sooner or later that spoiling +a person is never true kindness." + +Lady Frances left the room as she spoke; and Audrey, turning to her +governess, said a few words to her, and they also went slowly in the +direction of the conservatory. + +"What do you think of her, Jenny?" asked the girl. + +"Just what I said, dear. The child is full of originality and strong +feelings, but of course, brought up as she has been, she will be a trial +to your mother." + +"That is just it. Mother has never seen any one in the least like +Evelyn. She won't understand her; and if she does not there will be +mischief." + +"Evelyn must learn to subdue her will to that of Lady Frances," said +Miss Sinclair. "You and I, Audrey, will try to be very patient with her; +we will put up with her small impertinences, knowing that she scarcely +means them; and we will try to make things as happy for her as we can." + +"I don't know about that," said Audrey. "I cannot see why she should be +rude and chuff and disagreeable. I don't altogether dislike her. She +certainly amuses me. But she will not have a very happy time at the +Castle until she knows her place." + +"That is it," said Miss Sinclair. "She has evidently been spoken to most +injudiciously--told that she is practically mistress of the place, and +that she may do as she likes here. Hence the result. But at the worst, +Audrey, I am certain of one thing." + +"What is that, Jenny? How wise you look, and how kind!" + +"I believe your father will be able to manage her, whoever else fails. +Did you not notice how her eyes followed him round the room last night, +and how, whenever he spoke to her, her voice softened and she always +replied in a gentle tone?" + +"No, I did not," answered Audrey. "Oh dear! it is very puzzling, and I +feel rather cross myself. I cannot imagine why that horrid little girl +should ever own this lovely place. It is not that I am jealous of her--I +assure you I am anything but that--but it hurts me to think that one who +can appreciate things so little should come in for our lovely property." + +"Well, darling, let us hope she will be quite a middle-aged woman before +she possesses Castle Wynford," said the governess. "And now, what about +your young friends?" + +Audrey slipped her hand inside Miss Sinclair's arm, and the two paced +the conservatory, talking long and earnestly. + +Meanwhile Evelyn, having partaken of a rich and unwholesome breakfast of +pastry, game-pie, and chocolate, condescended slowly to rise. Jasper +waited on her hand and foot. A large fire burned in the grate; no +servant had been allowed into the apartment since Evelyn had taken +possession of it the night before, and it already presented an untidy +and run-to-seed appearance. White ashes were piled high in the untidy +grate; dust had collected on the polished steel of the fire-irons; dust +had also mounted to the white marble mantelpiece covered with velvet of +turquoise-blue, but neither Evelyn nor Jasper minded these things in the +least. + +"And now, pet," said the maid, "what dress will you wear?" + +"I had better assert myself as soon as possible," said Evelyn. "Mothery +told me I must. So I had better put on something striking. I saw that +horrid Audrey walking past just now with her governess; she had on a +plain, dark-blue serge. Why, any dairymaid might dress like that. Don't +you agree with me, Jasper?" + +"There is your crimson velvet," said Jasper. "I bought it for you in +Paris. You look very handsome in it." + +"Oh, come, Jasper," said her little mistress, "you said I was squat last +night." + +"The rich velvet shows up your complexion," persisted Jasper. "Put it +on, dear; you must make a good impression." + +Accordingly Evelyn allowed herself to be arrayed in a dress of a curious +shade between red and crimson. Jasper encircled her waist with a red +silk sash; and being further decked with numerous rows of colored beads, +varying in hue from the palest green to the deepest rose, the heiress +pronounced herself ready to descend. + +"And where will you go first, dear?" said Jasper. + +"I am going straight to find my Uncle Edward. I have a good deal to say +to him. And there is mother's note; I think it is all about you. I will +give it to Uncle Edward to give to my Aunt Frances. I don't like my Aunt +Frances at all, so I will see Uncle Edward first." + +Accordingly Evelyn, in her heavy red dress, her feet encased in black +shoes and white stockings, ran down-stairs, and having inquired in very +haughty tones of a footman where the Squire was likely to be found, +presently opened the door of his private sanctum and peeped in. + +Even Lady Frances seldom cared to disturb the Squire when he was in his +den, as he called it. When he raised his eyes, therefore, and saw +Evelyn's pale face, her light flaxen hair falling in thin strands about +her ears, her big, somewhat light-brown eyes staring at him, he could +not help giving a start of annoyance. + +"Oh, Uncle Ned, you are not going to be cross too?" said the little +girl. She skipped gaily into the room, ran up to him, put one arm round +his neck, and kissed him. + +The Squire looked in a puzzled way at the queer little figure. Like most +men, he knew little or nothing of the details of dress; he was only +aware that his own wife always looked perfect, that Audrey was the soul +of grace, and that Miss Sinclair presented a very pretty appearance. He +was now, therefore, only uncomfortable in Evelyn's presence, not in the +least aware of what was wrong with her, but being quite certain that +Lady Frances would not approve of her at all. + +"I have come first to you, Uncle Edward," said Evelyn, "because we must +transact some business together." + +"Transact some business!" repeated her uncle. "What long words you use, +little girl!" + +"I have heard my dear mothery talk about transacting business, so I have +picked up the phrase," replied Evelyn in thoughtful tones. "Well, Uncle +Edward, shall we transact? It is best to have things on a business +footing; don't you think so--eh?" + +"I think that you are a very strange little person," said her uncle. +"You are too young to know anything of business matters; you must leave +those things to your aunt and to me." + +"But I am your heiress, don't forget. This room will be mine, and all +that big estate outside, and the whole of this gloomy old house when you +die. Is not that so?" + +"It is so, my child." The Squire could not help wincing when Evelyn +pronounced his house gloomy. "But at the same time, my dear Evelyn, +things of that sort are not spoken about--at least not in England." + +"Mothery and I spoke a lot about it; we used to sit for whole evenings +by the fireside and discuss the time when I should come in for my +property. I mean to make changes when my time comes. You don't mind my +saying so, do you?" + +"I object to the subject altogether, Evelyn." The Squire rose and faced +his small heiress. "In England we don't talk of these things, and now +that you have come to England you must do as an English girl and a lady +would. On your father's side you are a lady, and you must allow your +aunt and me to train you in the observances which constitute true +ladyhood in England." + +Evelyn's brown eyes flashed a very angry fire. + +"I don't wish to be different from my mother," she said. "My mother was +one of the most splendid women on earth. I wish to be exactly like her. +I will not be a fine lady--not for anybody." + +"Well, dear, I respect you for being fond of your mother." + +"Fond of her!" said Evelyn; and a strange and intensely tragic look +crossed the queer little face. + +She was quite silent for nearly a minute, and Edward Wynford watched her +with curiosity and pain mingled in his face. Her eyes reminded him of +the brother whom he had so truly loved; in every other respect Evelyn +was her mother over again. + +"I suppose," she said after a pause, "although I may not speak about +what lies before me in the future, and you must die some time, Uncle +Edward, that I may at least ask you to supply me with the needful?" + +"The what, dear?" + +"The needful. Chink, you know--chink." + +Squire Wynford sank slowly back again into his chair. + +"You might ask me to sit down," said Evelyn, "seeing that the room and +all it contains will be----" Here she broke off abruptly. "I beg your +pardon," she continued. "I really and truly do not want you to die a +minute before your rightful hour. We all have our hour--at least mothery +said so--and then go we must, whether we like it or not; so, as you must +go some day, and I must----Oh dear! I am always being drawn up now by that +horrid wish of yours that I should try to be an English girl. I will try +to be when I am in your presence, for I happen to like you; but as for +the others, well, we shall see. But, Uncle Ned, what about the chink? +Perhaps you call it money; anyhow, it means money. How much may I have +out of what is to be all my own some day to spend now exactly as I +like?" + +"You can have a fair sum, Evelyn. But, first of all, tell me what you +want it for and how you mean to spend it." + +"I have all kinds of wants," began Evelyn. "Jasper had plenty of money +to spend on me until I came here. She manages very well indeed, does +Jasper. We bought lots of things in Paris--this dress, for instance. How +do you like my dress, Uncle Ned?" + +"I am not capable of giving an opinion." + +"Aren't you really? I expect you are about stunned. You never thought a +girl like me could dress with such taste. Do you mind my speaking to +Audrey, Uncle Ned, about her dress? It does not seem to me to be +correct." + +"What is wrong with it?" asked the Squire. + +"It is so awfully dowdy; it is not what a lady ought to wear. Ladies +ought to dress in silks and satins and brocades and rich embroidered +robes. Mothery always said so, and mothery surely knew. But there, I am +idling you, and I suppose you are busy directing the management of your +estates, which are to be----Oh, there! I am pulled up again. I want my +money for Jasper, for one thing. Jasper has got some poor relations, and +she and I between us support them." + +"She and you between you," said the Squire, "support your maid's +relations!" + +"Oh dear me, Uncle Ned, how stiffly you speak! But surely it does not +matter; I can do what I like with my own." + +"Listen to me, Evelyn," said her uncle. "You are only a very young girl; +your mind may in some ways be older than your body, but you are nothing +more than a child." + +"I am not such a child as I look. I was sixteen a month ago. I am +sixteen, and that is not very young." + +"We must agree to differ," said her uncle. "You are young and you are +not wise; and although there is some money which is absolutely your own +coming from the ranch in Tasmania, yet I have the charge of it until you +come of age." + +"When I come of age I suppose I shall be very, very rich?" + +"Not at all. You will be my care, and I will allow you what is proper, +but as long as I live you will only have the small sum which will come +to you yearly from the rent of the ranch. As the ranch may possibly be +sold some day, we may be able to realize a nice little capital for you; +but you are too young to know much of these things at present. The +matter in hand, therefore, is all-sufficient. I will allow you as +pocket-money five pounds a quarter. I give precisely the same sum to +Audrey. Your aunt will buy your clothes, and you will live here and be +treated in all respects as my daughter. Now, that is my side of the +bargain." + +Evelyn's face turned white. + +"Five pounds a quarter!" she said. "Why, that is downright penury!" + +"No, dear; for the use you require it for it is downright riches. But, +be it riches or be it penury, you get no more." + +Evelyn looked full at her uncle; her uncle looked back at her. + +"Come here, little girl," he said. + +Her heart was beating with furious anger, but there was something in his +tone which subdued her. She went slowly to him, and he put his arm round +her waist. + +"Your eyes are like--very like--one whom I loved best on earth." + +"You mean my father," said the girl. + +"Your father. He left you to me to care for, and to love and to train--to +train for a high position eventually." + +"He left me to mothery; you are quite mistaken there. Mothery has +trained me; father left me to her. She often and often and often told me +so." + +"That is true, dear. While your mother lived she had the prior claim +over you, but now you belong to me." + +"Yes," said Evelyn. She felt fascinated. She snuggled comfortably inside +her uncle's arm; her strange brown eyes were fixed on his face. + +"I give you," he continued, "the love and care of a father, but I expect +a return." + +"What? I don't mind. I have two diamonds--beauties. You shall have them +to make into studs; you shall, because I--yes, I love you." + +"I don't want your diamonds, my little girl, but I want other +things--your love and your obedience. I want you, if you like me, and if +you like your Aunt Frances, and if you like your cousin, to follow in +our steps, for we have been brought up to approve of courteous manners +and quiet dress and gentle speech; and I want that brain of yours, +Evelyn, to be educated to high and lofty thoughts. I want you to be a +grand woman, worthy of your father, and I expect this return from you +for all that I am going to do for you." + +"Are you going to teach me your own self?" asked Evelyn. + +"You can come to me sometimes for a talk, but it is impossible for me to +be your instructor. You will have a suitable governess." + +"Jasper knows a lot of things. Perhaps she could teach both Audrey and +me. She might if you paid her well. She has got some awfully poor +relations; she must have lots of money, poor Jasper must." + +"Well, dear, leave me now. We will talk of your education and who is to +instruct you, and all about Jasper too, within a few days. You have got +to see the place and to make Audrey's acquaintance; and there are some +young friends coming to the Castle for a week. Altogether, you have +arrived at a gay time. Now run away, find your cousin, and make yourself +happy." + +Squire Wynford rose as he spoke, and taking Evelyn's hand, he led her to +the door. He opened the door wide for her, and saw her go out, and then +he kissed his hand to her and closed the door again. + +"Poor little mite!" he said to himself. "As strange a child as I ever +saw, but with Frank's eyes." + + + + +CHAPTER VI.--THE HUNGRY GIRL. + + +Now, the Squire had produced a decidedly softening effect upon Evelyn, +and if she had not had the misfortune to meet Lady Frances just as she +left his room, much that followed need never taken place. But Lady +Frances, who had never in the very least returned poor Frank Wynford's +affection for her, and who had no sentimental feelings with regard to +Evelyn--Lady Frances, who simply regarded the little girl as a +troublesome and very tiresome member of the family--was not disposed to +be too soothing in her manner. + +"Come here, my dear," she said. "Come over here to the light. What have +you got on?" + +"My pretty red velvet dress," replied Evelyn, tossing her head. "A +suitable dress for an heiress like myself." + +"Come, this is quite beyond enduring. I want to speak to you, Evelyn. I +have several things to say. Come into my boudoir." + +"But, if you please," said Evelyn, "I have nothing to say to you, and I +have a great deal to do in other directions. I am going back to Jasper; +she wants me." + +"Oh, that reminds me," began Lady Frances. "Come in here this moment, my +dear." + +She took Evelyn's hand and dragged the unwilling child into her private +apartment. A bright fire burned in the grate. The room looked cozy, +cheerful, orderly. Lady Frances was a woman of method. She had piles of +papers lying neatly docketed on her writing-table; a sheaf of unanswered +letters lay on one side. A Remington typewriter stood on a table near, +and a slim-looking girl was standing by the typewriter. + +"You will leave me for the present, Miss Andrews," she said, turning to +her amanuensis. "I shall require you here again in a quarter of an +hour." + +Miss Andrews, with a low bow, instantly left the room. + +"You see, Evelyn," said her aunt, "you are taking up the time of a very +busy woman. I manage the financial part of several charities--in short, +we are very busy people in this house--and in the morning I, as a rule, +allow no one to interrupt me. When the afternoon comes I am ready and +willing to be agreeable to my guests." + +"But I am not your guest. The house belongs to me--or at least it will be +mine," said Evelyn. + +"You are quite right in saying you are not my guest. You are my +husband's niece, and in the future you will inherit his property; but if +I hear you speaking in that rude way again I shall be forced to punish +you. I can see for myself that you are an ill-bred girl and will require +a vast lot of breaking-in." + +"And you think you can do it?" said Evelyn, her eyes flashing. + +"I intend to do it. I am going to talk to you for a few minutes this +morning, and after I have spoken I wish you to clearly understand that +you are to do as I tell you. You will not be unhappy here; on the +contrary, you will be happy. At first you may find the necessary rules +of a house like this somewhat irksome, but you will get into the way of +them before long. You need discipline, and you will have it here. I will +not say much more on that subject this morning. You can find Audrey, and +she and Miss Sinclair will take you round the grounds and amuse you, and +you must be very much obliged to them for their attentions. Audrey is my +daughter, and I think I may say without undue flattery that you will +find her a most estimable companion. She is well brought up, and is a +charming girl in every sense of the word. Miss Sinclair is her +governess; she will also instruct you, but time enough for that in the +future. Now, when you leave here go straight to your room and desire +your servant--Jasper, I think, you call her--to dress you in a plain and +suitable frock." + +"A frock!" said Evelyn. "I wear dresses--long dresses. I am not a child; +mothery said I had the sense of several grown-up people." + +"The garment you are now in you are not to wear again; it is unsuitable, +and I forbid you to be even seen in it. Do you understand?" + +"I hear you," said Evelyn. + +"Go up-stairs and do what I tell you, and then you can go into the +grounds. Audrey is having holidays at present; you will find her with +her governess in the shrubbery. Now go; the time I can devote to you for +the present is up." + +"I had better give you this first," said Evelyn. + +She thrust her hand into her pocket and took out the ill-spelt and now +exceedingly dirty note which poor Mrs. Wynford in Tasmania had written +to Lady Frances before her death. + +"This is from mothery, who is dead," continued the child. "It is for +you. She wrote it to you. I expect she is watching you now; she told me +that she would come back if she could and see how people treated me. I +am going. Don't lose the note; it was written by mothery, and she is +dead." + +Evelyn laid the dirty letter on the blotting-pad on Lady Frances's +table. It looked strangely out of keeping with the rest of her +correspondence. The little girl left the room, banging the door behind +her. + +"A dreadful child!" thought Lady Frances. "How are we to endure her? My +poor, sweet Audrey! I must get Edward to allow me to send Evelyn to +school; she really is not a fit companion for my young daughter." + +Miss Andrews came back. + +"Please direct these envelopes, and answer some of these letters +according to the notes which I have put down for you," said Lady +Frances; and her secretary began to work. But Lady Frances did not ask +Miss Andrews to read or reply to the dirty little note. She took it up +very much as though she would like to drop it into the fire, but finally +she opened it and read the contents. The letter was rude and curt, and +Lady Frances's fine black eyes flashed as she read the words. Finally, +she locked the letter up in a private bureau, and sitting down, calmly +proceeded with her morning's work. + +Meanwhile Evelyn, choking with rage and utterly determined to disobey +Lady Frances, left the room. She stood still for a moment in the long +corridor and looked disconsolately to right and to left of her. + +"How ugly it all is!" she said to herself. "How I hate it! Mothery, why +did you die? Why did I ever leave my darling, darling ranch in +Tasmania?" + +She turned and very slowly walked up the white marble staircase. +Presently she reached her own luxurious room. It was in the hands of a +maid, however, who was removing the dust and putting the chamber in +order. + +"Where is Jasper?" asked the little girl. + +"Miss Jasper has gone out of doors, miss." + +"Do you know how long she has been out?" asked Evelyn in a tone of keen +interest. + +"About half an hour, miss." + +"Then I'll follow her." + +Evelyn went to her wardrobe. Jasper had already unpacked her young +lady's things and laid them higgledy-piggledy in the spacious wardrobe. +It took the little girl a long time to find a tall velvet hat trimmed +with plumes of crimson feathers. This she put on before the glass, +arranging her hair to look as thick as possible, and smirking at her +face while she arrayed herself. + +"I would not wear this hat, for I got it quite for Sunday best, but I +want her to see that she cannot master me," thought the child. She then +wrapped a crimson silk scarf round her neck and shoulders, and so +attired looked very much like a little lady of the time of Vandyck. Once +more she went down-stairs. + +Audrey she did not wish to meet; Miss Sinclair she intended to be +hideously rude to; but Jasper--where was Jasper? + +Evelyn looked all round. Suddenly she saw a figure on the other side of +a small lake which adorned part of the grounds. The figure was too far +off for her to see it distinctly. It must be Jasper, for it surely was +not in the least like the tall, fair, and stately Aubrey, not like Miss +Sinclair. + +Picking up her skirts, which were too long for her to run comfortably, +the small figure now skidded across the grass. She soon reached the side +of the lake, and shouted: + +"Jasper! Oh Jasper! Jasper, I have news for you! You never knew anything +like the----" + +The next instant she had rushed into the arms of Sylvia Leeson. Sylvia +cried out eagerly: + +"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" + +Evelyn stared for a moment at the strange girl, then burst into a hearty +laugh. + +"Do tell me--quick, quick!--are you one of the Wynfords?" she asked. + +"I a Wynford!" cried Sylvia. "I only wish I were. Are you a Wynford? Do +you live at the Castle?" + +"Do I live at the Castle!" cried Evelyn. "Why, the Castle is mine--I mean +it will be when Uncle Ned dies. I came here yesterday; and, oh! I am +miserable, and I want Jasper?" + +"Who is Jasper?" + +"My maid. Such a darling!--the only person here who cares in the least +for me. Oh, please, please tell me your name! If you do not live at the +Castle, and if you can assure me from the bottom of your heart that you +do not love any one--any one who lives in the Castle--why, I will love +you. You are sweetly pretty! What is your name?" + +"Sylvia Leeson. I live three miles from here, but I adore the Castle. I +should like to come here often." + +"You adore it! Then that is because you know nothing about it. Do you +adore Audrey?" + +"Is Audrey the young lady of the Castle?" + +"She is not the young lady of the Castle. _I_ am the young lady of the +Castle. But have you ever seen her?" + +"Once; and then she was rude to me." + +"Ah! I thought so. I don't think she could be very polite to anybody. +Now, suppose you and I become friends? The Castle belongs to me--or will +when Uncle Ned dies. I can order people to come or people to go; and I +order you to come. You shall come up to the house with me. You shall +have lunch with me; you shall really. I have got a lovely suite of +rooms--a bedroom of blue-and-silver and a little sitting-room for my own +use; and you shall come there, and Jasper shall serve us both. Do you +know that you are sweetly pretty?--just like a gipsy. You are lovely! +Will you come with me now? Do! come at once." + +Sylvia laughed. She looked full at Evelyn; then she said abruptly: + +"May I ask you a very straight question?" + +"I love straight questions," replied Evelyn. + +"Can you give me a right, good, big lunch? Do you know that I am very +hungry? Were you ever very hungry?" + +"Oh, sometimes," replied Evelyn, staring very hard at her. "I lived on a +ranch, you know--or perhaps you don't know." + +"I don't know what a ranch is." + +"How funny! I thought everybody knew. You see, I am not English; I am +Tasmanian. My father was an Englishman, but he died when I was a little +baby, and I lived with mothery--the sweetest, the dearest, the darlingest +woman on earth--on a ranch in Tasmania. Mothery is dead, and I have come +here, and all the place will belong to me--not to Audrey--some day. Yes, I +was hungry when we went on long expeditions, which we used to do in fine +weather, but there was always something handy to eat. I have heard of +people who are hungry and there is nothing handy to eat. Do you belong +to that sort?" + +"Yes, to that sort," said Sylvia, nodding. "I will tell you about myself +presently. Yes, take me to the house, please. I know _he_ will be angry +when he knows it, but I am going all the same." + +"Who is he?" + +"I will tell you about him when you know the rest. Take me to the house, +quick. I was there once before, on New Year's Day, when every one--every +one has a right to come. I hope you will keep up that splendid custom +when you get the property. I ate a lot then. I longed to take some for +him, but it was the rule that I must not do that. I told him about it +afterwards: game-pie, two helpings; venison pasty, two ditto." + +"Oh, that is dull!" interrupted Evelyn. "Have you not forgotten yet +about a lunch you had some days ago?" + +"You would not if you were in my shoes," said Sylvia. "But come; if we +stay talking much longer some one will see us and prevent me from going +to the house with you." + +"I should like to find the person who could prevent me from doing what I +like to do!" replied Evelyn. "Come, Sylvia, come." + +Evelyn took the tall, dark girl's hand, and they both set to running, +and entered the house by the side entrance. They had the coast clear, as +Evelyn expressed it, and ran up at once to her suite of rooms. Jasper +was not in; the rooms were empty. They ran through the bedroom and found +themselves in the beautifully furnished boudoir. A fire was blazing on +the hearth; the windows were slightly open; the air, quite mild and +fresh--for the day was like a spring one--came in at the open casement. +Evelyn ran and shut it, and then turned and faced her companion. + +"There!" she said. She came close up to Sylvia, and almost whispered, +"Suppose Jasper brings lunch for both of us up here? She will if I +command her. I will ring the bell and she'll come. Would you not like +that?" + +"Yes, I'd like it much--much the best," said Sylvia. "I am afraid of Lady +Frances. And Miss Audrey can be very rude. She was very chuff with me on +New Year's Day." + +"She won't be chuff with you in my presence," said Evelyn. "Ah! here +comes Jasper." + +Jasper, looking slightly excited, now appeared on the scene. + +"Well, my darling!" she said. She rushed up to Evelyn and clasped her in +her arms. "Oh, my own sweet Eve, and how are you getting on?" she +exclaimed. "I am thinking this is not the place for you." + +"We will talk of that another time, please, Jasper," said Evelyn, with +unwonted dignity. "I have brought a friend to lunch with me. This young +lady is called Miss Sylvia Leeson, and she is awfully hungry, and we'd +both like a big lunch in this room. Can you smuggle things up, Jasper?" + +"Her ladyship will be mad," exclaimed Jasper. "I was told in the +servants' hall that she was downright annoyed at your not going to +breakfast; if you are not at lunch she will move heaven and earth." + +"Let her; it will be fun," said Evelyn. "I am going to lunch here with +my friend Sylvia Leeson. Bring a lot of things up, Jasper--good things, +rich things, tempting things; you know what sort I like." + +"I'll try if there is a bit of pork and some mincepies and plum-pudding +and cream and such-like down-stairs. And you'd fancy your chocolate, +would you not?" + +"Rather! Get all you can, and be as quick as ever you can." + +Jasper accordingly withdrew, and in a short time appeared with a laden +tray in her hands. + +"I had to run the gauntlet of the footman and the butler too; and what +they will tell Lady Frances goodness knows, but I do not," answered +Jasper. "But there, if things have to come to a crisis, why, they must. +You will not forget me when the storm breaks, will you, Evelyn?" + +"I'll never forget you," said Evelyn, with enthusiasm. "You are the +dearest and darlingest thing left now that mothery is in heaven; and +Sylvia will love you too. I have been telling her all about you.--Now, +Sylvia, you will not be hungry long." + + + + +CHAPTER VII.--STAYING TO DINNER. + + +Again at luncheon that day Evelyn was missing. Lady Frances looked +round: Audrey was in her place; Miss Sinclair was seated not far away; +the Squire took the foot of the table; the servants handed round the +different dishes; but still no Evelyn had put in an appearance. + +"I wonder where she can be," said the Squire. "She looked a little wild +and upset when she left me. Poor little girl! Do you know, Frances, I +feel very sorry for her." + +"More than I do," said Lady Frances, who at the same time had an +uncomfortable remembrance of the look Evelyn had given her when she had +left her presence. "Don't let us talk any more about her now, Edward," +she said to her husband. "There is only one thing to be done for the +child, and that I will tell you by and by." + +The Squire was accustomed to attend to his wife's wishes on all +occasions, and he said nothing further. Audrey felt constrained and +uncomfortable. After a slight hesitation she said: + +"Do let me find Evelyn, mother. I have been expecting her to join me the +whole morning. She does not, of course, know about our rules yet." + +"No, Audrey," said her mother; "I prefer that you should not leave the +table.--Miss Sinclair, perhaps you will oblige me. Will you go to +Evelyn's room and tell her that we are at lunch?" + +Miss Sinclair rose at once. She was absent for about five minutes. When +she came back there was a distressed look on her face. + +"Well, Jenny, well?" said Audrey in a voice of suppressed excitement. +"Is she coming?" + +"I think not," said Miss Sinclair.--"I will explain matters to you, Lady +Frances, afterwards." + +"Dear, dear!" said the Squire. "What a lot of explanations seem to be +necessary with regard to the conduct of one small girl!" + +"But she is a very important small girl, is she not, father?" said +Audrey. + +"Well, yes, dear; and I should like to say now that I take an interest +in her--in fact," he added, looking round him, for the servants had +withdrawn, "I am prepared to love little Eve very much indeed." + +Lady Frances's eyes flashed a somewhat indignant fire. Then she said +slowly: + +"As you speak so frankly, Edward, I must do likewise. I never saw a more +hopeless child. There seems to be nothing whatever for it but to send +her to school for a couple of years." + +"No," said the Squire, "I will not allow that. We never sent Audrey to +school, and I will have no difference made with regard to Evelyn's +education. All that money can secure must be provided for her, but I do +not care for school-life for girls." + +Lady Frances said nothing further. She was a woman with tact, and would +not on any consideration oppose her husband in public. All the same, she +secretly made up her mind that if Evelyn proved unmanageable she was not +to stay at Wynford Castle. + +"And there is another thing," continued the Squire. "This is her first +day in her future home. I do not wish her to be punished whatever she +may have done. I should like her to have absolute freedom until +to-morrow morning." + +"It shall be exactly as you wish, Edward," said Lady Frances. "I did +intend to seek Evelyn out; I did intend further to question Miss +Sinclair as to the reason why Evelyn did not appear at lunch; but I will +defer these things. It happens to be somewhat convenient, as I want to +pay some calls this afternoon; and really, with that child on my brain, +I should not enjoy my visits. You, Audrey dear, will see to your +cousin's comforts, and when she is inclined to give you her society you +will be ready to welcome her. Your young friends will not arrive until +just before dinner. Please, at least use your influence, Audrey, to +prevent Evelyn making a too extraordinary appearance to-night. Now I +think that is all, and I must run off if I am to be in time to receive +my guests." + +Lady Frances left the room, and Audrey went to her governess's side. + +"What is it?" she said. "You did look strange, Jenny, when you came into +the room just now. Where is Evelyn? Why did she not come to lunch?" + +"It is the greatest possible mercy," said Miss Sinclair, "that Evelyn is +allowed to have one free day, for perhaps--although I feel by no means +sure--you and I may influence her for her own good to-night. But what do +you think has happened? I went to her room and knocked at the door of +the boudoir. I heard voices within. The door was immediately opened by +the maid Jasper, and I saw Evelyn seated at a table, eating a most +extraordinary kind of lunch, in the company of a girl whom I have never +seen before." + +"Oh Jenny," cried Audrey, "how frightfully exciting! A strange girl! +Surely Evelyn did not bring a stranger with her and hide her somewhere +last night?" + +"No, dear, no," said Miss Sinclair, laughing; "she did nothing of that +sort. I fancy the girl must live in the neighborhood, although her face +is unfamiliar to me. She is rather a pretty girl, but by no means the +sort that your mother would approve of as a companion for your cousin." + +"What is she like?" asked Audrey in a grave voice. + +Miss Sinclair proceeded to describe Sylvia's appearance. She was +interrupted in the middle of her description by a cry from Audrey. + +"Oh dear!" she exclaimed, "you must have seen that curious girl, Sylvia +Leeson. Your description is exactly like her. Well, as this is a free +day, and we can do pretty much what we like, I will run straight up to +Evelyn's room and look for myself." + +"Do Audrey; I think on the whole it would be the best plan." + +So Audrey ran up-stairs, and soon her tap was heard on Evelyn's door; +the next moment she found herself in the presence of a very untidy, +disheveled-looking cousin, and also in that of handsome Sylvia Leeson. + +Sylvia dropped a sort of mock courtesy when she saw Audrey. + +"My Shakespearian contemporary!" was her remark. "Well, Audrey, and how +goes the Forest of Arden? And have you yet met Touchstone?" + +Audrey colored very high at what she considered a direct impertinence. + +"What are you doing here?" she said. "My mother does not know your +mother." + +Sylvia gave a ringing laugh. + +"I met this lady," she said--and she pointed in Evelyn's direction--"and +she invited me here. I have had lunch with her, and I am no longer +hungry. This is her room, is it not?" + +"I should just think it is," said Evelyn; "and I only invite those +people whom I care about to come into it." She said the words in a very +pointed way, but Audrey had now recovered both her dignity and +good-nature. + +She laughed. + +"Really we three are too silly," she said. "Evelyn, you cannot mean the +ridiculous words you say! As if any room in my father's house is not +free to me when I choose to go there! Now, whether you like it or not, I +am determined to be friends with you. I do not want to scold you or +lecture you, for it is not my place, but I intend to sit down although +you have not the civility to offer me a chair; and I intend to ask again +why Miss Leeson is here." + +"I came because Evelyn asked me," said Sylvia; and then, all of a +sudden, an unexpected change came over her face. Her pretty, bright +eyes, with a sort of robin-redbreast look in them, softened and melted, +and then grew brighter than ever through tears. She went up to Audrey +and knelt at her feet. + +"Why should not I come? Why should not I be happy?" she said. "I am a +very lonely girl; why should you grudge me a little happiness?" + +Audrey looked at her in amazement; then a change came over her own face. +She allowed her hand just for an instant to touch the hand of Sylvia, +and her eyes looked into the wild eyes of the shabby girl who was +kneeling before her. + +"Get up," she said. "You have no right to take that attitude to me. As +you are here, sit down. I do not want to be rude to you; far from that. +I should like to make you happy." + +"Should you really?" answered Sylvia. "You can do it, you know." + +"Sylvia," interrupted Evelyn, "what does this mean? You and I have been +talking in a very frank way about Audrey. We have neither of us been +expressing any enthusiastic opinions with regard to her; and yet now--and +yet now----" + +"Oh, let me be, Eve," replied Sylvia. "I like Audrey. I liked her the +other day. It is true I was afraid of her, and I was crushed by her, but +I liked her; and I like her better now, and if she will be my friend I +am quite determined to be hers." + +"Then you do not care for me?" said Evelyn, getting up and strutting +across the room. + +Sylvia looked at Audrey, whose eyes, however, would not smile, and whose +face was once more cold and haughty. + +"Evelyn," she said, "I must ask you to try and remember that you are a +lady, and not to talk in this way before anybody but me. I am your +cousin, and when you are alone with me I give you leave to talk as you +please. But now the question is this: I do not in the least care what +Sylvia said of me behind my back. I hope I know better than to wish to +find out what I was never meant to hear. This is a free country, and any +girl in England can talk of me as she pleases--I am not afraid--that is, +she can talk of me as she pleases when I am absent. But what I want to +do now is to answer Sylvia's question. She is unhappy, and she has +thrown herself on me.--What can I do, Sylvia, to make you happy?" + +Sylvia was standing huddled up against the wall. Her pretty shoulders +were hitched to her ears; her hair was disheveled and fell partly over +her forehead; her eyes gleamed out under their thick thatch of black +hair like wild birds in a nest; her coral lips trembled, there was just +a gleam of snowy teeth, and then she said impulsively: + +"You are a darling, and you can do one thing. Let me for to-day forget +that I am poor and hungry and very lonely and very sad. Let me share +your love and Evelyn's love for just one whole day." + +"But there are people coming to-night, Sylvia," said Evelyn. "I heard +Jasper speak of it. Lots of people--grandees, you know." + +Sylvia shuddered slightly. + +"We never say that sort of word now in England," she remarked; and she +added: "I am well-born too. There was a time when I should not have been +at all shy of Audrey Wynford." + +"You are very queer," said Evelyn. "I do not know that I particularly +want you for a friend." + +"Well, never mind; I think I can get you to love me," said Sylvia. "But +now the question is this: Will Audrey let me stay or will she not? Will +you, Audrey--will you--just because my name is Sylvia and we have met in +the Forest of Arden?" + +"Oh dear," said Audrey, "what a difficult question you ask! And how can +I answer it? I dare not give you leave all by myself, but I will go and +inquire." + +Audrey ran immediately out of the room. + +"What a wonderful change has come into my life!" she said to herself as +she flew down-stairs and looked into different rooms, but all in vain, +for Miss Sinclair. + +Her mother was out; it was hopeless to think of appealing to her. +Without the permission of some one older than herself she could not +possibly ask Sylvia to stay. Sylvia could be more or less lost in the +crowd of children who would be at the Castle that evening, but her +mother's eyes would quickly seek out the unfamiliar face, inquiries +would be made, and--in short, Audrey did not dare to take this +responsibility on herself. She was rushing up-stairs again, prepared to +tell Sylvia that she could not grant her request, when she came plump up +against her father. + +"My dear girl, what a hurry you are in!" he exclaimed. + +"Oh yes, father," replied Audrey. "I am excited. The house is full of +life and almost mystery." + +"Then you like your cousin to be here?" said the Squire, and his face +brightened. + +"Yes and no," answered Audrey truthfully. "But, father, I have a great +request to make. You know you said that Evelyn was to have a free day +to-day in which she could do as she pleased. She has a guest up-stairs +whom she would like to ask to stay. May she ask her, father? She is a +girl, and lonely and pretty, and, I think, on the whole, a lady. May we +both ask her to dinner and to spend the evening? And will you, father, +take the responsibility?" + +"Of course--of course," said the Squire. + +"Will you explain to mother when she returns?" + +"Yes, my dear--certainly. Ask anybody you please; I never restrain you +with regard to your friends. Now do not keep me, my love; I am going out +immediately." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII.--EVENING-DRESS. + + +When Audrey re-entered Evelyn's pretty boudoir she found the two girls +standing close together and talking earnestly. Jasper also was joining +in the conversation. Audrey felt her heart sink. + +"How can Evelyn make free with Jasper as she does? And why does Sylvia +talk to Evelyn as though they were having secrets together? Why, they +only met to-day!" was the girl's thought. Her tone, therefore, was cold. + +"I met father, and he says you may stay," she remarked in a careless +voice. "And now, as doubtless you will be quite happy, I will run away +and leave you, for I have much to do." + +"No, no; not until I have thanked you and kissed you first," said +Sylvia. + +Audrey did not wish Sylvia to kiss her, but she could not make any open +objection. She scarcely returned the girl's warm embrace, and the next +moment had left the room. + +"Is she not a horror?" said Evelyn. "I began by liking her--I mean I +rather liked her. She had a grand sort of manner, and her eyes are +handsome, but I hate her now. She is not half, nor quarter, as pretty as +you are, Sylvia. And, oh, Sylvia, you will be my friend--my true, true +friend--for I am so lonely now that mothery is dead!" + +Sylvia was standing by the fire. There was a bright color in both her +cheeks, and her eyes shone vividly. + +"My mother died too," she said. "I was happy while she lived. Yes, Eve, +I will be your friend if you like." + +"It will be all the better for you," said Evelyn, who could never long +forget her own importance. "If I take to you there is no saying what may +happen, for, whatever lies before me in the future, I am my Uncle +Edward's heiress; and Audrey, for all her pride, is nobody." + +"Audrey looks much more suitable," said Sylvia, and then she stopped, +partly amused and partly frightened by the look in Evelyn's light-brown +eyes. + +"How dare you!" she cried. "How horrid--how horrid of you! After all, I +do not know that I want to see too much of you. You had better be +careful what sort of things you say to me. And first of all, if I am to +see any more of you, you must tell me why Audrey would make a better +heiress than I shall." + +"Oh, never mind," said Sylvia; but then she added: "Why should I not +tell you? She is tall and graceful and very, very lovely, and she has +the manners of a _grande dame_ although she is such a young girl. Any +one in all the world can see that Audrey is to the manner born, whereas +you----" + +Evelyn looked almost frightened while Sylvia was talking. + +"Is that really so?" she answered. "I ought to be just mad with you, but +I'm not. Before the year is out no one will compare Audrey and me. I +shall be much, much the finest lady--much, much the grandest. I vow it; I +declare it; I will do it; and you, Sylvia, shall help me." + +"Oh, I have no objection," said Sylvia. "I am very glad indeed that you +will want my help, and I am sure you are heartily welcome." + +Evelyn looked full up at Sylvia. Jasper had left the two girls together. +The only light in the room now was the firelight, for the short winter +day was drawing to an end. + +"You, I suppose," said Evelyn, "are a lady although you do wear such a +shabby dress and you suffer so terribly from hunger?" + +"How do you know?" asked Sylvia. + +"First, because you are not afraid of anything; and second, because you +are graceful and, although you are so very queer, your voice has a +gentle sound. You are a lady by birth, are you not?" + +"Yes," said Sylvia simply. She neither added to the word not took from +it. She became very silent and thoughtful. + +"Why do you live in such a funny way? Why are you not educated like +other girls? And why will you tell me nothing about your home?" + +"I have nothing to tell. My father and I came to live at The Priory +three months ago. He does not care for society, and he does not wish me +to leave him." + +"And you are poor?" + +"No," said Sylvia. + +"Not poor! And yet, why are you almost in rags? And you did eat up your +lunch so greedily!" + +"I will answer nothing more, Evelyn. If you do not like me as I am, let +me go now, and I will try to forget the beautiful, comfortable Castle, +and the lovely meals, and you and your queer maid Jasper, and the +beautiful girl Audrey; for if you do not want me as I am, you can never +get me any other way. I am a lady, and we are not poor. Now are you +satisfied?" + +"I burn with curiosity," said Evelyn; "and if mothery were alive, would +she not get it out of you! But if you wish it--and your eyes do look as +if they were daggers--I will change the subject. What shall we do for the +rest of the day? Shall we go out and take a walk in the dark?" + +"Yes; that would be lovely," cried Sylvia. + +Evelyn shouted in an imperious way to Jasper. + +"Bring my fur cloak," she said, "and my goloshes. I won't wear anything +over my head. I am going out with Miss Sylvia Leeson." + +Jasper brought Evelyn's cloak, which was lined with the most lovely +squirrel inside and covered with bright crimson outside, and put it over +her shoulders. Sylvia in her very shabby black cloth jacket, much too +short in the waist and in the arms, accompanied her. They ran +down-stairs and went out into the grounds. + +Now, if there was one thing more than another which would hopelessly +displease Lady Frances, it was the idea of any of her relations +wandering about after dusk. But luckily for Evelyn, and luckily also for +poor Sylvia, Lady Frances was some miles from Wynford Castle at that +moment. The girls rushed about, and soon Evelyn forgot all her +restraints and shouted noisily. They played hide-and-seek amongst the +trees in the plantation. Sylvia echoed Evelyn's shouts; and the Squire, +who was returning to the house in time to meet his guests, paused and +listened in much amazement to these unusual sounds of girlish laughter. +There came a shrill shriek, and then the cry, "Here I am--seek and find," +and then another ringing peal of girlish merriment. + +"Surely that cannot be Audrey!" he said to himself. "What extraordinary +noises!" + +He went into the house. From his study window he saw the flash of a +lantern, which lit up a red cloak, and for an instant he observed the +very light hair and white face of his niece. But who was the girl with +her--a tall, shabby-looking girl--about the height of his Audrey, too? It +could not be Audrey! He sank down into a chair, and a look of perplexity +crossed his face. + +"What am I to do with that poor child?" he said to himself. "What +extraordinary, unpardonable conduct! Well, I will not tell Lady Frances. +I determined that the child should have one day of liberty, but I am +glad I did not make it more than one." + +After Evelyn and Sylvia had quite exhausted themselves they returned to +the house. + +Jasper was ready for them. She had laid out several dresses for Evelyn +to select from. + +"I have just had a message from her ladyship," she said when the girls +came in with their cheeks glowing and eyes full of laughter. "All the +young people are to dine with the family to-night. As a rule, when there +is company the younger members of the house dine in the schoolroom, but +to-night you are all to be together. I got the message from that +stuck-up footman Scott. I hate the fellow; he had the impudence to say +that he did not think I was suited to my post." + +"He had better not say it again," cried Evelyn, "or he will catch it +from me. I mean to have a talk with each of the servants in turn, and +tell them quite openly that at any moment I may be mistress, and that +they had better look sharp before they incur my displeasure." + +"But, Eve, could you?" exclaimed Sylvia. "Why, that would mean----" + +"Uncle Ned's death. I know that," said Evelyn. "I love Uncle Ned. I +shall be awfully sorry when he does die. But however sorry I am, he will +die when his turn comes; and then I shall be mistress. I was frightfully +sorry when mothery died; but however broken-hearted I was, she did die +just the same. It is so with every one. It is the height of folly to +shirk subjects of that sort; one has to face them. I have no one now to +take my part except dear old Jasper, and so I shall have to take my own +part, and the servants had better know.--You can tell them too, Jasper; I +give you leave." + +"Not I!" said Jasper. "I declare, Miss Evelyn, you are no end of a goose +for all that you are the darling of my heart. But now, miss, what dress +will you wear to-night? I should say the white satin embroidered with +the seed pearls. It has a long train, and you will look like a bride in +it, miss. It is cut low in the neck, and has those sleeves which open +above the elbow, and a watteau back. It is a very elegant robe indeed; +and I have a wreath of white stephanotis for your hair, miss. You will +look regal in this dress, and like an heiress, I do assure you, Miss +Eve." + +"It is perfectly exquisite!" said Evelyn. "Come, Sylvia; come and look. +Oh, those dear little bunches of chiffon, and white stephanotis in the +middle of each bunch! And, oh, the lace! It is real lace, is it not, +Jasper?" + +"Brussels lace, and of the best quality; not too much, and yet enough. +It cost a small fortune." + +"Oh, here are the dear little shoes to match, and this petticoat with +heaps of lace and embroidery! Well, when I wear this dress Audrey will +have to respect me." + +"That is why I bought it, miss. I thought you should have the best." + +"Oh, you are a darling! What would not mothery say if she could look at +me to-night!" + +"Well, Miss Evelyn, I hope I do my duty. But you and Miss Sylvia have +been very late out, so you must hurry, miss, if I am to do you justice." + +"But, oh, I say!" cried Evelyn, looking for the first time at her +friend. "What is Sylvia to wear?" + +"I don't know, miss. None of your dresses will fit her; she is so much +taller." + +"I will not go down-stairs a fright," said Sylvia. "Audrey asked me, and +she must lend me something. Please, Jasper, do go to Miss Wynford's room +and ask her if she has a white dress she will lend me to wear to-night. +Even a washing muslin will do. Anything that is long enough in the skirt +and not too short in the waist. I will take it away and have it washed +fresh for her. Do, please, please, ask her, Jasper!" + +"I am very sorry, miss," answered Jasper. "I would do anything in reason +to oblige, but to go to a young lady whom I don't know and to make a +request of that sort is more than I can do, miss. Besides, she is +occupied now. A whole lot of visitors have just arrived--fine young +ladies and tall young gentlemen--and they are all chittering-chattering +as though their lungs would burst. They are all in the hall, miss, +chatting as hard as they can chat. No, I cannot ask her; I cannot +really." + +"Then I must stop up-stairs and lose all, all the fun," said Sylvia. + +The gaiety left her face. She sat down on a chair. + +"You will get me something to eat, at any rate, Jasper?" she said. + +"Yes, of course, miss; you and I can have a cozy meal together." + +"No, thank you," said Sylvia proudly. "I don't eat with servants." + +Jasper's face turned an ugly green color. She looked at Evelyn, but +Evelyn only laughed. + +"You want to be put in your place, Jas," was her remark. "You are a +little uppish, you know. I am quite pleased with Sylvia. I think she can +teach me one or two things." + +"Well," exclaimed Jasper, "if it is to be cruel and nasty to your own +old Jasper, I wish you joy of your future, Miss Evelyn; that I do.--And I +am sure, miss," she added, flashing angry eyes at the unconscious +Sylvia, "I do not want to eat with you--not one bit. I am sure your dress +ain't fit for any lady to wear." + +Sylvia got up slowly. + +"I am going to look for Audrey," she said; and before Evelyn could +prevent her, she left the room. + +"Ain't she a spiteful, nasty thing!" said the maid the moment Sylvia's +back was turned. "Ain't she just the very sort that your mother would be +mad at your knowing! And I willing to be kind to her and all, and to +have a dull evening for her sake, and she ups and cries, 'I don't eat +with servants.' Forsooth! I like her ways! I hope, Miss Evelyn, you +won't have nothing more to do with her." + +"Oh dear!" said Evelyn, lying back in her chair and going off into one +peal of laughter after another. "You really kill me, Jas, with your +silly ways. It was fun to see Sylvia when she spoke like that. And +didn't she take a rise out of you! And was not your pecker up! Oh, it +was killing--killing!" + +"I am surprised to hear you talk, Miss Evelyn, as you do. You have +already forgotten your poor mother and what she said I was to be to +you." + +"I have not forgotten her, Jas; but I mean to have great fun with +Sylvia, and whether you like it or not you will have to lump it. Oh, I +say, she has come back!--Well, Sylvia? Why, you have got a lovely dress +hanging over your arm!" + +"It is the best I could get," said Sylvia. "I went to Audrey's wardrobe +and took it out. I did not ask her leave; she was not in the room. There +were numbers of dresses, all hanging on pegs, and I took this one. See, +it is only India muslin, and it can be washed and done up beautifully. I +am determined to have my one happy evening without being docked of any +of it, and I could not come down in my own frock. See, Evelyn; do you +think it will do?" + +"It looks rather raggy," said Evelyn, gazing at the white India muslin, +with its lovely lace and chiffon and numerous little tucks, with small +favor; "but I suppose it is better than nothing." + +"I borrowed this white sash too," said Sylvia, "and those shoes and +stockings. I am certain to be found out. I am certain never to be +allowed to come to the Castle again; but I mean to have one really great +evening of grand fun." + +"And I won't help you to dress," said Jasper. + +"But you will, Jasper, because I order it," cried the imperious little +Evelyn. "Only," she added, "you must dress me first; and then, while you +are helping Sylvia to look as smart as she can in that old rag, I will +strut up and down before the glass and try to imagine myself a bride and +the owner of Wynford Castle." + +Jasper was, after all, too much afraid of Evelyn not to yield to her +will, and the dressing of the extraordinary girl began. She was very +particular about the arranging of her hair, and insisted on having a +dash of powder on her face; finally, she found herself in the satin robe +with its magnificent adornings. Her hair was once again piled on the top +of her head, a wreath of stephanotis surrounding it, and she stood in +silent ecstasy gazing at her image in the glass. + +It was now Sylvia's turn to be appareled for the festive occasion, and +Jasper at first felt cross and discontented as she took down the girl's +masses of raven-black hair and began to brush them out; but soon the +magnificence of the locks, which were tawny in places, and brightened +here and there with threads of almost gold, interested her so completely +that she could not rest until she had made what she called the best of +Sylvia's head. + +With all her faults, Jasper could on occasions have taste enough, and +she soon made Sylvia look as she had seldom looked before. Her thick +hair was piled high on her small and classical head; the white muslin +dress fitted close to her slim young figure; and when she stood close to +Evelyn, and they prepared to go down-stairs together, Sylvia, even in +her borrowed plumes, even in the dress which was practically a stolen +dress, looked fifty times more the heiress than the overdressed and +awkward little real heiress. + +When the girls reached the large central hall they both stopped. Audrey +was standing near the log fire, and a group of bright and beautifully +dressed children clustered round her. Two of the girls wore muslin +frocks; their hair, bright in color and very thick in quantity, hung +down below their waists. There were a couple of boys in the proverbial +Eton jackets; and another pair of girls of ordinary appearance, but with +intelligent faces and graceful figures. Audrey gave a perceptible start +when she saw her cousin and Sylvia coming to meet her. Just for an +instant Sylvia looked awkward. Audrey's eyes slightly dilated; then she +came slowly forward. + +"Evelyn," she said, "may I introduce my special friends? This is +Henrietta Jervice, and this is Juliet; and here is Arthur, and here +Robert. Can you remember so many names all at once? Oh, here are Mary +Clavering and Sophie.--Now, my dears," she added, turning and laughing +back at the group, "you have all heard of Evelyn, have you not? This +young lady is Miss Sylvia----" + +"Sylvia Leeson," said Sylvia. A vivid color came into her cheeks; she +drew herself up tall and erect; her black eyes flashed an angry fire. + +Audrey looked at her with a slow and puzzled expression. She certainly +was very handsome; but where had she got that dress? Sylvia seemed to +read the thoughts in Audrey's heart. She bent towards her. + +"I will send it back next week. You were not in your room. It was time +to dress for dinner. I ran in and took it. If you cannot forgive me I +will make an excuse to go up-stairs, and I will take it off and put it +back again in your wardrobe, and I will slip home and no one will be the +wiser. I know you meant to lend me a dress, for I could not come down in +my old rags; but if I have offended you past forgiveness I will go +quietly away and no one will miss me." + +"Stay," said Audrey coldly. She turned round and began to talk to +Henrietta Jervice. + +Henrietta laughed and chatted incessantly. She was a merry girl, and +very good-looking; she was tall for her age, which was between sixteen +and seventeen. Both she and her sister were quite schoolgirls, however, +and had frank, fresh manners, which made Sylvia's heart go out to them. + +"How nice people in my own class of life really are!" she thought. "How +dreadful--oh, how dreadful it is to have to live as I do! And I see by +Audrey's face that she thinks that I have not the slightest idea how a +lady ought to act. Oh, it is terrible! But there, I will enjoy myself +for the nonce; I will--I vow it. Poor little Evelyn, however _gauche_ she +is, and however ridiculous, has small chance against Audrey. Even if she +is fifty times the heiress, Audrey has the manners of one born to rule. +Oh, how I could love her! How happy she could make me!" + +"Do you skate?" suddenly asked Arthur Jervice. + +"Yes," replied Sylvia bluntly. She turned and looked at him. He looked +back at her, and his eyes laughed. + +"I wonder what you are thinking about?" he said. "You look as if----" + +"As if what?" said Sylvia. She drew back a little, and Arthur did the +same. + +"As if you meant to run swords into us all. But, all the same, I like +your look. Are you staying here?" + +"No," said Sylvia. "I live not far away. I have come here just for the +day." + +"Well, we shall see you to-morrow, of course. Mr. Wynford says we can +skate on the pond to-morrow, for the ice will be quite certain to bear. +I hope you will come. I love good skating." + +"And so do I," said Sylvia. + +"Then will you come?" + +"Probably not." + +Arthur was silent for a moment. He was a tall boy for his age, and was a +good half-head above Sylvia, tall as she also was. + +"May I ask you about things?" he said. "Who is that very, very funny +little girl?" + +"Do you mean Eve Wynford?" + +"Perhaps that is her name. I mean the girl in white satin--the girl who +wears a grown-up dress." + +"She is Audrey Wynford's cousin." + +"What! the Tasmanian? The one who is to----" + +"Yes. Hush! she will hear us," said Sylvia. + +The rustle of silk was heard on the stairs. Sylvia turned her head, and +instinctively hid just behind Arthur; and Lady Frances, accompanied by +several other ladies, all looking very stately and beautiful, joined the +group of young people. A great deal of chattering and laughter followed. +Evelyn was in her element. She was not a scrap shy, and going up to her +aunt, said in a confident way: + +"I hope you like this dress, Aunt Frances. Jasper chose it for me in +Paris. It is quite Parisian, is it not? Don't you think it stylish?" + +"Hush, Evelyn!" said Lady Frances in a peremptory whisper. "We do not +talk of dress except in our rooms." + +Evelyn pouted and bit her lip. Then she saw Sylvia, whose eyes were +watching Lady Frances. Lady Frances also looked up and saw the tall and +beautiful girl at the same moment. + +"Who is that girl?" she said, turning to Evelyn. "I don't know her +face." + +"Her name is Sylvia Leeson." + +"Sylvia Leeson! Still I don't understand. Who is she?" + +"A friend of mine," said Evelyn. + +"My dear, how can you possibly have any friends in this place?" + +"She is my friend, Aunt Frances. I found her wandering about out of +doors, and I brought her in; and Audrey asked her to stay for the rest +of the day, and she is happy. She is very nice, Aunt Frances," said +Evelyn, looking up full in her aunt's face. + +"That will do, dear." + +Lady Frances went up to her daughter. + +"Audrey," she said, "introduce me to Miss Leeson." + +The introduction was made. Lady Frances held out her hand. + +"I am glad to see you, Miss Leeson," she said. + +A few minutes later the whole party found themselves clustered round the +dinner-table. The children, by special request, sat all together. They +chattered and laughed heartily, and seemed to have a world of things to +say each to the other. Audrey, surrounded by her own special friends, +looked her very best; she had a great deal of tact, and had long ago +been trained in the observances of society. She managed now, helped by a +warning glance from her mother, to divide Sylvia and Evelyn. She put +Sylvia next to Arthur, who continued to chat to her, and to try to draw +information from her. Evelyn sat between Robert and Sophie Clavering. +Sophie was downright and blunt, and she made Evelyn laugh many times. +Sylvia, too, was now quite at her ease. She contrived to fascinate +Arthur, who thought her quite the most lovely girl he had ever met. + +"I wish you would come and skate to-morrow," he said, as the dinner was +coming to an end and the signal for the ladies to withdraw might be +expected at any moment. "I wish you would, Sylvia. I cannot see why you +should refuse. One has so little chance of skating in England that no +one ought to be off the ice who knows how to skate when the weather is +suitable. Cannot you come? Shall I ask Lady Frances if you may?" + +"No, thank you," said Sylvia; then she added: "I long to skate just as +much as you do, and I probably shall skate, although not on your pond; +but there is a long reach of water just where the pond narrows and +beyond where the stream rushes away towards the river. I may skate +there. The water is nearly a mile in extent." + +"Then I will meet you," said Arthur. "I will get Robert and Hennie to +come with me; Juliet will never stir from Audrey's side when she comes +to Castle Wynford; but I'll make up a party and we can meet at the +narrow stretch. What do you call it?" + +"The Yellow Danger," said Sylvia promptly. + +"What a curious name! What does it mean?" + +"I don't know; I have not been long enough in this neighborhood. Oh, +there is Lady Frances rising from the table; I must go. If you do happen +to come to the Yellow Danger to-morrow I shall probably be there." + +She nodded to him, and followed the rest of the ladies and the girls to +one of the drawing-rooms. + +Soon afterwards games of all sorts were started, and the children, and +their elders as well, had a right merry time. There was no one smarter +at guessing conundrums and proposing vigorous games of chance than +Sylvia. The party was sufficiently large to divide itself into two +groups, and "clumps," amongst other games, was played with much laughter +and vigor. Finally, the whole party wandered into the hall, where an +impromptu dance was struck up, and in this also Sylvia managed to excel +herself. + +"Who is that remarkably graceful and handsome girl?" said Mrs. Jervice +to Lady Frances. + +"My dear Agnes," was the answer, "I have not the slightest idea. She is +a girl from the neighborhood; that terrible aborigine Evelyn picked her +up. She certainly is handsome, and clever too; and she is well dressed. +That dress she has on reminds me of one which I bought for Audrey in +Paris last year. I suppose the girl's people are very well off, for that +special kind of muslin, with its quantities of real lace, would not be +in the possession of a poor girl. On the whole, I like the girl, but the +way in which Evelyn has brought her into the house is beyond enduring." + +"My Arthur has quite lost his heart to her," said Mrs. Jervice, with a +laugh. "He said something to me about asking her to join our skating +party to-morrow." + +"Well, dear, I will make inquiries, and if she belongs to any nice +people I will call on her mother if she happens to have one; but I make +it a rule to be very particular what girls Audrey becomes acquainted +with." + +"And you are quite right," said Mrs. Jervice. "Any one can see how very +carefully your Audrey has been brought up." + +"She is a sweet girl," said the mother, "and repays me for all the +trouble I have taken with her; but what I shall do with Evelyn is a +problem, for her uncle has put down his foot and declares that go to +school she shall not." + +The ladies moved away, chatting as they did so. The music kept up its +merry sounds; the young feet tripped happily over the polished floor; +all went on gaily, and Sylvia felt herself in paradise. Warmed and fed, +petted and surrounded by luxury, she looked a totally different creature +from the wild, defiant girl who had pushed past Audrey in order to have +a hearty meal on New Year's Day. + +But by and by the happy evening came to an end, and Sylvia ran up to +Evelyn. + +"It is time for me to go," she said. "I must say good night to Lady +Frances; and then will you take me to your room just to change my dress, +Evelyn?" + +"Oh, what a nuisance you are!" said Evelyn. "I am not thinking of going +to bed yet." + +"Yes; but you are at home, remember. I have to go to my home." + +"Well, I do not see why I should go to bed an hour before I wish to. Do +go if you wish, Sylvia; I will see you another time. You will find +Jasper up-stairs, and she will do anything for you you want." + +Sylvia said nothing more. She stood silent for a minute; then noticing +Lady Frances in the distance, she ran up to her. + +"Good night, Lady Frances," she said; "and thank you very much." + +"I am glad you have enjoyed yourself, Miss Leeson," said the lady. She +looked full into the sparkling eyes, and suddenly felt a curious drawing +towards the girl. "Tell me where you live," she said, "and who your +mother is; I should like to have the pleasure of calling on her." + +Sylvia's face suddenly became white. Her eyes took on a wild and +startled glance. + +"I have no mother," she said slowly; "and please do not call, Lady +Frances--please don't." + +"As you please, of course," said Lady Frances in a very stiff tone. "I +only thought----" + +"I cannot explain. I cannot help what you think of me. I know I shall +not see you, perhaps, ever again--I mean, ever again like this," said +Sylvia; "but thank you all the same." + +She made a low courtesy, but did not even see the hand which Lady +Frances was prepared to hold out. The next instant she was skimming +lightly up-stairs. + +"Audrey," said Lady Frances, turning to her daughter, "who is that +girl?" + +"I cannot tell you, mother. Her name is Sylvia Leeson. She lives +somewhere near, I suppose." + +"She is fairly well-bred, and undoubtedly handsome," said Lady Frances. +"I was attracted by her appearance, but when I asked her if I might call +on her mother she seemed distressed. She said her mother was dead, and +that I was not to call." + +"Poor girl!" said Audrey. "You upset her by talking about her mother, +perhaps." + +"I do not think that was it. Do you know anything at all about her, +Audrey?" + +"Nothing at all, mother, except that I suppose she lives in the +neighborhood, and I am sure she is desperately poor." + +"Poor, with that dress!" said Lady Frances. "My dear, you talk rubbish." + +Audrey opened her lips as if to speak; then she shut them again. + +"I think she is poor notwithstanding the dress," she said in a low +voice. "But where is she? Has she gone?" + +"She bade me good-night a minute ago and ran up-stairs." + +"But Evelyn has not gone up-stairs. Has she let her go alone?" + +"Just what I should expect of your cousin," said Lady Frances. + +Audrey crossed the hall and went up to Evelyn's side. + +"Do you notice that Sylvia has gone up-stairs?" she said. "Have you let +her go alone?" + +"Yes. Don't bother," said Evelyn.--"What are you saying, Bob?--that you +can cut the figure eight in----" + +Audrey turned away with an expression of disgust. A moment later she +said something to her friend Juliet and ran up-stairs herself. + +"What are we to do with Evelyn?" was her thought. + +The same thought was passing through the minds of almost all the matrons +present; but Evelyn herself imagined that she was most fascinating. + +Audrey went to Evelyn's bedroom. There she saw Sylvia already arrayed in +her ugly, tattered, and untidy dress. She looked like a different girl. +She was pinning her battered sailor-hat on her head; the color had left +her cheeks, and her eyes were no longer bright. When she saw Audrey she +pointed to the muslin dress, which was lying neatly folded on a chair. + +"I am going to take it home; it shall be washed, and you shall have it +back again." + +"Never mind about that," answered Audrey; "I would rather you did not +trouble." + +"Very well--as you like; and thank you, Miss Wynford, a hundred times. I +have had a heavenly evening--something to live for. I shall live on the +thoughts of it for many and many a day. Good night, Miss Wynford." + +"But stay!" cried Audrey--"stay! It is nearly midnight. How are you going +to get home?" + +"I shall get home all right," said Sylvia. + +"You cannot go alone." + +"Nonsense! Don't keep me, please." + +Before Audrey had time to say a word Sylvia had rushed down-stairs. A +side-door was open, she ran out into the night. Audrey stood still for a +moment; then she saw Jasper, who had come silently into the room. + +"Follow that young lady immediately," she said. "Or, stay! Send one of +the servants. The servant must find her and go home with her. I do not +know where she lives, but she cannot be allowed to go out by herself at +this hour of night." + +Jasper ran down-stairs, and Audrey waited in Evelyn's pretty bedroom. +Already there were symptoms all over the room of its new owner's +presence; a marked disarrangement of the furniture had already taken +place. The room, from being the very soul of order, seemed now to +represent the very spirit of unrest. Jasper came back, panting slightly. + +"I sent a man after the young lady, miss, but she is nowhere to be seen. +I suppose she knows how to find her way home." + +Audrey was silent for a minute or two; then taking up the dress which +Sylvia had worn, she hung it over her arm. + +"Shall I take that back to your room, miss?" + +"No, thank you; I will take it myself," replied the girl. + +She walked slowly down the passage, descended some steps, and entered +her own pretty room in a distant wing. She opened her wardrobe and hung +up the dress. + +"I do hope one thing," thought Audrey. "Yes, I earnestly hope that +mother will never, never discover that poor Sylvia wore my dress. Poor +Sylvia! Who is she? Where does she live? What is she?" + +Meanwhile Sylvia Leeson was walking fast through the dark and silent +night. She was not at all afraid; nor did she choose the frequented +paths. On the contrary, after plunging through the shrubbery, she +mounted a stile, got into a field, crossed it, squeezed through a hedge +at the farther end, and so, by devious paths and many unexpected +windings, found herself at the entrance of a curious, old-fashioned +house. The house was surrounded by thick yew-trees, which grew up almost +to the windows. There was a wall round it, and the enclosed space within +was evidently very confined. In the gleam of light which came now and +then through wintry, driving clouds, a stray flower-bed or a thick +holly-bush was visible, but the entire aspect of the place was gloomy, +neglected, and disagreeable in the extreme. Sylvia pushed a certain +spring in the gate; it immediately opened, and she let herself in. She +closed the gate softly and silently behind her, and then, looking +eagerly around, began to approach the house. The house stood not thirty +yards from the gate. Sylvia now for the first time showed symptoms of +fear. Suddenly a big dog in a kennel near uttered a bay. She called his +name. + +"Pilot, it is I," she said. + +The dog ambled towards her; she put her hand on his neck, bent down, and +kissed him on the forehead. He wagged his tail, and thrust his cold nose +into her hand. She then stood in a listening attitude, her head thrown +back; presently, still holding the dog by the collar, she went +softly--very softly--round the house. She came to a low window, which was +protected by some iron bars. + +"Good night, Pilot," she said then. "Good night, darling; go back and +guard the house." + +The dog trotted swiftly and silently away. When he was quite out of +sight Sylvia put up her hand and removed one bar from the six which +stood in front of the window. A moment later the window had been opened +and the girl had crept within. When inside she pushed the bar which had +been previously loosened back into its place, shut the window softly, +and crossing the room into which she had entered, stole up-stairs, +trembling as she did so. Suddenly a door from above was opened, a light +streamed across the passage, and a man's voice said: + +"Who goes there?" + +There was an instant's silence on the part of Sylvia. The voice repeated +the question in a louder key. + +"It is I, father," she answered. "I am going to bed. It is all right." + +"You impertinent girl!" said the man. "Where have you been all this +time? I missed you at dinner; I missed you at supper. Where have you +been?" + +"Doing no harm, father. It is all right; it is really. Good night, +father." + +The light, however, did not recede from the passage. A man stood in the +entrance to a room. Sylvia had to pass this man to get to her own +bedroom. She was thoroughly frightened now. She was shaking all over. As +she approached, the man took up the candle he held and let its light +fall full on her face. + +"Where have you been?" he said roughly. + +"Out, father--out; doing no harm." + +"What, my daughter--at this time of night! You know I cannot afford a +servant; you know all about me, and yet you desert me for hours and +hours. Aren't you ashamed of yourself? You have been out of doors all +this long time and supper ready for you on the table! Oatmeal and +skimmed milk--an excellent meal; a princess could not desire better. I am +keeping it for your breakfast. You shall have no supper now; you deserve +to go to bed supper-less, and you shall. What a disgraceful mess your +dress is in!" + +"There has been snow, and it is wintry and cold outside," replied +Sylvia; "and I am not hungry. Good night, father." + +"You think to get over me like that! You have no pity for me; you are a +most heartless girl. You shall not stir from here until you tell me +where you have been." + +"Then I will tell you, father. I know you'll be angry, but I cannot help +it. There is such a thing as dying for want of--oh, not for want of food, +and not for want of clothes--for want of pleasure, fun, life, the joy of +being alive. I did go, and I am not ashamed." + +"Where?" asked the man. + +"I went to Wynford Castle. I have spent the evening there. Now, you may +be as angry as you please, but you shall not scold me; no, not a word +until the morning." + +With a sudden movement the girl flitted past the angry man. The next +instant she had reached her room. She opened the door, shut it behind +her, and locked herself in. When she was quite alone she pulled off her +hat, and got with frantic speed out of her wet jacket; then she clasped +her hands high above her head. + +"How am I to bear it! What have I done that I should be so miserable?" +she thought. + +She flung herself across the bare, uninviting bed, and lay there for +some time sobbing heavily. All the joy and animation had left her young +frame; all the gaiety had departed from her. But presently her +passionate sobs came to an end; she undressed and got into bed. + +She was bitterly--most bitterly--cold, and it was a long time before the +meager clothes which covered her brought any degree of warmth to her +frame. But by-and-by she did doze off into a troubled slumber. In her +sleep she dreamt of her mother--her mother who was dead. + +She awoke presently, and opening her eyes in the midst of the darkness, +the thought of her dream came back to her. She remembered a certain +night in her life when she had been awakened suddenly to say good-by to +her mother. The mother had asked the father to leave the child alone +with her. + +"You will be always good to him, Sylvia?" she said then. "You will humor +him and be patient. I hand my work on to you. It was too much for me, +and God is taking me away, but I pass it on to you. If you promise to +take the burden and carry it, and not to fail, I shall die happy. Will +you, Sylvia--will you?" + +"What am I to do, mother?" asked the child. She was a girl of fourteen +then. + +"This," said the mother: "do not leave him whatever happens." + +"Do you mean it, mother? He may go away from here; he may go into the +country; he may--do anything. He may become worse--not better. Am I never +to be educated? Am I never to be happy? Do you mean it?" + +The dying woman looked solemnly at the eager child. + +"I mean it," she said; "and you must promise me that you will not leave +him whatever happens." + +"Then I promise you, mother," Sylvia had said. + + + + +CHAPTER IX.--BREAKFAST IN BED. + + +The day of Evelyn's freedom came to an end. No remark had been made with +regard to her extraordinary dress; no comments when she declined to +accompany her own special guest to her bedroom. She was allowed to have +her own sweet will. She went up-stairs very late, and, on the whole, not +discontented. She had enjoyed her chat with some of the strange children +who had arrived that afternoon. Lady Frances had scarcely looked at her. +That fact did not worry her in the least. She had said good-night in +quite a patronizing tone to both her aunt and uncle, she did not trouble +even to seek for Audrey, and went up to her room singing gaily to +herself. She had a fine, strong contralto voice, and she had not the +slightest idea of keeping it in suppression. She sang the chorus of a +common-place song which had been popular on the ranch. Lady Frances +quite shuddered as she heard her. Presently Evelyn reached her own room, +where Jasper was awaiting her. Jasper knew her young mistress +thoroughly. She had not the slightest idea of putting herself out too +much with regard to Evelyn, but at the same time she knew that Evelyn +would be very cross and disagreeable if she had not her comforts; +accordingly, the fire burned clear and bright, and there were +preparations for the young girl's favorite meal of chocolate and +biscuits already going on. + +"Oh dear!" said Evelyn, "I am tired; but we have had quite a good time. +Of course when the Castle belongs to me I shall always keep it packed +with company. There is no fun in a big place like this unless you have +heaps of guests. Aunt Frances was quite harmless to-night." + +"Harmless!" cried Jasper. + +"Yes; that is the word. She took no notice of me at all. I do not mind +that. Of course she is jealous, poor thing! And perhaps I can scarcely +wonder. But if she leaves me alone I will leave her alone." + +"You are conceited, Evelyn," said Jasper. "How could that grand and +stately lady be jealous of a little girl like yourself?" + +"I think she is, all the same," replied Evelyn. "And, by the way, +Jasper, I do not care for that tone of yours. Why do you call me a +little girl and speak as though you had no respect for me?" + +"I love you too well to respect you, darling," replied Jasper. + +"Love me too well! But I thought people never loved others unless they +respected them." + +"Yes, but they do," answered Jasper, with a short laugh. "How should I +love you if that was not the case?" + +Evelyn grew red and a puzzled expression flitted across her face. + +"I should like my chocolate," she said, sinking into a chair by the +fire. "Make it for me, please." + +Jasper did so without any comment. It was long past midnight; the little +clock on the mantelpiece pointed with its jeweled hands to twenty +minutes to one. + +"I shall not get up early," said Evelyn. "Aunt Frances was annoyed at my +not being down this morning, but she will have to bear it. You will get +me a very nice breakfast, won't you, dear old Jasper? When I wake you +will have things very cozy, won't you, Jas?" + +"Yes, darling; I'll do what I can. By the way, Evelyn, you ought not to +have let that poor Miss Sylvia come up here and go off by herself." + +Evelyn pouted. + +"I won't be scolded," she said. "You forget your place, Jasper. If you +go on like this it might really be best for you to go." + +"Oh, I meant nothing," said Jasper, in some alarm; "only it did seem--you +will forgive my saying it--not too kind." + +"I like Sylvia," said Evelyn; "she is handsome and she says funny +things. I mean to see a good deal more of her. Now I am sleepy, so you +may help me to get into bed." + +The spoilt child slept in unconscious bliss, and the next morning, +awaking late, desired Jasper to fetch her breakfast. Jasper rang the +bell. After a time a servant appeared. + +"Will you send Miss Wynford's breakfast up immediately?" said Jasper. + +The girl, a neat-looking housemaid, withdrew. She tapped at the door +again in a few minutes. + +"If you please, Miss Jasper," she said, "Lady Frances's orders are that +Miss Evelyn is to get up to breakfast." + +Jasper, with a slight smirk on her face, went into Evelyn's bedroom to +retail this message. Evelyn's face turned the color of chalk with +intense anger. + +"Impertinent woman!" she murmured. "Go down immediately yourself, +Jasper, and bring me up some breakfast. Go--do you hear? I will not be +ruled by Lady Frances." + +Jasper very unwillingly went down-stairs. She returned in about ten +minutes to inform Evelyn that it was quite useless, that Lady Frances +had given most positive orders, and that there was not a servant in the +house who would dare to disobey her. + +"But you would dare," said the angry child. "Why did you not go into the +larder and fetch the things yourself?" + +"The cook took care of that, Miss Evelyn; the larder door was locked." + +"Oh, dear me!" said Evelyn; "and I am so hungry." She began to cry. + +"Had you not better get up, Evelyn?" said the maid. "The servants told +me down-stairs that breakfast would be served in the breakfast-room +to-day up to ten o'clock." + +"Do you think I am going to let her have the victory over me?" said +Evelyn. "No; I shall not stir. I won't go to meals at all if this sort +of thing goes on. Oh, I am cruelly treated! I am--I am! And I am so +desperately hungry! Is not there even any chocolate left, Jasper?" + +"I am sorry to say there is not, dear--you finished it all, to the last +drop, last night; and the tin with the biscuits is empty also. There is +nothing to eat in this room. I am afraid you will have to hurry and +dress yourself--that is, if you want breakfast." + +"I won't stir," said Evelyn--"not if she comes to drag me out of bed with +cart-ropes." + +Jasper stood and stared at her young charge. + +"You are very silly, Miss Evelyn," she said. "You will have to submit to +her ladyship. You are only a very young girl, and you will find that you +cannot fight against her." + +Evelyn now covered her face with her handkerchief, and her sobs became +distressful. + +"Come, dear, come!" said Jasper not unkindly; "let me help you to get +into your clothes." + +But Evelyn pushed her devoted maid away with vigorous hands. + +"Don't touch me. I hate you!" she said.--"Oh mothery, mothery, why did +you die and leave me? Oh, your own little Evelyn is so wretched!" + +"Now, really, Miss Evelyn, I am angry with you. You are a silly child! +You can dress and go down-stairs and have as nice a breakfast as you +please. I heard them talking in the breakfast-room as I went by. They +were such a merry party!" + +"Much they care for me!" said Evelyn. + +"Well, they don't naturally unless you go and make yourself pleasant. +But there, Miss Evelyn! if you don't get up, I cannot do without my +breakfast, so I am going down to the servants' hall." + +"Oh! could not you bring me up a little bit of something, Jasper--even +bread--even dry bread? I don't mind how stale it is, for I am quite +desperately hungry." + +"Well, I'll try if I can smuggle something," said Jasper; "but I do not +believe I can, all the same." + +The woman departed, anxious for her meal. + +She came back in a little over half an hour, to find Evelyn sitting up +in bed, her eyes red from all the tears she had shed, and her face pale. + +"Well," she said, "have you brought up anything?" + +"Only hot water for your bath, my dear. I was not allowed to go off even +with a biscuit." + +"Oh dear! then I'll die--I really shall. You don't know how weak I am! +Aunt Frances will have killed me! Oh, this is too awful!" + +"You had better get up now, Miss Evelyn. You are very fat and stout, my +dear, and missing one meal will not kill you, so don't think it." + +"I know what I do think, Jasper, and that is that you are horrid!" said +Evelyn. + +But she had scarcely uttered the words before there came a low but very +distinct knock on the door. Jasper went to open it. Evelyn's heart began +to beat with a mixture of alarm and triumph. Of course this was some one +coming with her breakfast. Or could it be, possibly---- But no; even Lady +Frances would not go so far as to come to gloat over her victim's +miseries. + +Nevertheless, it was Lady Frances. She walked boldly into the room. + +"You can go, Jasper," she said. "I have something I wish to say to Miss +Wynford." + +Jasper, in considerable annoyance, withdrew, but returned after a minute +and placed her ear to the keyhole. Lady Frances did not greatly mind, +however, whether she was overheard or not. + +"Get up, Evelyn," she said. "Get up at once and dress yourself." + +"I--I don't want to get up," murmured Evelyn. + +"Come! I am waiting." + +Lady Frances sat down on a chair. Her eyes traveled slowly round the +disorderly room; displeasure grew greater in her face. + +"Get up, my dear--get up," she said. "I am waiting." + +"But I don't want to." + +"I am afraid your wanting to or not wanting to makes little or no +difference, Evelyn. I stay here until you get up. You need not hurry +yourself; I will give you until lunch-time if necessary, but until you +get up I stay here." + +"And if," said Evelyn in a tremulous voice, "I don't get up until after +lunch?" + +"Then you do without food; you have nothing to eat until you get up. +Now, do not let us discuss this point any longer; I want to be busy over +my accounts." + +Lady Frances drew a small table towards her, took a note-book and a +Letts's Diary from a bag at her side, and became absorbed in the +irritating task of counting up petty expenses. Lady Frances no more +looked at Evelyn than if she had not existed. The angry little girl in +the bed even ventured to make faces in the direction of the tyrannical +lady; but the tyrannical lady saw nothing. Jasper outside the door found +it no longer interesting to press her ear to the keyhole. She retired in +some trepidation, and presently made herself busy in Evelyn's boudoir. +For half an hour the conflict went on; then, as might be expected, +Evelyn gingerly and with intense dislike put one foot out of bed. + +Lady Frances saw nothing. She was now murmuring softly to herself. She +had long--very long--accounts to add up. + +Evelyn drew the foot back again. + +"Nasty, horrid, horrid thing!" she said to herself. "She shall not have +the victory. But, oh, I am so hungry!" was her next thought; "and she +does mean to conquer me. Oh, if only mothery were alive!" + +At the thought of her mother Evelyn burst into loud sobs. Surely these +would draw pity from that heart of stone! Not at all. Lady Frances went +calmly on with her occupation. + +Finally, Evelyn did get up. She was not accustomed to dressing herself, +and she did so very badly. Lady Frances did not take the slightest +notice. In about half an hour the untidy toilet was complete. Evelyn had +once more donned her crimson velvet dress. + +"I am ready," she said then, and she came up to Lady Frances's side. + +Lady Frances dropped her pencil, raised her eyes, and fixed them on +Evelyn's face. + +"Where do you keep your dresses?" she said. + +"I don't know. Jasper knows." + +"Is Jasper in the next room?" + +"Yes." + +"Go and fetch her." + +Evelyn obeyed. She imagined her head was giddy and that her legs were +too weak to enable her to walk steadily. + +"Jasper, come," she said in a tremulous voice. + +"Poor darling! Poor pet!" muttered Jasper in an injudicious undertone to +her afflicted charge. + +Lady Frances was now standing up. + +"Come here, Jasper," she said. "In which wardrobe do you keep Miss +Wynford's dresses?" + +"In this one, madam." + +"Open it and let me see." + +The maid obeyed. Lady Frances went to the wardrobe and felt amongst +skirts of different colors, different materials, and different degrees +of respectability. Without exception they were all unsuitable; but +presently she chose the least objectionable, an ugly drab frieze, and +lifting it herself from its hook, laid it on the bed. + +"Is there a bodice for this dress?" she asked of the maid. + +"Yes, madam. Miss Evelyn used to wear that on the ranch. She has +outgrown it rather." + +"Put it on your young mistress and let me see her." + +"I won't wear that horrid thing!" said Evelyn. + +"You will wear what I choose." + +Again Evelyn submitted. The dress was put on. It was not becoming, but +was at least quiet in appearance. + +"You will wear that to-day," said her aunt. "I will myself take you into +town this afternoon to get some suitable clothes.--Jasper, I wish Miss +Evelyn's present wardrobe to be neatly packed in her trunks." + +"Yes, madam." + +"No, no, Aunt Frances; you cannot mean it," said Evelyn. + +"My dear, I do.--Before you go, Jasper, I have one thing to say. I am +sorry, but I cannot help myself. Your late mistress wished you to remain +with Miss Wynford. I grieve to say that you are not the kind of person I +should wish to have the charge of her. I will myself get a suitable maid +to look after the young lady, and you can go this afternoon. I will pay +you well. I am sorry for this; it sounds cruel, but it is really cruel +to be kind.--Now, Evelyn, what is the matter?" + +"Only I hate you! Oh, how I hate you!" said Evelyn. "I wish mothery were +alive that she might fight you! Oh, you are a horrid woman! How I hate +you!" + +"When you come to yourself, Evelyn, and you are inclined to apologize +for your intemperate words, you can come down-stairs, where your belated +breakfast awaits you." + + + + +CHAPTER X.--JASPER WAS TO GO. + + +What will not hunger--real, healthy hunger--effect? Lady Frances, after +her last words, swept out of the room; and Jasper, her bosom heaving, +her black eyes flashing angry fire, looked full at her little charge. +What would Evelyn do now? The spoilt child, who could scarcely brook the +smallest contradiction, who had declined to get up even to breakfast, to +do without Jasper! To allow her friend Jasper to be torn from her +arms--Jasper, who had been her mother's dearest companion, who had sworn +to that mother that she would not leave Evelyn come what might, that she +would protect her against the tyrant aunt and the tyrant uncle, that if +necessary she would fight for her with the power which the law bestows! +Oh, what an awful moment had arrived! Jasper was to go. What would +Evelyn do now? + +Evelyn's first impulse had been all that was satisfactory. Her fury had +burst forth in wild, indignant words. But now, when the child and the +maid found themselves alone, Jasper waited in expectancy which was +almost certainty. Evelyn would not submit to this? She and her charge +would leave Castle Wynford together that very day. If they were +eventually parted, the law should part them. + +Still Evelyn was silent. + +"Oh Eve--my dear Miss Evelyn--my treasure!" said the afflicted woman. + +"Yes, Jasper?" said Evelyn then. "It is an awful nuisance." + +"A nuisance! Is that all you have got to say?" + +Evelyn rubbed her eyes. + +"I won't submit, of course," she said. "No, I won't submit for a minute. +But, Jasper, I must have some breakfast; I am too hungry for anything. +Perhaps you had better take all my darling, lovely clothes; and if you +have to go, Jasper, I'll--I'll never forget you; but I'll talk to you +more about it when I have had something to eat." + +Evelyn turned and left the room. She was in an ugly dress, beyond doubt, +but in her neat black shoes and stockings, and with her fair hair tied +back according to Lady Frances's directions, she looked rather more +presentable than she had done the previous day. She entered the +breakfast-room. The remains of a meal still lay upon the table. Evelyn +looked impatiently round. Surely some one ought to appear--a servant at +the very least! Hot tea she required, hot coffee, dishes nicely cooked +and tempting and fresh. The little girl went to the bell and rang it. A +footman appeared. + +"Get my breakfast immediately," said Evelyn. + +The man withdrew, endeavoring to hide a smile. Evelyn's conduct in +daring to defy Lady Frances had been the amusement of the servants' hall +that morning. The man went to the kitchen premises now with the +announcement that "miss" had come to her senses. + +"She is as white as a sheet, and looks as mad as a hatter," said the +man; "but her spirit ain't broke. My word! she 'ave got a will of her +own. 'My breakfast, immediate,' says she, as though she were the lady of +the manor." + +"Which she will be some day," said cook; "and I 'ates to think of it. +Our beautiful Miss Audrey supplanted by the like of her. There, Johnson! +my missus said that Miss Wynford was to have quite a plain breakfast, so +take it up--do." + +Toast, fresh tea, and one solitary new-laid egg were placed on a tray +and brought up to the breakfast-room. + +Evelyn sat down without a word, poured herself out some tea, ate every +crumb of toast, finished her egg, and felt refreshed. She had just +concluded her meal when Audrey, accompanied by Arthur Jervice, ran into +the room. + +"Oh, I say, Evelyn," cried Audrey, "you are the very person that we +want. We are getting up charades for to-night; will you join us?" + +"Yes, do, please," said Arthur. "And we are most anxious that Sylvia +should join too." + +"I wish I knew her address," said Audrey. "She is such a mystery! Mother +is rather disturbed about her. I am afraid, Arthur, we cannot have her +to-night; we must manage without.--But will you join us, Evelyn? Do you +know anything about acting?" + +"I have never acted, but I have seen plays," said Evelyn. "I am sure I +can manage all right. I'll do my best if you will give me a big part. I +won't take a little part, for it would not be suitable." + +Audrey colored and laughed. + +"Well, come, anyway, and we will do our best for you," she said. "Have +you finished your breakfast? The rest of us are in my schoolroom. You +have not been introduced to it yet. Come if you are ready; we are all +waiting." + +After her miserable morning, Evelyn considered this an agreeable change. +She had intended to go up-stairs to comfort Jasper, but really and truly +Jasper must wait. She accordingly went with her cousin, and was welcomed +by all the children, who pitied her and wanted to make her as much at +home as possible. A couple of charades were discussed, and Evelyn was +thoroughly satisfied with the _role_ assigned her. She was a clever +child enough, and had some powers of mimicry. As the different +arrangements were being made she suddenly remembered something, and +uttered a cry. + +"Oh dear!" she said--"oh dear! What a pity!" + +"What is it now, Evelyn?" asked her cousin. + +"Why, your mother is so--I suppose I ought not to say it--your +mother--I---- There! I must not say that either. Your mother----" + +"Oh, for goodness' sake speak out!" said Audrey. "What has poor, dear +mother done?" + +"She is sending Jasper away; she is--she is. Oh, can I bear it? Don't you +think it is awful of her?" + +"I am sorry for you," said Audrey. + +"Jasper would be so useful," continued Evelyn. "She is such a splendid +actress; she could help me tremendously. I do wish she could stay even +till to-morrow. Cannot you ask Aunt Frances--cannot you, Audrey? I wish +you would." + +"I must not, Evelyn; mother cannot brook interference. She would not +dream of altering her plans just for a play.--Well," she added, looking +round at the rest of her guests, "I think we have arranged everything +now; we must meet here not later than three o'clock for rehearsal. Who +would like to go out?" she added. "The morning is lovely." + +The boys and girls picked up hats and cloaks and ran out immediately +into the grounds. Evelyn took the first covering she could find, and +joined the others. + +"They ought to consult me more," she said to herself. "I see there is no +help for it; I must live here for a bit and put Audrey down--that at +least is due to me. But when next there are people here I shall be +arranging the charades, and I shall invite them to go out into the +grounds. It is a great bother about Jasper; but there! she must bear it, +poor dear. She will be all right when I tell her that I will get her +back when the Castle belongs to me." + +Meanwhile Arthur, remembering his promise to Sylvia, ran away from where +the others were standing. The boy ran fast, hoping to see Sylvia. He had +taken a great fancy to her bright, dark eyes and her vivacious ways. + +"She promised to meet me," he said to himself. "She is certain to keep +her word." + +By and by he uttered a loud "Hullo!" and a slim young figure, in a +shabby crimson cloak, turned and came towards him. + +"Oh, it is you, Arthur!" said Sylvia. "Well, and how are they all?" + +"Quite well," replied the boy. "We are going to have charades to-night, +and I am to be the doctor in one. It is rather a difficult part, and I +hope I shall do it right. I never played in a charade before. That +little monkey Evelyn is to be the patient. I do hope she will behave +properly and not spoil everything. She is such an extraordinary child! +And of course she ought to have had quite one of the most unimportant +parts, but she would not hear of it. I wish you were going to play in +the charade, Sylvia." + +"I have often played in charades," said Sylvia, with a quick sigh. + +"Have you? How strange! You seem to have done everything." + +"I have done most things that girls of my age have done." + +Arthur looked at her with curiosity. There was--he could not help +noticing it, and he blushed very vividly as he did see--a very roughly +executed patch on the side of her shoe. On the other shoe, too, the toes +were worn white. They were shabby shoes, although the little feet they +encased were neat enough, with high insteps and narrow, tapering toes. +Sylvia knew quite well what was passing in Arthur's mind. After a moment +she spoke. + +"You wonder why I look poor," she said. "Sometimes, Arthur, appearances +deceive. I am not poor. It is my pleasure to wear very simple clothes, +and to eat very plain food, and----" + +"Not pleasure!" said Arthur. "You don't look as if it were your +pleasure. Why, Sylvia, I do believe you are hungry now!" + +Poor Sylvia was groaning inwardly, so keen was her hunger. + +"And I am as peckish as I can be," said the boy, a rapid thought +flashing through his mind. "The village is only a quarter of a mile from +here, and I know there are tuck-shops. Why should we not go and have a +lark all by ourselves? Who's to know, and who's to care? Will you come, +Sylvia?" + +"No, I cannot," replied Sylvia; "it is impossible. Thank you very much +indeed, Arthur. I am so glad to have seen you! I must go home, however, +in a minute or two. I was out all day yesterday, and there is a great +deal to be done." + +"But may I not come with you? Cannot I help you?" + +"No, thank you; indeed I could not possibly have you. It is very good of +you to offer, but I cannot have you, and I must not tell you why." + +"You do look so sad! Are you sure you cannot join the charades +to-night?" + +"Sure--certain," said Sylvia, with a little gasp. "And I am not sad," she +added; "there never was any one more merry. Listen to me now; I am going +to laugh the echoes up." + +They were standing where a defile of rocks stretched away to their left. +The stream ran straight between the narrow opening. The girl slightly +changed her position, raised her hand, and called out a clear "Hullo!" +It was echoed back from many points, growing fainter and fainter as it +died away. + +"And now you say I am not merry!" she exclaimed. "Listen." + +She laughed a ringing laugh. There never was anything more musical than +the way that laughter was taken up, as if there were a thousand sprites +laughing too. Sylvia turned her white face and looked full at Arthur. + +"Oh, I am such a merry girl!" she said, "and such a glad one! and such a +thankful one! And I am rich--not poor--but I like simple things. Good-by, +Arthur, for the present." + +"I will come and see you again. You are quite wonderful!" he said. "I +wish mother knew you. And I wish my sister Moss were here; I wish she +knew you." + +"Moss! What a curious name!" said Sylvia. + +"We have always called her that. She is just like moss, so soft and yet +so springy; so comfortable, and yet you dare not take too much liberty +with her. She is fragile, too, and mother had to take great care of her. +I should like you to see her; she would----" + +"What would she do?" asked Sylvia. + +"She would understand you; she would draw part at least of the trouble +away." + +"Oh! don't, Arthur--don't, don't read me like that," said the girl. + +The tears just dimmed her eyes. She dashed them away, laughed again +merrily, and the next moment had turned the corner and was lost to view. + + + + +CHAPTER XI.--"I CANNOT ALTER MY PLANS." + + +Immediately after lunch Lady Frances beckoned Evelyn to her side. + +"Go up-stairs and ask Jasper to dress you," she said. "The carriage will +be round in a few minutes." + +Evelyn wanted to expostulate. She looked full at Audrey. Surely Audrey +would protect her from the terrible infliction of a long drive alone +with Lady Frances! Audrey did catch Evelyn's beseeching glance; she took +a step forward. + +"Do you particularly want Evelyn this afternoon, mother?" she asked. + +"Yes, dear; if I did not want her I should not ask her to come with me." + +Lady Frances's words were very impressive; Audrey stood silent. + +"Please tell her--please tell her!" interrupted Evelyn in a voice +tremulous with passion. + +"We are going to have charades to-night, mother, and Evelyn's part is +somewhat important; we are all to rehearse in the schoolroom at three +o'clock." + +"And my part is very important," interrupted Evelyn again. + +"I am sorry," said Lady Frances, "but Evelyn must come with me. Is there +no one else to take the part, Audrey?" + +"Yes, mother; Sophie could do it. She has a very small part, and she is +a good actress, and Evelyn could easily do Sophie's part; but, all the +same, it will disappoint Eve." + +"I am sorry for that," said Lady Frances; "but I cannot alter my plans. +Give Sophie the part that Evelyn would have taken; Evelyn can take her +part.--You will have plenty of time, Evelyn, when you return to coach for +the small part." + +"Yes, you will, Evelyn; but I am sorry, all the same," said Audrey, and +she turned away. + +Evelyn's lips trembled. She stood motionless; then she slowly revolved +round, intending to fire some very angry words into Lady Frances's face; +but, lo and behold! there was no Lady Frances there. She had gone +up-stairs while Evelyn was lost in thought. + +Very quietly the little girl went up to her own room. Jasper, her eyes +almost swollen out of her head with crying, was there to wait on her. + +"I have been packing up, Miss Evelyn," she said. "I am to go this +afternoon. Her ladyship has made all arrangements, and a cab is to come +from the 'Green Man' in the village to fetch me and my luggage at +half-past three. It is almost past belief, Miss Eve, that you and me +should be parted like this." + +"You look horrid, Jasper, when you cry so hard!" said Evelyn. "Oh, of +course I am awfully sorry; I do not know how I shall live without you." + +"You will miss me a good bit," said the woman. "I am surprised, though, +that you should take it as you do. If you raised your voice and started +the whole place in an uproar you would be bound to have your own way. +But as it is, you are mum as you please; never a word out of you either +of sorrow or anything else, but off you go larking with those children +and forgetting the one who has made you, mended you, and done everything +on earth for you since long before your mother died." + +"Don't remind me of mothery now," said the girl, and her lips trembled; +then she added in a changed voice: "I cannot help it, Jasper. I have +been fighting ever since I came here, and I want to fight--oh, most +badly, most desperately!--but somehow the courage has gone out of me. I +am ever so sorry for you, Jasper, but I cannot help myself; I really +cannot." + +Jasper was silent. After a time she said slowly: + +"And your mother wrote a letter on her deathbed asking Lady Frances to +let me stay with you whatever happened." + +"I know," said Evelyn. "It is awful of her; it really is." + +"And do you think," continued the woman, "I am going to submit?" + +"Why, you must, Jasper. You cannot stay if they do not wish for you. And +you have got all your wages, have you not?" + +"I have, my dear; I have. Yes," continued the woman; "she thinks, of +course, that I am satisfied, and that I am going as mum as a mouse and +as quiet as the grave, but she is fine and mistook; I ain't doing +nothing of the sort. Go I must, but not far. I have a plan in my head. +It may come to nothing; but if it does come to something, as I hope to +goodness it will, then you will hear of me again, my pet, and I won't be +far off to protect you if the time should come that you need me. And +now, what do you want of me, my little lamb, for your face is piteous to +see?" + +"I am a miserable girl," said Evelyn. "I could cry for hours, but there +is no time. Dress me, then, for the last time, Jasper. Oh, Jasper +darling, I am fond of you!" + +Evelyn's stoical, hard sort of nature seemed to give way at this +juncture; she flung her arms round her maid's neck and kissed her many +times passionately. The woman kissed her, too, in a hungry sort of way. + +"You are really not going far away, Jasper?" said Evelyn when, dressed +in her coat and hat, she was ready to start. + +"My plans are laid but not made yet," said the woman. "You will hear +from me likely to-morrow, my love. And now, good-by. I have packed all +your things in the trunks they came in, and the wardrobe is empty. Oh, +my pet, my pet, good-by! Who will look after you to-night, and who will +sleep in the little white bed alongside of you? Oh, my darling, the +spirit of your Jasper is broke, that it is!" + +"Evelyn!" called her aunt, who was passing her room at that moment, "the +carriage is at the door. Come at once." + +Evelyn ran down-stairs. She wore a showy, unsuitable hat and a showy, +unsuitable jacket. She got quickly into the carriage, and flopped down +by the side of the stately Lady Frances. + +Lady Frances was a very judicious woman in her way. She reprimanded +whenever in her opinion it was necessary to reprimand, but she never +nagged. It needed but a glance to show her that Evelyn required to be +educated in every form of good-breeding, and that education the good +woman fully intended to take in hand without a moment's delay, but she +did not intend to find fault moment by moment. She said nothing, +therefore, either in praise or blame to the small, awkward, conceited +little girl by her side; but she gave orders to stop at Simpson's in the +High Street, and the carriage started briskly forward. Wynford Castle +was within half a mile of the village which was called after it, and +five miles away from a large and very important cathedral town--the +cathedral town of Easterly. During the drive Lady Frances chatted in the +sort of tone she would use to a small girl, and Evelyn gave short and +sulky replies. Finding that her conversation was not interesting to her +small guest, the good lady became silent and wrapped up in her own +thoughts. Presently they arrived at Simpson's, and there the lady and +the child got out and entered the shop. Evelyn was absolutely bewildered +by the amount of things which her aunt ordered for her. It is true that +she had had, as Jasper expressed it, quite a small trousseau when in +Paris; but during her mother's lifetime her dresses had come to her +slowly and with long intervals between. Mrs. Wynford had been a showy +but by no means a good dresser; she loved the gayest, most bizarre +colors, and she delighted in adorning her child with bits of feathers, +scraps of shabby lace, beads, and such-like decorations. After her +mother's death, when Evelyn, considered herself rich, she and Jasper +purchased the same sort of things, only using better materials. Thus the +thin silk was exchanged for thick silk, cotton-back satin for the real +article, velveteen for velvet, cheap lace for real lace, and the gaily +colored beads for gold chains and strings of pearls. Nothing in Evelyn's +opinion and nothing in Jasper's opinion could be more exquisitely +beautiful than the toilet which Evelyn brought to Castle Wynford; but +Lady Frances evidently thought otherwise. She ordered a dark-blue serge, +with a jacket to match, to be put in hand immediately for the little +girl; she bought a dark-gray dress, ready made, which was to be sent +home that same evening. She got a neat black hat to wear with the dress, +and a thick black pilot-cloth jacket to cover the small person of the +heiress. As to her evening-dresses, she chose them of fine, soft white +silk and fine, soft muslin; and then, having added a large store of +underclothing, all of the best quality, and one or two pale-pink and +pale-blue evening-frocks, all severely plain, she got once more into her +carriage, and, accompanied by Evelyn, drove home. On the seat in front +of the pair reposed a box which contained a very simple white muslin +frock for Evelyn to wear that evening. + +"I suppose Jasper will have gone when I get back?" said the little girl +to Lady Frances. + +"Certainly," said Lady Frances. "I ordered her to be out of the house by +half-past three; it is now past five o'clock." + +"What am I to do for a maid?" + +"My servant Read shall wait on you to-night and every evening and +morning until our guests have gone; then Audrey's maid Louisa will +attend on you." + +"But I want a maid all to myself." + +"You cannot have one. Louisa will give you what assistance is necessary. +I presume you do not want to be absolutely dependent; you would like to +be able to do things for yourself." + +"In mother's time I did everything for myself, but now it is different. +I am a very, very rich girl now." + +Lady Frances was silent when Evelyn made this remark. + +"I am rich, am I not, Aunt Frances?" said the little heiress almost +timidly. + +"I cannot see where the riches come in, Evelyn. At the present moment +you depend on your uncle for every penny that is spent upon you." + +"But I am the heiress!" + +"Let the future take care of itself. You are a little girl--small, +insignificant, and ignorant. You require to be trained and looked after, +and to have your character moulded, and for all these things you depend +on the kindness of your relations. The fact is this, Evelyn: at present +you have not the slightest idea of your true position. When you find +your level I shall have hopes of you--not before." + +Evelyn leant back hopelessly in the carriage and began to sob. After a +time she said: + +"I wish you would let me keep Jasper." + +Lady Frances was silent. + +"Why won't you let me keep Jasper?" + +"I do not consider it good for you." + +"But mothery asked you to." + +"It gives me pain, Evelyn, under the circumstances to refuse your +mother's request; but I have consulted your uncle, and we both feel that +the steps I have taken are the only ones to take." + +"Who will sleep in my room to-night?" + +"Are you such a baby as to need anybody?" + +"I never slept alone in my life. I am quite terrified. I suppose your +big, ancient house is haunted?" + +"Oh, what a silly child you are! Very well, for a night or two I will +humor you, and Read shall sleep in the room; but now clearly understand +I allow no bedroom suppers and no gossip--but Read will see to that. Now, +make up your mind to be happy and contented--in short, to submit to the +life which Providence has ordered for you. Think first of others and +last of yourself and you may be happy. Consult Audrey and Miss Sinclair +and you will gain wisdom. Obey me whether you like it or not, or you +will certainly be a very wretched girl. Ah! and here we are. You would +like to go to the schoolroom; they are having tea there, I believe. Run +off, dear; that will do for the present." + +When Evelyn reached the schoolroom she found a busy and animated group +all seated about in different parts of it. They were eagerly discussing +the charade, and when Evelyn arrived she was welcomed. + +"I am ever so sorry, Evelyn," said Audrey, "that you cannot have the +part you wanted; but we mean to get up some other charades later on in +the week, and then you shall help us and have a very good part. You do +not mind our arrangement for to-night, do you?" + +Evelyn replied somewhat sulkily. Audrey determined to take no notice. +She sat down by her little cousin, told Sophie to fetch some hot tea, +and soon coaxed Evelyn into a fairly good-humor. The small part she was +to undertake was read over to her, and she was obliged to get certain +words by heart. She had little or no idea of acting, but there was a +certain calm assurance about her which would carry her through many +difficulties. The children, incited by Audrey's example, were determined +to pet her and make the best of her; and when she did leave the +schoolroom she felt almost as happy and important as she thought she +ought to be. + +"What a horrid girl she is!" said Sophie as soon as the door had closed +behind Evelyn. + +"I wish you would not say that," remarked Audrey; and a look of distress +visited her pretty face. + +"Oh, we do not mind for ourselves," remarked Juliet; "it is on your +account, Audrey. You know what great friends we have always been, and +now to have you associated every day, and all day long with a girl of +that sort--it really seems almost past bearing." + +"I shall get used to it," said Audrey. "And remember that I pity her, +and am sorry--very sorry--for her. I dare say we shall win her over by +being kind." + +"Well," said Henrietta, rising as she spoke and slowly crossing the +room, "I have promised to be civil to her for your sake for a day or +two, but I vow it will not last long if she gives herself such +ridiculous airs. The idea of her ever having a place like this!" + +She said the last words below her breath, and Audrey did not hear them. +Presently her mother called her, and the young girl ran off. The others +looked at each other. + +"Well, Arthur, and what is filling your mind?" said his sister +Henrietta, looking into the face of the handsome boy. + +"I am thinking of Sylvia," he answered. "I wish she were here instead of +Evelyn. Don't you like her very much, Hennie? Don't you think she is a +very handsome and very interesting girl?" + +"I hardly spoke to her," replied Henrietta. "I saw you were taken with +her." + +"She was mysterious; that is one reason why I like her," he replied. +Then he added abruptly: "I wish you would make friends with her, +Henrietta. I wish you, and Juliet too, could be specially kind to her; +she looks so very sad." + +"I never saw a merrier girl," was Juliet's reply. "But then, I don't see +people with your eyes; you are always a good one at guessing people's +secrets." + +"I take after Moss in that," he replied. + +"There never was any one like her," said Juliet. "Well, I am going to +dress now. I hope the charade will go off well. What a blessing Lady +Frances came to the rescue and delivered us from Evelyn's spoiling +everything by taking a good part!" + +Meanwhile Evelyn had gone up to her room. It was neat and in perfect +order once more. Jasper's brief reign had passed and left no sign. The +fire burned brightly on the carefully swept-up hearth; the electric +light made the room bright as day. A neat, grave-looking woman was +standing by the fire, and when Evelyn appeared she came forward to meet +her. + +"My name is Mrs. Read," she said. "I am my mistress's own special maid, +but she has asked me to see to your toilet this evening, Miss Wynford; +and this, I understand, is the dress her ladyship wishes you to wear." + +Evelyn pouted; then she tossed off her hat and looked full up at Read. +Her lips quivered, and a troubled, pathetic light for the first time +filled her brown eyes. + +"Where is Jasper?" she asked abruptly. + +"Miss Jasper has left, my dear young lady." + +"Then I hate you, and I don't want you to dress me. You can go away," +said Evelyn. + +"I am sorry, Miss Wynford, but her ladyship's orders are that I am to +attend to your wardrobe. Perhaps you will allow me to do your hair and +put on your dress at once, as her ladyship wants me to go to her a +little later." + +"You will do nothing of the kind. I will dress myself now that Jasper +has gone." + +"And a good thing too, miss. Young ladies ought always to make +themselves useful. The more you know, the better off you will be; that +is my opinion." + +Evelyn looked full up at Read. Read had a kindly face, calm blue eyes, a +firm, imperturbable sort of mouth. She wore her hair very neatly banded +on each side of her head. Her dress was perfectly immaculate. There was +nothing out of place; she looked, in short, like the very soul of order. + +"Do you know who I am?" was Evelyn's remark. + +"Certainly I do, Miss Wynford." + +"Please tell me." + +The glimmer of a smile flitted across Read's calm mouth. + +"You are a young lady from Tasmania, niece to the Squire, and you have +come over here to be educated with Miss Audrey--bless her!" + +"Is that all you know!" said Evelyn. "Then I will tell you more. There +will come a day when your Miss Audrey will have nothing to do with the +Castle, and when I shall have everything to do with it. I am to be +mistress here any day, whenever my uncle dies." + +"My dear Miss Wynford, don't speak like that! The Squire is safe to +live, Providence permitting, for many a long year." + +Evelyn sat down again. + +"I think my aunt, Lady Frances, one of the cruellest women in the +world," she continued. "Now you know what I think, and you can tell her, +you nasty cross-patch. You can go away and tell her at once. I longed to +say so to her face when I was out driving to-day, but she has got the +upper hand of me, although she is not going to keep it. I don't want you +to help me; I hate you nearly as much as I hate her!" + +Read looked as though she did not hear a single remark that Evelyn made. +She crossed the room, and presently returned with a can of hot water and +poured some into a basin. + +"Now, miss," she said, "if you will wash your face and hands, I will +arrange your hair." + +There was something in her tone which reduced Evelyn to silence. + +"Did you not hear what I said?" she remarked after a minute. + +"No, miss; it may be more truthful to say I did not. When young ladies +talk silly, naughty words I have a 'abit of shutting up my ears; so it +ain't no manner of use to talk on to me, miss, for I don't hear, and I +won't hear, and that is flat. If you will come now, like a good little +lady, and allow yourself to be dressed, I have a bit of a surprise for +you; but you will not know about it before your toilet is complete." + +"A bit of a surprise!" said Evelyn, who was intensely curious. "What in +the world can it be?" + +"I will tell you when you are dressed, miss; and I must ask you to +hurry, for my mistress is waiting for me." + +If Evelyn had one overweening failing more than another, it was +inordinate curiosity. She rose, therefore, and submitted with a very bad +grace to Read's manipulations. Her face and hands were washed, and Read +proceeded to brush out the scanty flaxen locks. + +"Are you not going to pile my hair on the top of my head?" asked the +little girl. + +"Oh dear, no, Miss Wynford; that ain't at all the way little ladies of +your age wear their hair." + +"I always wore it like that when I was in Tasmania with mothery!" + +"Tasmania is not England, miss. It would not suit her ladyship for you +to wear your hair so." + +"Then I won't wear it any other way." + +"As you please, miss. I can put on your dress, and you can arrange your +hair yourself, but I won't give you what will be a bit of a surprise to +you." + +"Oh, do it as you please," said Evelyn. + +Her hair, very pretty in itself, although far too thin to make much +show, was accordingly arranged in childish fashion; and when Evelyn +presently found herself arrayed in her high-bodied and long-sleeved +white muslin dress, with white silk stockings and little silk shoes to +match, and a white sash round her waist, she gazed at herself in the +glass in puzzled wonder. + +Read stood for a moment watching her face. + +"I am pretty, am I not?" said Evelyn, turning and looking full at her +maid. + +"It is best not to think of looks, and it is downright sinful to talk of +them," was Read's somewhat severe answer. + +Evelyn's eyes twinkled. + +"I feel like a very good, pretty little girl," she said. "Last night I +was a charming grown-up young lady. Very soon again I shall be a +charming grown-up young lady, and whether Aunt Frances likes it or not, +I shall be much, much better-looking than Audrey. Now, please, I have +been good, and I want what you said you had for me." + +"It is a letter from Jasper," replied Read. "She told me I was to give +it to you. Now, please, miss, don't make yourself untidy. You look very +nice and suitable. When the gong rings you can go down-stairs, or sooner +if your fancy takes you. I am going off now to attend to my mistress." + +When alone, Evelyn tore open the letter which Jasper had left for her. +It was short, and ran as follows: + + My darling, precious Lamb,--The best friends must part, but, oh, it + is a black, black heart that makes it necessary! My heart is + bleeding to think that you won't have me to make your chocolate, and + to lie down in the little white bed by your side this evening. Yes, + it is bleeding, and bleeding badly, and there will be no blessing on + her who has tried to part us. But, Miss Evelyn, my dear, don't you + fret, for though I am away I do not mean to be far away, and when + you want me I will still be there. I have a plan in my head, and I + will let you know about it when it is properly laid. No more at + present, but if you think of me every minute to-night, so will I + think of you, my dear little white Eve; and don't forget, darling, + that whatever they may do to you, the time will come when they will + all, the Squire excepted, be under your thumb. + --Your loving + "Jasper." + +The morsel of content and satisfaction which Evelyn had felt when she +saw herself looking like a nice, ordinary little girl, and when she had +sat in the schoolroom surrounded by all the gay young folks of her +cousin's station in life, vanished completely as she read Jasper's +injudicious words. Tears flowed from her eyes; she clenched her hands. +She danced passionately about the room. She longed to tear from her +locks the white ribbons which Read had arranged there; she longed to get +into the white satin dress which she had worn on the previous occasion; +she longed to do anything on earth to defy Lady Frances; but, alack and +alas! what good were longings when the means of yielding to them were +denied?--for all that precious and fascinating wardrobe had been put into +Evelyn's traveling-trunks, and those trunks had been conveyed from the +blue-and-silver bedroom. The little girl found that she had to submit. + +"Well, I do--I do," she thought--"but only outwardly. Oh, she will never +break me in! Mothery darling, she will never break me in. I am going to +be naughty always, always, because she is so cruel, and because I hate +her, and because she has parted me from Jasper--your friend, my darling +mothery, your friend!" + + + + +CHAPTER XII.--HUNGER. + + +When Jasper was conveyed from Wynford Castle she drove to the "Green +Man" in the village. There she asked the landlady if she could give her +a small bedroom for the night. The landlady, a certain Mrs. Simpson, was +quite willing to oblige Miss Jasper. She was accommodated with a +bedroom, and having seen her boxes deposited there, wandered about the +village. She took the bearings of the place, which was small and +unimportant, and altogether devoted to the interests of the great folks +at Castle Wynford. Wynford village lived, indeed, for the Castle; +without the big house, as they called it, the villagers would have +little or no existence. The village received its patronage from the +Squire and his family. Every house in the village belonged to Squire +Wynford. The inhabitants regarded him as if he were their feudal lord. +He was kindly to all, sympathetic in sorrow, ready to rejoice when +bright moments visited each or any of his tenants. Lady Frances was an +admirable almoner of the different charities which came from the great +house. There was not a poor woman in the length and breadth of Wynford +village who was not perfectly well aware that her ladyship knew all +about her, even to her little sins and her small transgressions; all +about her struggles as well as her falls, her temptations as well as her +moments of victory. Lady Frances was loved and feared; the Squire was +loved and respected; Audrey was loved in the sort of passionate way in +which people will regard the girl who always has been to them more or +less a little princess. Therefore now, as Jasper walked slowly through +the village with the fading light falling all over her, she knew she was +a person of interest. Beyond doubt that was the case; but although the +villagers were interested in her, and peeped outside their houses to +watch her (even the grocer, who did a roaring trade, and took the tenor +solo on Sunday in the church choir, peered round his doorstep with the +others), she knew that she was favored with no admiring looks, and that +the villagers one and all were prepared to fight her. That was indeed +the case, for secrets are no secrets where a great family are concerned, +and the villagers knew that Jasper had come over from the other side of +the world with the real heiress. + +"A dowdy, ill-favored girl," they said one to the other; "but +nevertheless, when the Squire--bless him!--is gathered to his fathers, she +will reign in his stead, and sweet, darling, beautiful Miss Audrey will +be nowhere." + +They said this, repeating the disagreeable news one to the other, and +vowing each and all that they would never care for the Australian girl, +and never give her a welcome. + +As Jasper slowly walked she was conscious of the feeling of hostility +which surrounded her. + +"It won't do," she said to herself. "I meant to take up my abode at the +'Green Man,' and I meant that no one in the place should turn me out, +but I do not believe I shall be able to continue there; and yet, to go +far away from my sweet little Eve is not to be thought of. I have money +of my own. Her mother was a wise woman when she said to me, 'Jasper, the +time may come when you will need it; and although it belongs to Eve, you +must spend it as you think best in her service.' + +"It ain't much," thought Jasper to herself, "but it is sixty pounds, and +I have it in gold sovereigns, scattered here and there in my big black +trunk, and I mean to spend it in watching over the dear angel lamb. Mrs. +Simpson of the 'Green Man' would be the better of it, but she sha'n't +have much of it--of that I am resolved." + +So Jasper presently left the village and began strolling in the +direction where the river Earn flows between dark rocks until it loses +itself in a narrow stream among the peaceful hills. In that direction +lay The Priory, with its thick yew hedge and its shut-in appearance. + +As Jasper continued her walk she knew nothing of the near neighborhood +of The Priory, and no one in all the world was farther from her thoughts +than the pretty, tall slip of a girl who lived there. + +Now, it so happened that Sylvia was taking her walks abroad also in the +hour of dusk. It was one of her peculiarities never to spend an hour +that she could help indoors. She had to sleep indoors, and she had to +take what food she could manage to secure also under the roof which she +so hated; but, come rain or shine, storm or calm, every scrap of the +rest of her time was spent wandering about. To the amount of fresh air +which she breathed she owed her health and a good deal of her beauty. +She was out now as usual, her big mastiff, Pilot, bearing her company. +She was never afraid where she wandered with this protection, for Pilot +was a dog of sagacity, and would soon make matters too hot for any one +who meant harm to his young mistress. + +Sylvia walked slowly. She was thinking hard. "What a delightful time she +was having twenty-four hours ago! What a good dinner she was about to +eat! How pleasant it was to wear Audrey's pretty dress! How delightful +to dance in the hall and talk to Arthur Jervice! She wondered what his +sister with the curious name was like. How beautiful his face looked +when he spoke of her! + +"She must be lovely too," thought Sylvia. "And so restful! There is +nothing so cool and comfortable and peaceful as a mossy bank. I suppose +she is called Moss because she comforts people." + +Sylvia hurried a little. Presently she stood and looked around her to be +sure that no one was by. She then deliberately tightened her belt. + +"It makes me feel the pangs less," she thought. "Oh dear, how +delightful, how happy those must be who are never, never hungry! +Sometimes I can scarcely bear it; I almost feel that I could steal +something to have a big, big meal. What a lot I ate last night, and how +I longed to pocket even that great hunch of bread which was placed near +my plate! But I did not dare. I thought my big meal would keep off my +hunger to-day, but I believe it has made it worse than ever. I must have +a straight talk with father to-night. I must tell him plainly that, +however coarse the food, I must at least have enough of it. Oh dear, I +ache--I _ache_ for a good meal!" + +The poor girl stood still. Footsteps were heard approaching. They were +now close by. Pilot pricked up his ears and listened. A moment later +Jasper appeared on the scene. + +When she saw Sylvia she stopped, dropped a little courtesy, and said in +a semi-familiar tone: + +"And how are you this evening, Miss Leeson?" + +Sylvia had not seen her as she approached. The girl started now and +turned quickly round. + +"You are Jasper?" she said. "What are you doing here?" + +"Taking the air, miss. Have you any objection?" + +"None, of course," replied Sylvia. + +Had there been light enough to see, Jasper would have noticed that the +girl's face took on a cheerful expression. She laid her hand on Pilot's +forehead. Pilot growled. Sylvia said to him: + +"Be quiet; this is a friend." + +Pilot evidently understood the words. He wagged his bushy tail and +looked in Jasper's direction. Jasper came boldly up and laid her hand +beside Sylvia's on the dog's forehead. The tail wagged more +demonstratively. + +"You have won him," said Sylvia in a tone of delight. "Do you know, I am +glad, although I cannot tell why I should be." + +"He looks as if he could be very formidable," said Jasper.--"Ah, good +dog--good dog! Noble creature! So I am your friend? Good dog!" + +"But it must be rather unpleasant for visitors to come to call on you, +Miss Sylvia, with such a dog as that loose about the place. Now, I, for +instance----" + +"If you had a message from Evelyn for me," said Sylvia, "you could call +now with impunity. Strangers cannot; that is why father keeps Pilot. He +is trained never to touch any one, but he is also trained to keep every +one out. He does that in the best manner possible. He stands right in +the person's path and shows his big fangs and growls. Nobody would dream +of going past him; but you would be safe." + +Jasper stood silent. + +"It may be useful," she repeated. + +"You have not come now with a message from Evelyn?" said Sylvia, a +pathetic tone in her voice. + +"No, miss, I have not; but do you know, miss--do you know what has +happened to me?" + +"How should I?" replied Sylvia. + +"I am turned out, miss--turned out by her ladyship--I who had a letter +from Mrs. Wynford in Tasmania asking her ladyship to keep me always as +my little Evelyn's friend and nurse and guardian. Yes, Miss Sylvia, I am +turned away as though I were dirt. I am turned away, miss, although it +was only yesterday that her ladyship got the letter which the dying +mother wrote. It is hard, is it not, Miss Leeson? It is cruel, is it +not?" + +"Hard and cruel!" echoed Sylvia. "It is worse. It is a horrible sin. I +wonder you stand it!" + +"Now, miss, for such a pretty young lady I wonder you have not more +sense. Do you think I'd go if I could help it?" + +"What does Evelyn say?" asked Sylvia, intensely excited. + +"What does she say? Nothing. She is stunned, I take it; but she will +wake up and know what it means. No chocolate, and no one to sleep in the +little white bed by her side." + +"Oh, how she must enjoy her chocolate!" said poor Sylvia, a sigh of +longing in her voice. + +"I am grand at making it," said Jasper. "I have spent my life in many +out-of-the-way places. It was in Madrid I learnt to make chocolate; no +one can excel me with it. I'd like well to make a cup for you." + +"And I'd like to drink it," said Sylvia. + +"As well as I can see you in this light," continued Jasper, "you look as +if a cup of my chocolate would do you good. Chocolate made all of milk, +with plenty of bread and butter, is a meal which no one need despise. I +say, miss, shall we go back to the "Green Man," and shall you and me +have a bit of supper together? You would not be too proud to take it +with me although I am only my young lady's maid?" + +"I wish I could," said Sylvia. There was a wild desire in her heart, a +sort of passion of hunger. "But," she continued, "I cannot; I must go +home now." + +"Is your home near, miss?" + +"Oh yes; it is just at the other side of that wall. But please do not +talk of it--father hates people knowing. He likes us to live quite +solitary." + +"And it is a big house. Yes, I can see that," continued Jasper, peering +through the trees. + +Just then a young crescent moon showed its face, a bank of clouds swept +away to the left, and Jasper could distinctly see the square outline of +an ugly house. She saw something else also--the very white face of the +hungry Sylvia, the look which was almost starvation in her eyes. Jasper +was clever; she might not be highly educated in the ordinary sense, but +she had been taught to use her brains, and she had excellent brains to +use. Now, as she looked at the girl, an idea flashed through her mind. + +"For some extraordinary reason that child is downright hungry," she said +to herself. "Now, nothing would suit my purpose better." + +She came close to Sylvia and laid her hand on her arm. + +"I have taken a great fancy to you, miss," she said. + +"Have you?" answered Sylvia. + +"Yes, miss; and I am very lonely, and I don't mean to stay far away from +my dear young lady." + +"Are you going to live in the village?" asked Sylvia. + +"I have a room now at the 'Green Man,' Miss Leeson, but I don't mean to +stay there; I don't care for the landlady. And I don't want to be, so to +speak, under her ladyship's nose. Her ladyship has took a mortal hatred +to me, and as the village, so to speak, belongs to the Castle, if the +Castle was to inform the 'Green Man' that my absence was more to be +desired than my company, why, out I'd have to go. You can understand +that, can you not, miss?" + +"Yes--of course." + +"And it is the way with all the houses round here," continued Jasper; +"they are all under the thumb of the Castle--under the thumb of her +ladyship--and I cannot possibly stay near my dear young lady unless----" + +"Unless?" questioned Sylvia. + +"You was to give me shelter, miss, in your house." + +Sylvia backed away, absolute terror creeping over her face. + +"Oh! I could not," she said. "You do not know what you are asking. We +never have any one at The Priory. I could not possibly do it." + +"I'd pay you a pound a week," said Jasper, throwing down her trump +card--"a pound a week," she continued--"twenty whole shillings put in the +palm of that pretty little hand of yours, paid regularly in advance; and +you might have me in a big house like that without anybody knowing. I +heard you speak of the gentleman, your father; he need never know. Is +there not a room at The Priory which no one goes into, and could not I +sleep there? And you'd have money, miss--twenty shillings; and I'd feed +you up with chocolate, miss, and bread and butter, and--oh! lots of other +things. I have not been on a ranch in Tasmania for nothing. You could +hide me at The Priory, and you could keep me acquainted with all that +happened to my little Eve, and I'd pay for it, miss, and not a soul on +earth would be the wiser." + +"Oh, don't!" said Sylvia--"don't!" She covered her face with her hands; +she shook all over. "Don't tempt me!" she said. "Go away; do go away! Of +course I cannot have you. To deceive him--to shock him--why----Oh, I dare +not--I dare not! It would not be safe. There are times when he is +scarcely--yes, scarcely himself; and I must not try him too far. Oh, what +have I said?" + +"Nothing, my dear--nothing. You are a bit overcome. And now, shall I tell +you why?" + +"No, don't tell me anything more. Go; do go--do go!" + +"I will go," said Jasper, "after I have spoken. You are trembling, and +you are cold, and you are frightened--you who ought never to tremble; you +who under ordinary circumstances ought to know no fear; you who are +beautiful--yes, beautiful! But you tremble because that poor young body +of yours needs food and warmth--poor child!--I know." + +"Go!" said Sylvia. They were her only words. + +"I will go," answered Jasper after a pause; "but I will come again to +this same spot to-morrow night, and then you can answer me. Her ladyship +cannot turn me out between now and to-morrow night, and I will come then +for my answer." + +She turned and left Sylvia and went straight back to the village. + +Sylvia stood still for a minute after she had gone. She then turned very +slowly and re-entered The Priory grounds. A moment later she was in the +ugly, ill-furnished house. The hall into which she had admitted herself +was perfectly dark. There were no carpets on the floor, and the wind +whistled through the ill-fitting casements. The young girl fumbled about +until she found a box of matches. She struck one and lit a candle which +stood in a brass candlestick on a shelf. She then drearily mounted the +uncarpeted stairs. She went to her own room, and opening a box, looked +quickly and furtively around her. The box contained some crusts of bread +and a few dried figs. Sylvia counted the crusts with fingers that shook. +There were five. The crusts were not large, and they were dry. + +"I will eat one to-night," she said to herself, "and--yes, two of the +figs. I will not eat anything now. I wish Jasper had not tempted me. +Twenty shillings, and paid in advance; and father need never know! Lots +of room in the house! Yes; I know the one she could have, and I could +make it comfortable; and father never goes there--never. It is away +beyond the kitchen. I could make it very comfortable. She should have a +fire, and we could have our chocolate there. We must never, never have +any cooking that smells; we must never have anything fried; we must just +have plain things. Oh! I dare not think any more. Mother once said to +me, 'If your father ever, ever finds out, Sylvia, that you have deceived +him, all, all will be up.' I won't yield to temptation; it would be an +awful act of deceit. I cannot--I will not do it! If he will only give me +enough I will resist Jasper; but it is hard on a girl to be so +frightfully hungry." + +She sighed, pulled herself together, walked to the window, and looked up +at the watery moon. + +"My own mother," she whispered, "can you see me, and are you sorry for +me, and are you helping me?" + +Then she washed her hands, combed out her pretty, curly black hair, and +ran down-stairs. When she got half-way down she burst into a cheerful +song, and as she bounded into a room where a man sat crouching over a +few embers on the hearth her voice rose to positive gaiety. + +"Where have you been all this time?" said the querulous tones. + +"Learning a new song for you, dad. Come now; supper is ready." + +"Supper!" said the man. He rose, and turned and faced his daughter. + +He was a very thin man, with hair which must once have been as black as +Sylvia's own; his eyes, dark as the young girl's, were sunk so far back +in his head that they gleamed like half-burnt-out coals; his cheeks were +very hollow, and he gave a pathetic laugh as he turned and faced the +girl. + +"I have been making a calculation," he said, "and it is my firm +impression that we are spending a great deal more than is necessary. +There are further reductions which it is quite possible to make. But +come, child--come. How fat and well and strong you look, and how hearty +your voice is! You are a merry creature, Sylvia, and the joy of my life. +Were it not for you I should never hold out. And you are so good at +pinching and contriving, dear! But there, I give you too many luxuries +don't I, my little one? I spoil you, don't I? What did you say was +ready?" + +"Supper, father--supper." + +"Supper!" said Mr. Leeson. "Why, it seems only a moment ago that we +dined." + +"It is six hours ago, father." + +"Now, Sylvia, if there is one thing I dislike more than another, it is +that habit of yours of counting the hours between your meals. It is a +distinct trace of greediness and of the lower nature. Ah, my child, when +will you live high above your mere bodily desires? Supper, you say? I +shall not be able to eat a morsel, but I will go with you, dear, if you +like. Come, lead the way, my singing-bird; lead the way." + +Sylvia took a candle and lighted it. She then went on in front of her +father. They traversed a long and dark passage, and presently she threw +open the door of as melancholy and desolate a room as could be found +anywhere in England. + +The paper on the wall was scarcely perceptible, so worn was it by the +long passage of time. The floor was bare of any carpet; there was a deal +table at one end of the room; on the table a small white cloth had been +placed. A piece of bread was on a wooden platter on this table. There +was also a jug of water and a couple of baked potatoes. Sylvia had put +these potatoes into the oven before she went out, otherwise there would +not have been anything hot at all for the meager repast. The grate was +destitute of any fire; and although there were blinds to the windows, +there were no curtains. The night was a bitterly cold one, and the girl, +insufficiently clothed as well as unfed, shivered as she went into the +room. + +"What a palatial room this is!" said Mr. Leeson. "I really often think I +did wrong to come to this house. I have not the slightest doubt that my +neighbors imagine that I am a man of means. It is extremely wrong to +encourage that impression, and I trust, Sylvia, that you never by word +or action do so. A lady you are, my dear, and a lady you will look +whatever you wear; but that beautiful simplicity which rises above mere +dress and mere food is what I should like to inculcate in your nature, +my sweet child. Ah! potatoes--and hot! My dear Sylvia, was this +necessary?" + +"There are only two, father--one for you and one for me." + +"Well, well! I suppose the young must have their dainties as long as the +world lasts," said Mr. Leeson. "Sit down, my dear, and eat. I will stand +and watch you." + +"Won't you eat anything, father?" said the girl. A curious expression +filled her dark eyes. She longed for him to eat, and yet she could not +help thinking how supporting and soothing and satisfying both those +potatoes would be, and all that hunch of dry bread. + +Mr. Leeson paused before replying: + +"It would be impossible for you to eat more than one potato, and it +would be a sin that the other should be wasted. I may as well have it." +He dropped into a chair. "Not that I am the least hungry," he added as +he took the largest potato and put it on his plate. "Still, anything is +preferable to waste. What a pity it is that no one has discovered a use +for the skins, for these as a rule have absolutely to be wasted! When I +have gone through some abstruse calculations over which I am at present +engaged, I shall turn my attention to the matter. Quantities of +nourishing food are doubtless wasted every year by the manner in which +potato-skins are thrown away. Ah! and this bread, Sylvia--how long has it +been in the house?" + +"I got it exactly a week ago," said Sylvia. "It is quite the ordinary +kind." + +"It is too fresh, my dear. In future we must not eat new bread." + +"It is a week old, father." + +"Don't take me up in that captious way. I say we must not eat new bread. +It was only to-day I came across a book which said that bread when +turning slightly--very slightly--moldy satisfies the appetite far more +readily than new bread. Then you will see for yourself, Sylvia, that a +loaf of such bread may be made to go nearly as far as two loaves of the +ordinary kind. You follow me, do you not, singing-bird?" + +"Yes, father--yes. But may I eat my potato now while it is hot?" + +"How the young do crave for unnecessary indulgences!" said Mr. Leeson; +but he broke his own potato in half, and Sylvia seized the opportunity +to demolish hers. + +Alack and alas! when it was finished, every scrap of it, scarcely any +even of the skin being left, she felt almost more hungry than ever. She +stretched out her hand for the bread. Mr. Leeson raised his eyes as she +did so and gave her a reproachful glance. + +"You will be ill," he said. "You will suffer from a bilious attack. Take +it--take it if you want it; I am the last to interfere with your natural +appetite." + +Sylvia ate; she ate although her father's displeased eyes were fixed on +her face. She helped herself twice to the stale and untempting loaf. +Delicious it tasted. She could even have demolished every scrap of it +and still have felt half-wild with hunger. But she was eating it now to +give herself courage, for she had made up her mind--speak she must. + +The meal came to an end. Mr. Leeson had finished his potato; Sylvia had +very nearly consumed the bread. + +"There will be a very small breakfast to-morrow," he said in a mournful +tone; "but you, Sylvia, after your enormous supper, will scarcely +require a large one." + +Sylvia made no answer. She took her father's hand and walked back with +him through the passage. The fire was out now in the sitting-room; +Sylvia brought her father's greatcoat. + +"Put it on," she said. "I want to sit close to you, and I want to talk." + +He smiled at her and wrapped himself obediently in his coat. It was +lined with fur, a relic of bygone and happier days. Sylvia turned the +big fur collar up round his ears; then she drew herself close to him. +She seated herself on his lap. + +"Put your arm round me; I am cold," she said. + +"Cold, my dear little girl!" he said. "Why, so you are! How very +strange! It is doubtless from overeating." + +"No, father." + +"Why that 'No, father'? What a curious expression is in your voice, +Sylvia, my dear! Since your mother's death you have been my one comfort. +Heart and soul you have gone with me through the painful life which I am +obliged to lead. I know that I am doing the right thing. I am no longer +lavishly wasting that which has been entrusted to me, but am, on the +contrary, saving for the day of need. My dear girl, you and I have +planned our life of retrenchment. How much does our food cost us for a +week?" + +"Very, very little, father. Too little." + +"What do you mean by that?" + +"Father, forgive me; I must speak." + +"What is wrong?" + +Mr. Leeson pushed his daughter away. His eyes, which had been full of +kindness, grew sharp and became slightly narrowed; a watchful expression +came into his face. + +"Beware, Sylvia, how you agitate me; you know the consequences." + +"Since mother died," answered the girl, "I have never agitated you; I +have always tried to do exactly as you wished." + +"On the whole you have been a good girl; your one and only fault has +been your greediness. Last night, it is true, you displeased me very +deeply, but on your promise never to transgress so again I have forgiven +you." + +"Father," said Sylvia in a tremulous tone, "I must speak, and now. You +must not be angry, father; but you say that we spend too much on +housekeeping. We do not; we spend too little." + +"Sylvia!" + +"Yes; I am not going to be afraid," continued the girl. "You were +displeased with me to-night--yes, I know you were--because I nearly +finished the bread. I finished it because--because I was hungry; yes, +hungry. And, father, I do not mind how stale the bread is, nor how poor +the food, but I must--I must have enough. You do not give me enough. No, +you do not. I cannot bear the pain. I cannot bear the neuralgia. I +cannot bear the cold of this house. I want warmth, and I want food, and +I want clothes that will keep the chill away. That is all--just physical +things. I do not ask for fun, nor for companions of my own age, nor for +anything of that sort, but I do ask you, father, not to oblige me to +lead this miserable, starved life in the future." + +Sylvia paused; her courage, after all, was short-lived. The look on her +father's face arrested her words. He wore a stony look. His face, which +had been fairly animated, had lost almost all expression. The pupils of +his eyes were narrowed to a pin's point. Those eyes fixed themselves on +the girl's face as though they were gimlets, as though they meant to +pierce right into her very soul. Alarm now took the place of beseeching. + +"Never mind," she said--"never mind; it was just your wild little +rebellious Sylvia. Don't look at me like that. Don't--don't! Oh, I will +bear it--I will bear it! Don't look at me like that!" + +"Go to your room," was his answer, "at once. Go to your room." + +She was a spirited girl, but she crept out of the room as though some +one had beaten her. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII.--JASPER TO THE RESCUE. + + +The next evening, at the hour which she had named, Jasper walked down +the road which led to The Priory. She walked with a confident step; she +had very little doubt that Sylvia would be waiting for her. She was not +far wrong in her expectations. A girl, wrapped in a cloak, was standing +by a hedge. By the girl stood the mastiff Pilot. Pilot was not too well +fed, but he was better fed than Sylvia. It was necessary, according to +Mr. Leeson's ideas, that Pilot should be strong enough to guard The +Priory against thieves, against unwelcome, prying visitors--against the +whole of the human race. But even Pilot could be caught by guile, and +Sylvia was determined that he should be friends with Jasper. As Jasper +came up the road Sylvia advanced a step or two to meet her. + +"Well, dear," said Jasper in a cheerful tone, "am I to come in, and am I +to be welcome?" + +"You are to come in," said Sylvia. "I have made up my mind. I have been +preparing your room all day. If he finds it out I dare not think what +will happen. But come--do come; I am ready and waiting for you." + +"I thought you would be. I can fetch the rest of my things to-morrow. +Can we slip into my room now?" + +"We can. Come at once.--Pilot, remember that this lady is our friend.--One +moment, please, Jasper; I must be quite certain that Pilot does not do +you an injury.--Pilot, give your right paw to this lady." + +Pilot looked anxiously from Jasper to Sylvia; then, with a deliberate +movement, and a great expression of condescension on his face, he did +extend his right paw. Jasper took it. + +"Kiss him now just between his eyes," said Sylvia. + +"Good gracious, child! I never kissed a dog in my life." + +"Kiss him as you value your future safety. You surely do not want to be +a prisoner at The Priory!" + +"Heaven forbid!" said Jasper. "What I want to do, and what I mean to do, +is to parade before her ladyship just where her ladyship cannot touch +me. She could turn me out of every house in the place, but not from +here. I do not want to keep it any secret from her ladyship that I am +staying with you, Miss Sylvia." + +"We can talk of that afterwards," said Sylvia. "Come into the house +now." + +The two turned, the dog accompanying them. They passed through the heavy +iron gates and walked softly up the avenue. + +"What a close, dismal sort of place!" said Jasper. + +"Please--please do not speak so loud; father may overhear us." + +"Then mum's the word," said the woman. + +"Step on the grass here, please." + +Jasper did exactly as Sylvia directed her, and the result was that soon +the two found themselves in as empty a kitchen as Jasper had ever beheld +in the whole course of her life. + +"Sakes, child!" she cried, "is this where you cook your meals?" + +"The kitchen does quite well enough for our requirements," said Sylvia +in a low tone. + +"And where are you going to put me?" + +"In this room. I think in the happy days when the house was full this +room must have been used as the servants' hall. See, there is a nice +fireplace, with a good fire in it. I have drawn down the blinds, and I +have put thick curtains--the only thick curtains we possess--across the +windows. There are shutters too. If my father does walk abroad he cannot +see any light through this window. But I am sorry to say you can have a +fire only at night, for he would be very angry if he saw the smoke +ascending in the daytime." + +"Hard lines! But I suppose, as I made the offer, I must abide by it," +said Jasper. "The room looks bare but well enough. It is clean, I +suppose?" + +"It is about as clean as I can make it," said Sylvia, with a dreary +sigh. + +"As clean as you can make it? Have you not a servant, my dear?" + +"Oh no; we do not keep a servant." + +"Then I expect my work is cut out for me," said Jasper, who was +thoroughly good-natured, and had taken an immense fancy to Sylvia. + +"Please," said the girl earnestly, "you must not attempt to make the +place look the least bit better; if you do, father will find out, and +then----" + +"Find out!" said Jasper. "If I were you, you poor little thing, I would +let him. But there! I am in, and possession is everything. I have +brought my supper with me, and I thought maybe you would not mind +sharing it. I have it in this basket. This basket contains what I +require for the night and our supper as well. I pay you twenty shillings +a week, and buy my own coals, so I suppose at night at least I may have +a big fire." + +Here Jasper went to a large, old-fashioned wooden hod, and taking big +lumps of coal, put them on the fire. It blazed right merrily, and the +heat filled the room. Sylvia stole close to it and stretched out her +thin, white hands for the warmth. + +"How delicious!" she said. + +"You poor girl! Can you spend the rest of the evening with me?" + +"I must go to father. But, do you know, he has prohibited anything but +bread for supper." + +"What!" + +"He does not want it himself, and he says that I can do with bread. Oh, +I could if there were enough bread!" + +"You poor, poor child! Why, it was Providence which sent me all the way +from Tasmania to make you comfortable and to save the bit of life in +your body." + +"Oh, I cannot--I cannot!" said Sylvia. Her composure gave way; she sank +into a chair and burst into tears. + +"You cannot what, you poor child?" + +"Take everything from you. I--I am a lady. In reality we are rich--yes, +quite rich--only father has a craze, and he won't spend money. He hoards +instead of spending. It began in mother's lifetime, and he has got worse +and worse and worse. They say it is in the family, and his father had +it, and his father before him. When father was young he was extravagant, +and people thought that he would never inherit the craze of a miser; but +it has grown with his middle life, and if mother were alive now she +would not know him." + +"And you are the sufferer, you poor lamb!" + +"Yes; I get very hungry at times." + +"But, my dear, with twenty shillings a week you need not be hungry." + +"Oh no. I cannot realize it. But I have to be careful; father must not +see any difference." + +"We will have our meals here," said Jasper. + +"But we must not light a fire by day," said the girl. + +"Never mind; I can manage. Are there not such things as spirit-lamps? Oh +yes, I am a born cook. Now then, go away, my dear; have your meal of +bread with your father, say good-night to him, and then slip back to +me." + +Sylvia ran off almost joyfully. In about an hour she returned. During +that time Jasper had contrived to make a considerable change in the +room. The warmth of the fire filled every corner now the thick curtains +at the window looked almost cheerful; the heavy door tightly shut +allowed no cold air to penetrate. On the little table she had spread a +white cloth, and now that table was graced by a great jug of steaming +chocolate, a loaf of crisp white bread, and a little pat of butter; and +besides these things there were a small tongue and a tiny pot of jam. + +"Things look better, don't they?" said Jasper. "And now, my dearie, you +shall not only eat in this room, but you shall sleep in that warm bed in +which I have just put my own favorite hot-water bag." + +"But you--you?" said Sylvia. + +"I either lie down by your side or I stay in the chair by the fire. I am +going to warm you up and pet you, for you need it, you poor, brave +little girl!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV.--CHANGE OF PLANS. + + +A whole month had gone by since Jasper had left Evelyn, and Evelyn after +a fashion had grown accustomed to her absence. Considerable changes had +taken place in the little girl during that time. She was no longer +dressed in an _outre_ style. She wore her hair as any other very young +girl of her age would. She had ceased to consider herself grown-up; and +although she knew deep down in her heart that she was the heiress--that +by and by all the fine property would belong to her--and although she +still gloried in the fact, either fear, or perhaps the dawnings of a +better nature prevented her talking so much about it as she had done +during the early days of her stay at Castle Wynford. The guests had all +departed, and schoolroom life held sway over both the girls. Miss +Sinclair was the very soul of order; she insisted on meals being served +in the schoolroom to the minute, and schoolroom work being pursued with +regularity and method. There were so many hours for work and so many +hours for amusement. There were times when the girls might be present +with the Squire and Lady Frances, and times when they only enjoyed the +society of Miss Sinclair. There were masters for several +accomplishments, and the girls had horses to ride, and a pony-carriage +was placed at their disposal, and the hours were so full of occupation +that they went by on wings. Evelyn looked fifty times better and happier +than she had done when she first arrived at Castle Wynford, and even +Lady Frances was forced to own that the child was turning out better +than she expected. How long this comparatively happy state of things +might have lasted it is hard to say, but it was brought to an abrupt +conclusion by an event which occurred just then. This was no less than +the departure of kind Miss Sinclair. Her mother had died quite suddenly; +her father needed her at home. She could not even stay for the customary +period after giving notice of her intention to leave. Lady Frances, +under the circumstances, did not press her; and now the subject of how +the two girls were best to be educated was ceaselessly discussed. Lady +Frances was a born educationist; she had the greatest love for subjects +dealing with the education of the young. She had her own theories with +regard to this important matter, and when Miss Sinclair went away she +was for a time puzzled how to act. To get another governess was, of +course, the only thing to be done; but for a time she wavered much as to +the advisability of sending Evelyn to school. + +"I really think she ought to go," said Lady Frances to the Squire. "Even +now she does not half know her place. She has improved, I grant you, but +the thorough discipline of school would do her good." + +"You have never sent Audrey to school," was the Squire's answer. + +"I have not, certainly; but Audrey is so different." + +"I should not like anything to be done in Evelyn's case which has not +been done in Audrey's," was the Squire's reply. + +"But surely you cannot compare the girls!" + +"I do not intend to compare them. They are absolutely different. Audrey +is all that the heart of the proudest father could desire, and Evelyn is +still----" + +"A little savage at heart," interrupted Lady Frances. + +"Yes; but she is taming, and I think she has some fine points in +her--indeed, I am sure of it. She is, for instance, very affectionate." + +Lady Frances looked somewhat indignant. + +"I am tired of hearing of Evelyn's good qualities. When I perceive them +for myself I shall be the first to acknowledge them. But now, my dear +Edward, the point to be considered is this: What are we to do at once? +It is nearly the middle of the term. To give those two girls holidays +would be ruinous. There is an excellent school of a very superior sort +kept by the Misses Henderson in that large house just outside the +village. What do you say to their both going there until we can look +round us and find a suitable governess to take Miss Sinclair's place?" + +"If they both go it does not so much matter," said the Squire. "You can +arrange it in that way if you like, my dear Frances." + +Lady Frances gave a sigh of relief. She was much interested in the +Misses Henderson; she herself had helped them to start their school. +Accordingly, that very afternoon she ordered the carriage and drove to +Chepstow House. The Misses Henderson were expecting her, and received +her in state in their drawing-room. + +"You know what I have come about?" she said. "Now, the thing is this--can +you do it?" + +"I am quite certain of one thing," said the elder Miss Henderson--"that +there will be no stone left unturned on our parts to make the experiment +satisfactory." + +"Poor, dear Miss Sinclair--it is too terrible her having to leave!" said +Lady Frances. "We shall never get her like again. To find exactly the +governess for girls like my daughter and niece is no easy matter." + +"As to your dear daughter, she certainly will not be hard to manage," +said the younger Miss Henderson. + +"You are right, Miss Lucy," said Lady Frances, turning to her and +speaking with decision. "I have always endeavored to train Audrey in +those nice observances, those moral principles, and that high tone which +befits a girl who is a lady and who in the future will occupy a high +position." + +"But your niece--your niece; she is the real problem," said the elder +Miss Henderson. + +"Yes," answered Lady Frances, with a sigh. "When she came to me she was +little less than a savage. She has improved. I do not like her--I do not +pretend for a moment that I do--but I wish to give the poor child every +possible advantage, and I am anxious, if possible, that my prejudice +shall not weigh with me in any sense in my dealings with her; but she +requires very firm treatment." + +"She shall have it," said the elder Miss Henderson; and a look of +distinct pleasure crossed her face. "I have had refractory girls before +now," she said, "and I may add with confidence, Lady Frances, that I +have always broken them in. I do not expect to fail in the case of Miss +Wynford." + +"Firm discipline is essential," replied Lady Frances. "I told Miss +Sinclair so, and she agreed with me. I do not exactly know what her +method was, nor how she managed, but the child seemed happy, she learnt +her lessons correctly, and, in short, she has improved. I trust the +improvement will continue under your management." + +Here the good lady, after adding a few more words with regard to hours, +etc., took her leave. The girls were to go to Chepstow House as +day-pupils, and the work of their education at that distinguished school +was to begin on the following morning. + +Evelyn was rather pleased than otherwise when she heard that she was to +be sent to school. She had cried and flung her arms round Miss +Sinclair's neck when that lady was taking leave of her. Audrey, on the +contrary, had scarcely spoken; her face looked a little whiter than +usual, and her eyes a little darker. She took the governess's hand and +wrung it, and as she bent forward to kiss her again on the cheek, Miss +Sinclair kissed her and whispered something to her. But it was poor +Evelyn who cried. The carriage took the governess away, and the girls +looked at each other. + +"I did not know you could be so stony-hearted," said Evelyn. She took +out her handkerchief as she spoke and mopped her eyes. "Oh dear!" she +added, "I am quite broken-hearted without her. I am _such_ an +affectionate girl." + +"We had better prepare for school," said Audrey. "We are to go there +to-morrow morning, remember." + +"Yes," answered Evelyn, her eyes brightening; "and do you know, although +I am terribly sorry to part with dear Miss Sinclair, I am glad about +school. Mothery always wished me to go; she said that talents like mine +could never find a proper vent except in school-life. I wonder what sort +of girls there are at Chepstow House?" + +"I don't know anything about it," said Audrey. + +"Are you sorry to go, Audrey?" + +"Yes--rather. I have never been to school." + +"How funny it will be to see you looking shy and awkward! Will you be +shy and awkward?" + +"I don't think so. I hope not." + +"It would be fun to see it, all the same," said Evelyn. "But there, I am +going for a race; my legs are quite stiff for want of running. I used to +run such a lot in Tasmania on the ranch! Often and often I ran a whole +mile without stopping. Good-by for the present. I suppose I may do what +I like to-day." + +Evelyn rushed off into the grounds. She was running at full speed +through the shrubbery on her way to a big field, which was known as the +ten-acre field, on the other side of the turnstile, when she came full +tilt against her uncle. He stopped, took her hand, and looked kindly at +her. + +"Do you know, Uncle Edward," she said, "that I am going to school +to-morrow?" + +"So I hear, my dear little girl; and I hope you will be happy there." + +Evelyn made no reply. Her eyes sparkled. After a time she said slowly: + +"I am glad; mother wished me to go." + +"You love your mother's memory very much, do you not, Eve?" + +"Yes," she said; and tears came into her big, strange-looking eyes. "I +love her just as much as if she were alive," she continued--"better, I +think. Whenever I am sad she seems near to me." + +"You would do anything to please her, would you not, Eve?" + +"Yes," answered the child. + +"Well, I wish to say something to you. You had a great fight when you +came here, but I think to a certain extent you have conquered. Our ways +were not your ways--everything was strange--and at first, my dear little +girl, you rebelled, and were not very happy." + +"I was miserable--miserable!" + +"But you have done, on the whole, well; and if your mother could come +back again she would be pleased. I thought I should like to tell you." + +"But, please, Uncle Edward, why would mothery be pleased? She often told +me that I was not to submit; that I was to hold my own; that----" + +"My dear, she told you those things when she was on earth; but now, in +the presence of God, she has learnt many new lessons, and I am sure, +could she now speak to you, she would tell you that you did right to +submit, and were doing well when you tried to please me, for instance." + +"Why you, Uncle Edward?" + +"Because I am your father's brother, and because I loved your father +better than any one on earth." + +"Better than Aunt Frances?" said Evelyn, with a sparkle of pleasure in +her eyes. + +"In a different, quite a different way. Ay, I loved him well, and I +would do my utmost to promote the happiness of his child." + +"I love you," said the little girl. "I am glad--I am _glad_ that you are +my uncle." + +She raised his hand, pressed it to her lips, and the next moment was +lost to view. + +"Queer, erratic little soul!" thought Squire Wynford to himself. "If +only we can train her aright! I often feel that Frank is watching me, +and wondering how I am dealing with the child. It seems almost cruel +that Frances should dislike her, but I trust in the end all will be +well." + +Meanwhile Evelyn, having tired herself racing round the ten-acre field, +suddenly conceived a daring idea. She had known long ere this that her +beloved Jasper was not in reality out of reach. More than once the maid +and the little girl had met. These meetings were by no means conducive +to Evelyn's best interests, but they added a great spice of excitement +to her life; and the thought of seeing her now, and telling her of the +change which was about to take place with regard to her education, was +too great a temptation to be resisted. Evelyn accordingly, skirting the +high-roads and making many detours through fields and lanes, presently +arrived close to The Priory. She had never ventured yet into The Priory; +she had as a rule sent a message to Jasper, and Jasper had waited for +her outside. She knew now that she must be quick or she would be late +for lunch. She did not want on this day of all days to seriously +displease Lady Frances. She went, therefore, boldly up to the gate, +pushed it open, and entered. Here she was immediately confronted by +Pilot. Pilot walked down the path, uttered one or two deep bays, growled +audibly, and showed his strong white teeth. Whatever Evelyn's faults +were, she was no coward. An angry dog standing in her path was not going +to deter her. But she was afraid of something else. Jasper had told her +how insecure her tenure at The Priory was--how it all absolutely depended +on Mr. Leeson never finding out that she was there. Evelyn therefore did +not want to bring Mr. Leeson to her rescue. Were there no means by which +she could induce Pilot to let her pass? She went boldly up to the dog. +The dog growled more fiercely, and put himself in an attitude which the +little girl knew well meant that he was going to spring. She did not +want him to bound upon her; she knew he was much stronger than herself. + +"Good, good dog--good, good," she said. + +But Pilot, exasperated beyond measure, began to bark savagely. + +Who was this small girl who dared to defy him? His custom was to stand +as he stood to-day and terrify every one off the premises. But this +small person did not mean to go. He therefore really lost his temper, +and became decidedly dangerous. + +Mr. Leeson, in his study, was busily engaged over some of that abstruse +work which occupied all his time. He was annoyed at Pilot's barking, and +went to the window to ascertain the cause. He saw a stumpy, +stout-looking little girl standing on the path, and Pilot barring her +way. He opened the window and called out: + +"Go away, child; go away. We don't have visitors here. Go away +immediately, and shut the gate firmly after you." + +"But, if you please," said Evelyn, "I cannot go away. I want to see +Sylvia." + +"You cannot see her. Go away." + +"No, I won't," said Evelyn, her courage coming now boldly to her aid. "I +have come here on business, and I must see Sylvia. You dare not let your +horrid dog spring on me; and I am going to stand just where I am till +Sylvia comes." + +These very independent words astonished Mr. Leeson so much that he +absolutely went out of the house and came down the avenue to meet +Evelyn. + +"Who are you, child?" he said, as the bold light eyes were fixed on his +face. + +"I am Evelyn Wynford, the heiress of Wynford Castle." + +A twinkle of mirth came into Mr. Leeson's eyes. + +"And so you want Sylvia, heiress of Wynford Castle?" + +"Yes; I want to speak to her." + +"She is not in at present. She is never in at this hour. Sylvia likes an +open-air life, and I am glad to encourage her in her taste. May I show +you to the gate?" + +"Thank you," replied Evelyn, who felt considerably crestfallen. + +Mr. Leeson, with his very best manners, accompanied the little girl to +the high iron gates. These he opened, bowed to her as she passed through +them, and then shut them in her face, drawing a big bar inside as he did +so. + +"Good Pilot--excellent, brave, admirable dog!" Evelyn heard him say; and +she ground her small white teeth in anger. + +A moment or two later, to her infinite delight, she saw Jasper coming up +the road to meet her. In an instant the child and maid were in each +other's arms. Evelyn was petting Jasper, and kissing her over and over +again on her dark cheek. + +"Oh Jasper," said the little girl, "I got such a fright! I came here to +see you, and I was met by that horrible dog; and then a dreadful-looking +old man came out and told me I was to go right away, and he petted the +dog for trying to attack me. I was not frightened, of course--it is not +likely that mothery's little girl would be easily afraid--but, all the +same, it was not pleasant. Why do you live in such a horrid, horrid +place, Jasper darling?" + +"Why do I live there?" answered Jasper. "Now, look at me--look me full in +the face. I live in that house because Providence wills it, +because--because---- Oh, I need not waste time telling you the reason. I +live there because I am near to you, and for another reason; and I hope +to goodness that you have not gone and made mischief, for if that +dreadful old man, as you call him, finds out for a single moment that I +am there, good-by to poor Miss Sylvia's chance of life." + +"You are quite silly about Sylvia," said Evelyn in a jealous tone. + +"She is a very fine, brave young lady," was Jasper's answer. + +"I wish you would not talk of her like that; you make me feel quite +cross." + +"You always were a jealous little piece," said Jasper, giving her former +charge a look of admiration; "but you need not be, Eve, for no one--no +one shall come inside my little white Eve. But there, now; do tell me. +You did not say anything about me to Mr. Leeson?" + +"No, I did not," said Evelyn. "I only told him I had come to see Sylvia. +Was it not good of me, Jasper? Was it not clever and smart?" + +"It was like you, pet," said Jasper. "You always were the canniest +little thing--always, always." + +Evelyn was delighted at these words of praise. + +"But how did you get here, my pet? Does her ladyship know you are out?" + +"No, her ladyship does not," replied Evelyn, with a laugh. "I should be +very sorry to let her know, either. I came here all by myself because I +wanted to see you, Jasper. I have got news for you." + +"Indeed, pet; and what is that?" + +"Cannot you guess?" + +"Oh, how can I? Perhaps that you have got courage and are sleeping by +yourself. You cannot stand that horrid old Read; you would rather be +alone than have her near you." + +"Read has not slept in my room for over three weeks," said Evelyn +proudly. "I am not at all nervous now. It was Miss Sinclair who told me +how silly I was to want any one to sleep close to me." + +"But you would like your old Jasper again?" + +"Yes--oh yes; you are different." + +"Well, and what is the change, dear?" + +"It is this: poor Miss Sinclair--dear, nice Miss Sinclair--has been +obliged to leave." + +"Oh, well, I am not sorry for that," said Jasper. "I was getting a bit +jealous of her. You seemed to be getting on so well with her." + +"So I was. I quite loved her; she made my lessons so interesting. But +what do you think, Jasper? Although I am very sorry she has gone, I am +glad about the other thing. Audrey and I are going to school, as daily +boarders, just outside the village; Chepstow House it is called. We are +going to-morrow morning. Mothery would like that; she always did want me +to go to school. I am glad. Are you not glad too, Jasper?" + +"That depends," said Jasper in an oracular voice. + +"What does it all depend on? Why do you speak in that funny way?" + +"It depends on you, my dear. I have heard a great deal about schools. +Some are nice and some are not. In some they give you a lot of freedom, +and you are petted and fussed over; in others they discipline you. When +you are disciplined you don't like it. If I were you----" + +"Yes--what?" + +"I would stay there if I liked it, and if I did not I would not stay. I +would not have my spirit broke. They often break your spirit at school. +I would not put up with that if I were you." + +"I am sure they won't break my spirit," said Evelyn in a tone of alarm. +"Why do you speak so dismally, Jasper? Do you know, I am almost sorry I +told you. I was so happy at the thought of going, and now you have made +me miserable. No, there is not the slightest fear that they will break +my spirit." + +"Then that is all right, dear. Don't forget that you are the heiress." + +"I could let them know at school, could I not?" + +"I would if I were you," said the injudicious woman. "I would tell the +girls if I were you." + +"Oh yes; so I can. I wonder if they will be nice girls at Chepstow +House?" + +"You let them feel your power, and don't knock under to any of them," +said Jasper. "And now, my dear, I must really send you home. There, I'll +walk a bit of the way back with you. You are looking very bonny, my +little white Eve; you have got quite a nice color in your cheeks. I am +glad you are well; and I am glad, too, that the governess has gone, for +I don't want her to get the better of me. Remember what I said about +school." + +"That I will, Jasper; I'll be sure to remember." + +"It would please her ladyship if you got on well there," continued +Jasper. + +"I don't want to please Aunt Frances." + +"Of course you don't. Nasty, horrid thing! I shall never forgive her for +turning me off. Now then, dear, you had best run home. I don't want her +to see us talking together. Good-by, pet; good-by." + + + + +CHAPTER XV.--SCHOOL. + + +The girls at Chepstow House were quite excited at the advent of Audrey +and Evelyn. They were nice girls, nearly all of them; they were ladies, +too, of a good class; but they had not been at Chepstow House long +without coming under the influence of what dominated the entire +place--that big house on the hill, with its castellated roof and its +tower, its moat too, and its big, big gardens, its spacious park, and +all its surroundings. It was a place to talk to their friends at home +about, and to think of and wonder over when at school. The girls at +Chepstow House had often looked with envy at Audrey as she rode by on +her pretty Arab pony. They talked of her to each other; they criticised +her appearance; they praised her actions. She was a sort of princess to +them. Then there appeared on the scene another little princess--a strange +child, without style, without manners, without any personal attractions; +and this child, it was whispered, was the real heiress. By and by pretty +Audrey would cease to live at Castle Wynford, and the little girl with +the extraordinary face would be monarch of all she surveyed. The girls +commented over this story amongst each other, as girls will; and when +the younger Miss Henderson--Miss Lucy, as they called her--told them that +Audrey Wynford and her cousin Evelyn were coming as schoolgirls to +Chepstow House their excitement knew no bounds. + +"They are coming here," said Miss Lucy, "and I trust that all you girls +who belong to the house will treat them as they ought to be treated." + +"And how is that, Miss Lucy?" said Brenda Fox, the tallest and most +important girl in the school. + +"You must treat them as ladies, but at the same time as absolutely your +equals in every respect," said Miss Lucy. "They are coming to school +partly to find their level; we must be kind to them, but there is to be +no difference made between them and the rest of you. Now, Brenda, go +with the other girls into the Blue Parlor and attend to your preparation +for Signor Forre." + +Brenda and her companions went away, and during the rest of the day, +whenever they had a spare moment, the girls talked over Audrey and +Evelyn. + +The next morning the cousins arrived. They came in Audrey's pretty +governess-cart, and Audrey drove the fat pony herself. A groom took it +back to the Castle, with orders to come for his young ladies at six in +the evening, for Lady Frances had arranged that the girls were to have +both early dinner and tea at school. + +They both entered the house, and even Audrey just for a moment felt +slightly nervous. The elder Miss Henderson took them into her private +sitting-room, asked them a few questions, and then, desiring them to +follow her, went down a long passage which led into the large +schoolroom. Here the girls, about forty in number, were all assembled. +Miss Henderson introduced the new pupils with a few brief words. She +then went up to Miss Lucy and asked her, as soon as prayers were over, +to question both Audrey and Evelyn with regard to their attainments, and +to put them into suitable classes. + +The Misses Wynford sat side by side during prayers, and immediately +afterwards were taken into Miss Lucy's private sitting-room. Here a very +vigorous examination ensued, with the result that Audrey was promoted to +take her place with the head girls, and Evelyn was conducted to the +Fourth Form. Her companions received her with smiling eyes and beaming +looks. She felt rather cross, however; and was even more so when the +English teacher, Miss Thompson, set her some work to do. Evelyn was +extremely backward with regard to her general education. But Miss +Sinclair had such marvelous tact, that, while she instructed the little +girl and gave her lessons which were calculated to bring out her best +abilities, she never let her feel her real ignorance. At school, +however, all this state of things was reversed. Audrey, calm and +dignified, took a high position in the school; and Evelyn was simply, in +her own opinion, nowhere. A sulky expression clouded her face. She +thought of Jasper's words, and determined that no one should break her +spirit. + +"You will read over the reign of Edward I., and I will question you +about it when morning school is over," said Miss Thompson in a pleasant +tone. "After recreation I will give you your lessons to prepare for +to-morrow. Now, please attend to your book. You will be able to take +your proper place in class to-morrow." + +Miss Thompson as she spoke handed a History of England to the little +girl. The History was dry, and the reign, in Evelyn's opinion, not worth +reading. She glanced at it, then turned the book, open as it was, upside +down on her desk, rested her elbows on it, and looked calmly around her. + +"Take up your book, Miss Wynford, and read it," said Miss Thompson. + +Evelyn smiled quietly. + +"I know all about the reign," she said. "I need not read the history any +more." + +The other girls smiled. Miss Thompson thought it best to take no notice. +The work of the school proceeded; and at last, when recess came, the +English teacher called the little girl to her. + +"Now I must question you," she said. "You say you know the reign of +Edward I. Let me hear what you do know. Stand in front of me, please; +put your hands behind your back. So." + +"I prefer to keep my hands where they are," said Evelyn. + +"Do what I say. Stand upright. Now then!" + +Miss Thompson began catechizing. Evelyn's crass ignorance instantly +appeared. She knew nothing whatever of that special period of English +history; indeed, at that time her knowledge of any history was +practically _nil_. + +"I am sorry you told me what was not true with regard to the reign of +Edward I.," said the governess. "In this school we are very strict and +particular. I will say nothing further on the matter to-day; but you +will stay here and read over the history during recess." + +"What!" cried Evelyn, her face turning white. "Am I not to have my +recreation?" + +"Recess only lasts for twenty minutes; you will have to do without your +amusement in the playground this morning. To-morrow I hope you will have +got through your lessons well and be privileged to enjoy your pastime +with the other pupils." + +"Do you know who I am?" began Evelyn. + +"Yes--perfectly. You are little Evelyn Wynford. Now be a good girl, +Evelyn, and attend to your work." + +Miss Thompson left the room. Evelyn found herself alone. A wild fury +consumed her. She jumped up. + +"Does she think for a single moment that I am going to obey her?" +thought the naughty child. "Oh, if only Jasper were here! Oh Jasper! you +were right; they are trying to break me in, but they won't succeed." + +A book which the governess had laid upon a table near attracted the +little girl's attention. It was not an ordinary lesson-book, but a very +beautiful copy of Ruskin's _Sesame and Lilies_. Evelyn took up the book, +opened it, and read the following words on the title-page: + +"To dear Agnes, from her affectionate brother Walter. Christmas Day, +1896." + +Quick as thought the angry child tore out the title-page and two or +three other pages at the beginning, scattered them into little bits, and +then, going up to the fire which burned at one end of the long room, +flung the scattered fragments into the blaze. She had no sooner done so +than a curious sense of dismay stole over her. She shut up the book +hastily, and being really alarmed, began to look over her English +history. Miss Thompson came back just before recess was over, picked up +Evelyn's book, asked her one or two questions, and gave her an approving +nod. + +"That is better," she said. "You have done as much as I could expect in +the time. Now then, come here, please. These are your English lessons +for to-morrow." + +Evelyn walked quite meekly across the room. Miss Thompson set her +several lessons in the ordinary English subjects. + +"And now," she said, "you are to go to mademoiselle. She is waiting to +find out what French you know, and to give you your lesson for +to-morrow." + +The rest of the school hours passed quickly. Evelyn was given what she +considered a disgraceful amount of work to do; but a dull fear sat at +her heart, and she felt a sense of regret at having torn the pages out +of the volume of Ruskin. Immediately after morning school the girls went +for a short walk, then dinner was announced, and after dinner there was +a brief period of freedom. Evelyn, Audrey, and the rest all found +themselves walking in the grounds. Brenda Fox immediately went up to +Audrey, and introduced her to a few of the nicest girls in the head +form, and they all began to pace slowly up and down. Evelyn stood just +for an instant forlorn; then she dashed into the midst of a circle of +little girls who were playing noisily together. + +"Stop!" she said. "Look at me, all of you." + +The children stopped playing, and looked in wonder at Evelyn. + +"I am Evelyn Wynford. Who is going to be my friend? I shall only take up +with the one I really like. I am not afraid of any of you. I have come +to school to find out if I like it; if I don't like it I shall not stay. +You had best, all of you, know what sort I am. It was very mean and +horrid to put me into the Fourth Form with a number of ignorant little +babies; but as I am there, I suppose I shall have to stay for a week or +so." + +"You were put into the Fourth Form," said little Sophie Jenner, +"because, I suppose, you did not know enough to be put into the Fifth +Form." + +"You are a cheeky little thing," said Evelyn, "and I am not going to +trouble myself to reply to you.--Well, now, who is going to be my friend? +I can tell you all numbers of stories; I have heaps of pocket-money, and +I can bring chocolate-creams and ginger-pop and all sorts of good things +to the school." + +These last remarks were decidedly calculated to ensure Evelyn's +popularity. Two or three of the girls ran up to her, and she was soon +marching up and down the playground relating some of her grievances, and +informing them, one and all, of the high position which lay before her. + +"You are all very much impressed with Audrey, I can see, but she is +really nobody," cried Eve. "By and by Wynford Castle will be mine, and +won't you like to say you knew me when I am mistress of the Castle--won't +you just! I do not at all know that I shall stay long at school, but you +had better make it pleasant for me." + +Some of the girls were much impressed, and a few of them swore eternal +fealty to Evelyn. One or two began to flatter her, and on the whole the +little girl considered that she had a fairly good time during play-hour. +When she got back to her work she was relieved to see that Ruskin's +_Sesame and Lilies_ no longer lay in its place on the small table where +Miss Thompson had left it. + +"She will not open it, perhaps, for years," thought Evelyn. "I need not +worry any more about that. And if she did like the book I am glad I tore +it. Horrid, horrid thing!" + +Lessons went on, and by and by Audrey and Evelyn's first day at school +came to an end. The governess-cart came to fetch them, and they drove +off under the admiring gaze of several of their fellow-pupils. + +"Well, Evelyn, and how did you like school?" said Audrey when the two +were alone together. + +"You could not expect me to like it very much," replied Evelyn. "I was +put into such a horrid low class. I am angry with Miss Thompson." + +"Miss Thompson! That nice, intelligent girl?" + +"Not much of a girl about her!" said Evelyn. "Why, she is quite old." + +"Do you think so? She struck me as young, pretty, and very nice." + +"It is all very well for you, Audrey; you are so tame. I really believe +you never think a bad thought of anybody." + +"I try not to, of course," replied Audrey. "Do you imagine it is a fine +trait in one's character to think bad thoughts of people?" + +"Mothery always said that if you did not dislike people, you were made +of cotton-wool," replied Evelyn. + +"Then you really do dislike people?" + +"Oh! some I dislike awfully. Now, there is one at the Castle--but there! +I won't say any more about _her_; and there is one at school whom I +hate. It is that horrid Thompson woman. And she had the cheek to call me +Evelyn." + +"Of course she calls you Evelyn; you are her pupil." + +"Well, I think it is awful cheek, all the same. I hate her, and--oh, +Audrey, such fun--such fun! I have revenged myself on her; I really +have." + +"Oh Evelyn! don't get into mischief, I beseech of you." + +"I sha'n't say any more, but I do believe that I have revenged myself. +Oh, such fun--such fun!" + +Evelyn laughed several times during the rest of her drive home, and +arrived at the Castle in high spirits. The girls were to dine with Lady +Frances and the Squire that evening, as they happened to be alone; and +the Squire was quite interested in the account which Evelyn gave him of +her class. + +"The only reason why I could read the dull, dull life of Edward I.," she +said, "is because Edward is your name, Uncle Ned, and because I love you +so much." + +"On the whole, my dear," said the Squire later on to his wife, "the +school experiment seems to work well. Little Evelyn was in high spirits +to-night." + +"You think of no one but Evelyn!" said Lady Frances. "What about +Audrey?" + +"I am not afraid about Audrey; you have trained her, and she is by +nature most amiable," said the Squire. + +"I am glad you paid me a compliment, my dear," answered his wife. +"Audrey certainly does credit to my training. But I trust Miss Henderson +will break that naughty girl in; she certainly needs it." + +The next morning the girls went back to school; and Evelyn, who had +quite forgotten what she had done to the book, and who had provided +herself secretly with a great packet of delicious sweetmeats which she +intended to distribute amongst her favorites, was still in high spirits. + +School began, the girls went to their different classes, Evelyn stumbled +badly through her lessons, and at last the hour of recess came. The +girls were all preparing to leave the schoolroom when Miss Thompson +asked them to wait a moment. + +"Something most painful has occurred," she said, "and I trust whichever +girl has done the mischief will at once confess it." + +Evelyn's face did not change color. A curious, numb feeling got round +her heart; then an obstinate spirit took possession of her. + +"Not for worlds will I tell," she thought. "Of course Miss Thompson is +alluding to the book." + +Yes, Miss Thompson was. She held the beautifully bound copy of Ruskin in +her hand, opened it where the title-page used to be, and with tears in +her eyes looked at the girls. + +"Some one has torn four pages out of the beginning of this book," she +said. "I left it here by mistake yesterday. I took it up this morning to +continue a lecture which I was preparing for the afternoon, and found +what terrible mischief had been done. I trust whoever has done this will +at least have the honor to confess her wrong-doing." + +Silence and expressions of intense dismay were seen on all the young +faces. + +"If it were my own book I should not mind so much," said the governess; +"but it happens to belong to Miss Henderson, and was given to her by her +favorite brother, who died two months afterwards. I had some difficulty +in getting her to allow me to use it for this lecture. Nothing can +replace to her the loss of the inscription written in her brother's own +hand. The only possible chance for the guilty person is to tell all at +once. But, oh! who could have been so cruel?" + +Still the girls were silent, although tears had risen to many of their +eyes. Miss Thompson could hear the words "Oh, what a shame!" coming from +more than one pair of lips. + +She waited for an instant, and then said: + +"I must put a question to each and all of you. I had hoped the guilty +person would confess; but as it is, I am obliged to ask who has done +this mischief." + +She then began to question one girl after another in the class. There +were twelve in all in this special class, and each as her turn came +replied in the negative. Certainly she had not done the mischief; +certainly she had not torn the book. Evelyn's turn came last. She +replied quietly: + +"I have not done it. I have not seen the book, and I have not torn out +the inscription." + +No one had any reason to doubt her words; and Miss Thompson, looking +very sorrowful, paused for a minute and then said: + +"I have asked each of you, and you have all denied it. I must now +question every one else in the school. When I have done all that I can I +shall have to submit the matter to Miss Henderson, but I did not want to +grieve her with the news of this terrible loss until I could at least +assure her that the girl who had done the mischief had repented." + +Still there was silence, and Miss Thompson left the schoolroom. The +moment she did so the buzz of eager voices began, and during the recess +that followed nothing was talked of in the Fourth Form but the loss +which poor Miss Henderson had sustained. + +"Poor dear!" said Sophie Jenner; "and she did love her brother so much! +His name was Walter; he was very handsome. He came once to the school +when first it was started. My sister Rose was here then, and she said +how kind he was, and how he asked for a holiday for the girls; and Miss +Henderson and Miss Lucy were quite wrapped up in him. Oh, who could have +been so cruel?" + +"I never heard of such a fuss about a trifle before," here came from +Evelyn's lips. "Why, it is only a book when all is said and done." + +"Don't you understand?" said Sophie, looking at her in some +astonishment. "It is not a common book; it is one given to Miss +Henderson by the brother she loved. He is dead now; he can never give +her any other book. That was the very last present he ever made her." + +"Have some lollipops, and try to think of cheerful things," said Evelyn; +but Sophie turned almost petulantly away. + +"Do you know," Sophie said to her special friend, Cherry Wynne, "I don't +think I like Evelyn. How funnily she spoke! I wonder, Cherry, if she had +anything to do with the book?" + +"Of course not," answered Cherry. "She would not have dared to utter +such a lie. Poor Miss Henderson! How sorry I am for her!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI.--SYLVIA'S DRIVE. + + +"I have something very delightful to tell you, Sylvia," said her father. + +He was standing in his cold and desolate sitting-room. The fire was +burning low in the grate. Sylvia shivered slightly, and bending down, +took up a pair of tongs to put some more coals on the expiring fire. + +"No, no, my dear--don't," said her father. "There is nothing more +disagreeable than a person who always needs coddling. The night is quite +hot for the time of year. Do you know, Sylvia, that I made during the +last week a distinct saving. I allowed you, as I always do, ten +shillings for the household expenses. You managed capitally on eight +shillings. We really lived like fighting-cocks; and what is nicest of +all, my dear daughter, you look the better in consequence." + +Sylvia did not speak. + +"I notice, too," continued Mr. Leeson, a still more satisfied smile +playing round his lips, "that you eat less than you did before. Last +night I was pleased to observe how truly abstemious you were at supper." + +"Father," said Sylvia suddenly, "you eat less and less; how can you keep +up your strength at this rate? Cannot you see, clever man that you are, +that you need food and warmth to keep you alive?" + +"It depends absolutely," replied Mr. Leeson, "on how we accustom +ourselves to certain habits. Habits, my dear daughter, are the chains +which link us to life, and we forge them ourselves. With good habits we +lead good lives. With pernicious habits we sink: the chains of those +habits are too thick, too rusty, too heavy; we cannot soar. I am glad to +see that you, my dear little girl, are no longer the victim of habits of +greediness and desire for unnecessary luxuries." + +"Well, father, dinner is ready now. Won't you come and eat it?" + +"Always harping on food," said Mr. Leeson. "It is really sad." + +"You must come and eat while the things are hot," answered Sylvia. + +Mr. Leeson followed his daughter. He was, notwithstanding all his words +to the contrary, slightly hungry that morning; the intense cold--although +he spoke of the heat--made him so. He sat down, therefore, and removed +the cover from a dish on which reposed a tiny chop. + +"Ah," he said, "how tempting it looks! We will divide it, dear. I will +take the bone; far be it from me to wish to starve you, my sweet child." + +He took up his knife to cut the chop. As he did so Sylvia's face turned +white. + +"No, thank you," she said. "It really so happens that I don't want it. +Please eat it all. And see," she continued, with a little pride, lifting +the cover of a dish which stood in front of her own plate; "I have been +teaching myself to cook; you cannot blame me for making the best of my +materials. How nice these fried potatoes look! Have some, won't you, +father?" + +"You must have used something to fry them in," said Mr. Leeson, an angry +frown on his face. "Well, well," he added, mollified by the delicious +smell, which could not but gratify his hungry feelings--"all right; I +will take a few." + +Sylvia piled his plate. She played with a few potatoes herself, and Mr. +Leeson ate in satisfied silence. + +"Really they are nice," he said. "I have enjoyed my dinner. I do not +know when I made such a luxurious meal. I shall not need any supper +to-night." + +"But I shall," said Sylvia stoutly. "There will be supper at nine +o'clock as usual, and I hope you will be present, father." + +"Well, my dear, have something very plain. I am absolutely satisfied for +twenty-four hours. And you, darling--did you make a good meal?" + +"Yes, thank you, father." + +"There were a great many potatoes cooked. I see they are all finished." + +"Yes, father." + +"I am now going back to my sitting-room. I shall be engaged for some +hours. What are you going to do, Sylvia?" + +"I shall go out presently for a walk." + +"Is it not rather dangerous for you to wander about in such deep snow?" + +"Oh, I like it, father; I enjoy it. I could not possibly stay at home." + +"Very well, my dear child. You are a good girl. But, Sylvia dear, it +strikes me that we had better not have any more frying done; it must +consume a great quantity of fuel. Now, that chop might have been boiled +in a small saucepan, and it really would have been quite as nutritious. +And, my dear, there would have been the broth--the liquor, I mean--that it +had been boiled in; it would have made an excellent soup with rice in +it. I have been lately compiling some recipes for living what is called +the unluxurious life. When I have completed my little recipes I will +hand them down to posterity. I shall publish them. I quite imagine that +they will have a large sale, and may bring me in some trifling +returns--eh, Sylvia?" + +Sylvia made no answer. + +"My dear," said her father suddenly, "I have noticed of late that you +are a little extravagant in the amount of coals you use. It is your only +extravagance, my dear child, so I will not say much about it." + +"But, father, I don't understand. What do you mean?" + +"There is smoke--_smoke_ issuing from the kitchen chimney at times when +there ought to be none," said Mr. Leeson in a severe voice. "But there, +dear, I won't keep you now. I expect to have a busy afternoon. I am +feeling so nicely after our simple little lunch, my dear daughter." + +Mr. Leeson touched Sylvia's smooth cheek with his lips, went into the +sitting-room, and shut the door. + +"The fire must be quite out by now," she said to herself. "Poor, poor +father! Oh dear! oh dear! if he discovers that Jasper is here I shall be +done for. Now that I know the difference which Jasper's presence makes, +I really could not live without her." + +She listened for a moment, noticed that all was still in the big +sitting-room (as likely as not her father had dropped asleep), and then, +turning to her left, went quickly away in the direction of the kitchen. +When she entered the kitchen she locked the door. There was a clear and +almost smokeless fire in the range, and drawn up close to it was a table +covered with a white cloth; on the table were preparations for a meal. + +"Well, Sylvia," said Jasper, "and how did he enjoy his chop? How much of +it did he give to you, my dear?" + +"Oh, none at all, Jasper. I pretended I was not hungry. It was such a +pleasure to see him eat it!" + +"And what about the fried potatoes, love?" + +"He ate them too with such an appetite--I just took a few to satisfy him. +Do you know, Jasper, he says that he thinks an abstemious life agrees +with me. He says that I am looking very well, and that he is quite sure +no one needs big fires and plenty of food in cold weather--it is simply +and entirely a matter of habit." + +"Oh! don't talk to me of him any more," said Jasper. "He is the sort of +man to give me the dismals. I cannot tell you how often I dream of him +at night. You are a great deal too good to him, Sylvia, and that is the +truth. But here--here is our dinner, you poor frozen lamb. Eat now and +satisfy yourself." + +Sylvia sat down and ate with considerable appetite the good and +nourishing food which Jasper had provided. As she did so her bright, +clear, dark eyes grew brighter than ever, and her young cheeks became +full of the lovely color of the damask rose. She pushed her hair from +her forehead, and looked thoughtfully into the fire. + +"You feel better, dear, don't you?" asked Jasper. + +"Better!" said the young girl. "I feel alive. I wonder, Jasper, how long +it will last." + +"Why should it not go on for some time, dear? I have money--enough, that +is, for the present." + +"But you are spending your money on me." + +"Not at all. You are keeping me and feeding me. I give you twenty +shillings a week, and out of that you feed me as well as yourself." + +"Oh, that twenty shillings!" cried Sylvia. "What riches it seems! The +first week I got it I really felt that I should never, never be able to +come to the end of it. I quite trembled when I was in father's presence. +I dreaded that he might see the money lying in my pocket. It seemed +impossible that he, who loves money so much, would not notice it; but he +did not, and now I am almost accustomed to it. Oh Jasper, you have saved +my life!" + +"It is well to have lived for some good purpose," said Jasper in a +guarded tone. She looked at the young girl, and a quick sigh came to her +lips. + +"Do you know," she said abruptly, "that I mean to do more than feed you +and warm you?" + +"But what more could you do?" + +"Why, clothe you, love--clothe you." + +"No, Jasper; you must not." + +"But I must and will," said Jasper. "I have smuggled in all my +belongings, and the dear old gentleman does not know a single bit about +it. Bless you! notwithstanding that Pilot of his, and the way he himself +sneaks about and watches--notwithstanding all these things, I, Amelia +Jasper, am a match for him. Yes, my dear, my belongings are in this +house, and one of the trunks contains little Evelyn's clothes--the +clothes she is not allowed to wear. I mean to alter them, and add to +them, and rearrange them, and make them fit for you, my bonny girl." + +"It is a temptation," said Sylvia; "but, Jasper dear, I dare not allow +you to do it. If I were to appear in anything but the very plainest +clothes father would discover there was something up; he would get into +a state of terror, and my life would not be worth living. When mother +was alive she sometimes tried to dress me as I ought to be dressed, and +I remember now a terrible scene and mother's tears. There was an +occasion when mother gave me a little crimson velvet frock, and I ran +into the dining-room to father. I was quite small then, and the frock +suited me, and mother was, oh, so proud! But half an hour later I was in +my room, drowned in tears, and ordered to bed immediately, and the frock +had been torn off my back by father himself." + +"The man is a maniac," said Jasper. "Don't let us talk of him. You can +dress fine when you are with me. I mean to have a gay time; I don't mean +to let the grass grow under my feet. What do you say to my smuggling in +little Eve some day and letting her have a right jolly time with us two +in this old kitchen?" + +"But father will certainly, certainly discover it." + +"No; I can manage that. The kitchen is far away from the rest of the +house, and with this new sort of coal there is scarcely any smoke. At +night--at any rate on dark nights--he cannot see even if there is smoke; +and in the daytime I burn this special coal. Oh, we are safe enough, my +dear; you need have no fear." + +Sylvia talked a little longer with Jasper, and then she ran to her own +room to put on her very threadbare garments preparatory to going out. +Yes, she certainly felt much, much better. The air was keen and crisp; +she was no longer hungry--that gnawing pain in her side had absolutely +ceased; she was warm, too, and she longed for exercise. A moment or two +later, accompanied by Pilot, she was racing along the snow-covered +roads. The splendid color in her cheeks could not but draw the attention +of any chance passer-by. + +"What a handsome--what a very handsome girl!" more than one person said; +and it so happened that as Sylvia was flying round a corner, her great +mastiff gamboling in front of her, she came face to face with Lady +Frances, who was driving to make some calls in the neighborhood. + +Lady Frances Wynford was never proof against a pretty face, and she had +seldom seen a more lovely vision than those dark eyes and glowing cheeks +presented at that moment. She desired her coachman to stop, and bending +forward, greeted Sylvia in quite an affectionate way. + +"How do you do, Miss Leeson?" she said. "You never came to see me after +I invited you to do so. I meant to call on your mother, but you did not +greet my proposal with enthusiasm. How is she, by the way?" + +"Mother is dead," replied Sylvia in a low tone. The rich color faded +slowly from her cheeks, but she would not cry. She looked full up at +Lady Frances. + +"Poor child!" said that lady kindly; "you must miss her. How old are +you, Miss Leeson?" + +"I am just sixteen," was the reply. + +"Would you like to come for a drive with me?" + +"May I?" said the girl in an almost incredulous voice. + +"You certainly may; I should like to have you.--Johnson, get down and +open the carriage door for Miss Leeson.--But, oh, my dear, what is to be +done with the dog?" + +"Pilot will go home if I speak to him," said Sylvia.--"Come here, Pilot." + +The mastiff strode slowly up. + +"Go home, dear," said Sylvia. "Go, and knock as you know how at the +gates, and father will let you in. Be quick, dear dog; go at once." + +Pilot put on a shrewd and wonderfully knowing expression, cocked one ear +a little, wagged his tail a trifle, glanced at Lady Frances, seemed on +the whole to approve of her, and then turning on his heel, trotted off +in the direction of The Priory. + +"What a wonderfully intelligent dog, and how you have trained him!" said +Lady Frances. + +"Yes; he is almost human," replied Sylvia. "How nice this is!" she +continued as the carriage began to roll smoothly away. She leant back +against her comfortable cushions. + +"But you will soon be cold, my dear, in that very thin jacket," said +Lady Frances. "Let me wrap this warm fur cloak round you. Oh, yes, I +insist; it would never do for you to catch cold while driving with me." + +Sylvia submitted to the warm and comforting touch of the fur, and the +smile on her young face grew brighter than ever. + +"And now you must tell me all about yourself," said Lady Frances. "Do +you know, I am quite curious about you--a girl like you living such a +strange and lonely life!" + +"Lady Frances," said Sylvia. + +"Yes my dear; what?" + +"I am going to say something which may not be quite polite, but I am +obliged to say it. I cannot answer any of your questions; I cannot tell +you anything about myself." + +"Really?" + +"Not because I mean to be rude, for in many ways I should like to +confide in you; but it would not be honorable. Do you understand?" + +"I certainly understand what honor means," said Lady Frances; "but +whether a child like you is acting wisely in keeping up an unnecessary +mystery is more than I can tell." + +"I would much rather tell you everything about myself than keep silence, +but I cannot speak," said Sylvia simply. + +Lady Frances looked at her in some wonder. + +"She is a lady when all is said and done," she said to herself. "As to +poverty, I do not know that I ever saw any one so badly dressed; the +child has not sufficient clothing to keep her warm. When last I saw her +she was painfully thin, too; she has more color in her cheeks now, and +more flesh on her poor young bones, so perhaps whoever she lives with is +taking better care of her. I am curious, and I will not pretend to deny +it, but of course I can question the child no further." + +No one could make herself more agreeable than Lady Frances Wynford when +she chose. She chatted now on many matters, and Sylvia soon felt +perfectly at home. + +"Why, the child, young as she is, knows some of the ways of society," +thought the great lady. "I only wish that that miserable little Evelyn +was half as refined and nice as this poor, neglected girl." + +Presently the drive came to an end. Sylvia had not enjoyed herself so +much for many a day. + +"Now, listen, Sylvia," said Lady Frances: "I am a very plain-spoken +woman; when I say a thing I mean it, and when I think a thing, as a +rule, I say it. I like you. That I am curious about you, and very much +inclined to wonder who you are and what you are doing in this place, +goes without saying; but of course I do not want to pry into what you do +not wish to tell me. Your secret is your own, my dear, and not my +affair; but, at the same time, I should like to befriend you. Can you +come to the Castle sometimes? When you do come it will be as a welcome +guest." + +"I do not know how I can come," replied Sylvia. She colored, looked +down, and her face turned rather white. "I have not a proper dress," she +added. "Oh, not that I am poor, but----" + +Lady Frances looked puzzled. She longed to say, "I will give you the +dress you need," but there was something about Sylvia's face which +forbade her. + +"Well," she said, "if you can manage the dress will you come? This, let +me see, is Thursday. The girls are to have a whole holiday on Saturday. +Will you spend Saturday with us? Now you must say yes; I will take no +refusal." + +Sylvia's heart gave a bound of pleasure. + +"Is it right; is it wrong?" she said to herself. "But I cannot help it," +was her next thought; "I must have my fun--I must. I do like Audrey so +much! And I like Evelyn too--not, of course, like Audrey; but I like them +both." + +"You will come, dear?" said Lady Frances. "We shall be very pleased to +see you. By the way, your address is----" + +"The Priory," said Sylvia hastily. "Oh, please, Lady Frances, don't send +any message there! If you do I shall not be allowed to come to you. Yes, +I will come--perhaps never again, but I will come on Saturday. It is a +great pleasure; I do not feel able to refuse." + +"That is right. Then I shall expect you." + +Lady Frances nodded to the young girl, told the coachman to drive home, +and the next moment had turned the corner and was lost to view. + +"What fun this is!" said Sylvia to herself. "I wish Pilot were here. I +should like to have a race with him over the snow. Oh, how beautiful is +the world when all is said and done! Now, if only I had a proper dress +to go to the Castle in!" + +She ran home. Her father was standing on the steps of the house. His +face looked pinched, blue, and cold; the nourishment of the chop and the +fried potatoes had evidently passed away. + +"Why, father, you want your tea!" said the girl. "How sorry I am I was +not in sooner to get it for you!" + +"Tea, tea!" he said irritably. "Always the same cry--food, nothing but +food; the world is becoming impossible. My dear Sylvia, I told you that +I should not want to eat again to-day. The fact is, you overfed me at +lunch, and I am suffering from a sort of indigestion--I am really. There +is nothing better for indigestion than hot water; I have been drinking +it sparingly during the afternoon. But where have you been, dear, and +why did you send Pilot home? The dog made such a noise at the gate that +I went myself to find out what was the matter." + +"I did not want Pilot, so I sent him home," was Sylvia's low reply. + +"But why so?" + +She was silent for a moment; then she looked up into her father's face. + +"We agreed, did we not," she said, "that we both were to go our own way. +You must not question me too closely. I have done nothing wrong--nothing; +I am always faithful to you and to my mother's memory. You must not +expect me to tell you everything, father, for you know you do not tell +me everything." + +"Silly child!" he answered. "But there, Sylvia, I do trust you. And, my +dear little girl, know this, that you are the great--the very +greatest--comfort of my life. I will come in; it is somewhat chilly this +evening." + +Sylvia rushed before her father into his sitting-room, dashed up to the +fire, flung on some bits of wood and what scraps of coal were left in +the coal-hod, thrust in a torn newspaper, set a match to the fire she +had hastily laid, and before Mr. Leeson strolled languidly into the +room, a cheerful fire was crackling and blazing up the chimney. + +"How extravagant----" he began, but when he saw Sylvia's pretty face as +she knelt on the hearth the words were arrested on his lips. + +"The child is very like her mother, and her mother was the most +beautiful woman on earth when I married her," he thought. "Poor little +Sylvia! I wonder will she have a happier fate!" + +He sat down by the fire. The girl knelt by him, took his cold hands, and +rubbed them softly. Her heart was full; there were tears in her eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII.--THE FALL IN THE SNOW. + + +The next morning, when the meager breakfast which Mr. Leeson and his +daughter enjoyed together had come to an end, Sylvia ran off to find +Jasper. She had stayed with her father during most of the preceding +evening, and although she had gone as usual to drink her chocolate and +eat her bread before going to bed, she had said very little to Jasper. +But she wanted to speak to her this morning, for she had thoughts in the +night, and those thoughts were driving her to decisive action. Jasper +was standing in the kitchen. She had made up the fire with the smokeless +coal, and it was burning slowly but steadily. A little, plump chicken +lay on the table; a small piece of bacon was close at hand. There was +also a pile of large and mealy-looking potatoes and some green +vegetables. + +"Our dinner for to-day," said Jasper briefly. + +"Oh Jasper!" answered the girl--"oh, if only father could have some of +that chicken! Do you know, I do not think he is at all well; he looked +so cold and feeble last night. He really is starving himself--very much +as I starved myself before you came; but he is old and cannot bear it +quite so well. What am I to do to keep him alive?" + +Jasper looked full at Sylvia. + +"Do!" she said. "How can a fool be cured of his folly? That is the +question I ask myself. If he denies himself the necessaries of life, how +are you to give them to him?" + +"Well," said Sylvia, "I manage as best I can by hardly ever eating in +his presence; he does not notice, particularly at breakfast. He enjoyed +his egg and toast this morning, and really said nothing about my +unwonted extravagance." + +"I have a plan in my head," said Jasper, "which may or may not come to +anything. You know those few miserable barn-door fowls which your father +keeps just by the shrubbery in that old hen-house?" + +"Yes," replied Sylvia. + +"Do they ever lay any eggs?" + +"No." + +"I thought not. I wonder a prudent, careful man like Mr. Leeson should +keep them eating their heads off, so to speak." + +"Oh, they don't eat much," replied Sylvia. "I got them when father spoke +so much about the wasted potato-skins. I bought them from a gipsy. I did +not know they were so old." + +"We must get rid of those fowls," said Jasper. "You must tell your +father that it is a great waste of money to keep them; and, my dear, we +will give him fowl to eat for his dinner as long as the old fowls in the +shrubbery last. There are ten of them. I shall sell them--very little +indeed we shall get for them--and he will imagine he is eating them when +he really is consuming a delicate little bird like the one you and I are +going to enjoy for our dinner to-day." + +"What fun!" said Sylvia, the color coming into her cheeks and her eyes +sparkling. "You do not think it is wrong to deceive him, do you?" + +"Wrong! Bless you! no," replied Jasper. "And now, my dear, what is the +matter with you? You look----" + +"How?" replied Sylvia. + +"Just as if you were bursting to tell me something." + +"I am--I am," answered Sylvia. "Oh Jasper, you must help me!" + +"Of course I will, dear." + +"I have resolved to accept your most kind offer. I will pay you somehow, +in some fashion, but if you could make just one of Evelyn's frocks fit +for me to wear!" + +"Ah!" replied Jasper. "Now, I am as pleased about this as I could be +about anything. We will have more than one, my pretty young miss. But +what do you want it for?" + +"I am going to do a great, big, dangerous thing," replied Sylvia. "If +father discovers, things will be very bad, I am sure; but perhaps he +will not discover. Anyhow, I am not proof against temptation. I met Lady +Frances Wynford." + +"And how does her ladyship look?" asked Jasper--"as proud as ever?" + +"She was not proud to me, Jasper; she was quite nice. She asked me to +take a drive with her." + +"You took a drive with her ladyship!" + +"I did indeed; you must treat me with great respect after this." + +Jasper put her arms akimbo and burst into a loud laugh. + +"I guess," she said after a pause, "you looked just as fine and +aristocratic as her ladyship's own self." + +"I drove in a luxurious carriage, and had a lovely fur cloak wrapped +round me," replied the girl; "and Lady Frances was very, very kind, and +she has asked me to spend Saturday at the Castle." + +"Saturday! Why, that is to-morrow." + +"Yes, I know it is." + +"You are going?" + +"Yes, I am going." + +"You will see my little Eve to-morrow?" + +"Yes, Jasper." + +Jasper's black eyes grew suspiciously bright; she raised her hand to +dash away something which seemed to dim them for a second, then she said +in a brisk tone: + +"We have our work cut out for us, for you shall not go shabby, my +pretty, pretty maid. I will soon have the dinner in order, and----" + +"But what have you got for father's dinner?" + +"A little soup. You can tell him that you boiled his chop in it. It is +really good, and I am putting in lots of pearl barley and rice and +potatoes. He will be ever so pleased, for he will think it cost next to +nothing; but there is a good piece of solid meat boiled down in that +soup, nevertheless." + +"Oh, thank you, Jasper; you are a comfort to me." + +"Well," replied Jasper, "I always like to do my best for those who are +brave and young and put upon. You are a very silly girl in some ways, +Miss Sylvia; but you have been good to me, and I mean to be good to you. +Now then, dinner is well forward, and we will go and search out the +dress." + +The rest of the day passed quickly, and with intense enjoyment as far as +Sylvia was concerned. She had sufficiently good taste to choose the +least remarkable of Evelyn's many costumes. There was a rich dark-brown +costume, trimmed with velvet of the same shade, which could be +lengthened in the skirt and let out in the bodice, and which the young +girl would look very nice in. A brown velvet hat accompanied the +costume, with a little tuft of ostrich feathers placed on one side, and +a pearl buckle to keep all in place. There were muffs and furs in +quantities to choose from. Sylvia would for once in her life be richly +appareled. Jasper exerted herself to the utmost, and the pretty dress +was all in order by the time night came. + +It was quite late evening when Sylvia sought the room where her father +lived. A very plain but at the same time nourishing supper had been +provided for Mr. Leeson. Sylvia's own supper she would take as usual +with Jasper. Sylvia dashed into her father's room, her eyes bright and +her cheeks glowing. She was surprised and distressed to see the room +empty. She wondered if her father had gone to his bedroom. Quickly she +rushed up-stairs and knocked at the door; there was no response. She +opened the door softly and went in. All was cold and icy desolation +within the large, badly furnished room. Sylvia shivered slightly, and +rushed down-stairs again. She peeped out of the window. The snow was +falling heavily in great big flakes. + +"Oh, I hope it will not snow too much to-night!" thought the young girl. +"But no matter; however deep it is, I shall find my way to Castle +Wynford to-morrow." + +She wondered if her father would miss her, if he would grow restless and +anxious; but nevertheless she was determined to enjoy her pleasure. +Still, where was he now? She glanced at the fire in the big grate; she +ventured to put on some more coals and to tidy up the hearth; then she +drew down the blinds of the windows, pulled her father's armchair in +front of the fire, sat down herself by the hearth, and waited. She +waited for over half an hour. During that time the warmth of the fire +made her drowsy. She found herself nodding. Suddenly she sat up wide +awake. A queer sense of uneasiness stole over her; she must go and seek +her father. Where could he be? How she longed to call Jasper to her aid! +But that, she knew, would be impossible. She wrapped a threadbare cloak, +which hung on a peg in the hall, round her shoulders, slipped her feet +into goloshes, and set out into the wintry night. She had not gone a +dozen yards before she saw the object of her search. Mr. Leeson was +lying full length on the snow; he was not moving. Sylvia had a wild +horror that he was dead; she bent over him. + +"Father! father!" she cried. + +There was no answer. She touched his face with her lips; it was icy +cold. Oh, was he dead? Oh, terror! oh, horror! All her accustomed +prudence flew to the winds. Get succor for him at once she must. She +dashed into the kitchen. Jasper was standing by the fire. + +"Come at once, Jasper!" she said. "Bring brandy, and come at once." + +"What has happened, my darling?" + +"Come at once and you will see. Bring brandy--brandy." + +Jasper in an emergency was all that was admirable. She followed Sylvia +out into the snow, and between them they dragged Mr. Leeson back to the +house. + +"Now, dear," said Jasper, "I will give him the brandy, and I'll stand +behind him. When he comes to I will slip out of the room. Oh, the poor +gentleman! He is as cold as ice. Hold that blanket and warm it, will +you, Sylvia? We must put it round him. Oh, bless you, child! heap some +coals on the fire. What matter the expense? There! you cannot lift that +great hod; I'll do it." + +Jasper piled coals on the grate; the fire crackled and blazed merrily. +Mr. Leeson lay like one dead. + +"He is dead--he is dead!" gasped Sylvia. + +"No, love, not a bit of it; but he slipped in the cold and the fall +stunned him a bit, and the cold is so strong he could not come to +himself again. He will soon be all right; we must get this brandy +between his lips." + +That they managed to do, and a minute or two later the poor man opened +his eyes. Just for a second it seemed to him that he saw a strange +woman, stout and large and determined-looking, bending over him; but the +next instant, his consciousness more wholly returning, he saw Sylvia. +Sylvia's little face, white with fear, her eyes, large with love and +anxiety, were close to his. He smiled into the sweet little face, and +holding out his thin hand, allowed her to clasp it. There was a rustle +as though somebody was going away, and Sylvia and her father were alone. +A moment later the young girl raised her eyes and saw Jasper in the +background making mysterious signs to her. She got up. Jasper was +holding a cup of very strong soup in her hand. Sylvia took it with +thankfulness, and brought it to her father. + +"Do you know," she said, trying to speak as cheerfully as she could, +"that you have behaved very badly? You went out into the snow when you +should have been in your warm room, and you fell down and you fainted or +something. Anyhow, I found you in time; and now you are to drink this." + +"I won't; hot water will do--not that expensive stuff," said Mr. Leeson, +true to the tragedy of his life even at this crucial moment. + +"Drink this and nothing else," said Sylvia, speaking as hardly and +firmly as she dared. + +Mr. Leeson was too weak to withstand her. She fed him by spoonfuls, and +presently he was well enough to sit up again. + +"Child, what a fire!" he said. + +"Yes, father; and if it means our very last sixpence, or our very last +penny even, it is going to be a big fire to-night: and you are going to +be nursed and petted and comforted. Oh, father, father, you gave me such +a fright!" + +As Sylvia spoke her composure gave way; her tense feelings were relieved +by a flood of tears. She pressed her face against her father's hand and +sobbed unrestrainedly. + +"You do not mean to say you are really fond of me?" he said; and a queer +moisture came into his own eyes. He said nothing more about the coals, +and Sylvia insisted on his having more food, and, in short, having a +really good time. + +"Dare I leave him to-morrow?" she said to herself. "He may be very weak +after this; and yet--and yet I cannot give up my great, great fun. My +lovely dress, too, ready and all! Oh! I must go. I am sure he will be +all right in the morning." + +Presently, much to Sylvia's relief, Mr. Leeson suggested that he should +sleep on the sofa, in the neighborhood of the big fire. + +"For you have been so reckless, my dear little girl," he said, "that +really you have provided a fire to last for hours and hours. It would be +a sad pity to waste it; I think, therefore, that I shall spend the night +on this sofa, well wrapped up, enjoying the heat." + +"Nothing could be better, father," said Sylvia, "except a big, very big, +fire in your own room, and you in your own bed well warmed with hot +bottles." + +"We should soon be in the workhouse," was Mr. Leeson's rejoinder. "No, +no; I will enjoy the fire here now that you have been so extravagant; +and you had better go to bed if you have had your supper." + +Sylvia had had no supper, but Mr. Leeson was far too self-absorbed to +notice that fact. Presently she left him, and he lay on the sofa, +blinking into the fire, and occasionally half-dozing. After a time he +dropped off to sleep, and the young girl, who stole in to look at him, +went out with a satisfied expression on her face. + +"He is quite well again," she said to Jasper, "and he is sleeping +sweetly. + +"Now, look here," said Jasper. "What is fretting you?" + +"I don't think I ought to leave him to-morrow." + +"But I shall be here. I will manage to let him have his meals +comfortable without his knowing it. Do you suppose I have not done more +difficult things than that in my day? Now, my love, you go to bed and +sleep sound, and I will have a plan all mature to give you your happy +day with an undisturbed conscience in the morning." + +Sylvia was really very tired--dead tired. She went up-stairs, and as soon +as she laid her head on her pillow was sound asleep. + +Meanwhile Mr. Leeson slept on for two or three hours; it was past the +middle of the night when he awoke. He woke wide awake, as elderly people +will, and looked round him. The fire had burnt itself down to a great +red mass; the room looked cheery and comfortable in the warm rays. Mr. +Leeson stirred himself luxuriously and wrapped the blanket, which Jasper +had brought from her own stores, tightly round his person. After a time, +however, its very softness and fluffiness and warmth attracted his +attention. He began to feel it between his fingers and thumb; then he +roused himself, sat up, and looked at it. A suspicious look came into +his eyes. + +"What is the matter?" he said to himself. "Is Sylvia spending money that +I know nothing about? Why, this is a new blanket! I have an inventory of +every single thing that this house possesses. Surely new blankets are +not included in that inventory! I can soon see." + +He rose, lit a pair of candles, went to a secretary which stood against +the wall, opened it, and took out a book marked "Exact Inventory of all +the Furniture at The Priory." He turned up the portion devoted to house +linen, and read the description of the different blankets which the +meager establishment contained. There was certainly a lack of these +valuable necessaries; the blankets at The Priory had seen much service, +and were worn thin with use and washing. But this blanket was new--oh, +delicious, of course--but what was the man worth who needed such +luxuries! Mr. Leeson pushed it aside with a disturbed look on his face. + +"Sylvia must be spending money," he said to himself. "I have observed it +of late. She looks better, and she decidedly gives me extravagant meals. +The bread is not as stale as it might be, and there is too much meat +used. This soup----" + +He took up the empty cup from which he had drained the soup a few hours +back, and looked at a drop or two which still remained at the bottom. + +"Positively it jellies," he said to himself--"jellies! Then, too, in my +rambles round this evening I noticed that smoke again--that smoke coming +from the kitchen. There is too much fuel used here, and these blankets +are disgraceful, and the food is reckless--there is no other word for +it." + +He sank back on his sofa and gazed at the fire. + +"Ah!" he said as he looked full at the flames, "out you go presently; +and for some time the warmth will remain in the room, and I shall not +dream of lighting any other fire here until that warmth is gone. Sylvia +takes after her mother. There was never a better woman than my dear +wife, but she was madly, disgracefully extravagant. What shall I do if +this goes on?--and pretty girls like Sylvia are apt to be so thoughtless. +I wish I could send her away for a bit; it will be quite terrible if she +develops her mother's tastes. I could not be cruel to my pretty little +girl, but she certainly will be a fearful thorn in my side if she buys +blankets of this sort, and feeds me with soup that jellies, forsooth! +What am I to do? I have not saved quite so much as I ought during the +last week. Ah! the house is silent as the grave. I shall just count out +the money I have put into that last canvas bag." + +A stealthy, queer light came into Mr. Leeson's eyes. He crossed the room +on tiptoe and turned the key in the lock. As he did so he seemed to be +assailed by a memory. + +"Was I alone with Sylvia when I awoke out of unconsciousness," he said +to himself, "or was there some one else by? I cannot quite make out. Was +it a dream that I saw an ugly, large woman bending over me? People do +dream things of that sort when they sink from exhaustion. I have read of +it in stories of misers. Misers! I am nothing of that kind; I am just a +prudent man who will not spend too much--a prudent man who tries to save. +It must have been a dream that a stranger was in the house; my little +girl might take after her mother, but she is not so bad as that. Yes, I +will take the opportunity; I will count what is in the canvas bag. I was +too weak to-night to attempt the work of burying my treasure, but +to-morrow night I must be stronger. I believe I ate too much, and that +is what ails me--in fact, I am certain of it. The cold took me and +brought on an acute attack of indigestion, and I stumbled and fell. Poor +dear little Sylvia! But I won't leave her penniless; that is one +comfort." + +Putting out one candle carefully, Mr. Leeson now laid the other on a +table. He then went to his secretary and opened it. He pushed in his +hand far, and brought out from its innermost depths a small bag made of +rough canvas. The bag was tied with coarse string. He glanced round him, +a strange expression on his face, and loosening the string of the bag, +poured its contents upon the table. He poured them out slowly, and as he +did so a look of distinct delight visited his face. There lay on the +table in front of him a pile of money--gold, silver, copper. He spent +some time dividing the three species of coin into different heaps. The +gold coins were put in piles one on top of the other at his right hand, +the silver lying in still larger heaps in the middle; the coppers, up to +farthings, lay on his left hand. He bent his head and touched the gold +with his lips. + +"Beautiful! blessed! lovely!" he muttered. "I have saved all this out of +the money which my dear wife would have spent on food and dress and +luxuries. The solid, tangible, precious thing is here, and there is more +like it--much more like it--many bags larger than these, full, full to the +brim, all buried down deep in the fowl-house. No one would guess where I +bank my spoils. They are as safe as can be. I dare not keep much +treasure in the house, but no one will know where it really lies." + +He counted his gold carefully; he also counted his silver; finally he +counted his copper. He wrote down the different sums on a piece of +paper, which he slipped into the canvas bag; he put back the coins, tied +the bag with the string, and returned it to its hiding-place. + +"To-morrow night I must bury it," he said to himself. "I had hoped that +I would have saved a little more, but by dint of great additional +economy I may succeed next month. Well, I must begin to be very careful, +and I must speak plainly on the subject to Sylvia." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII.--A RED GIPSY CLOAK. + + +Mr. Leeson looked quite well the next morning, and Sylvia ate her scanty +breakfast with a happy heart; she no longer felt any qualms at leaving +her father for the day. Jasper assured Sylvia over and over again that +all would be well; that without in the least betraying the secret of her +residence in the house, she would see to Mr. Leeson's comforts. The +difficulty now was for Sylvia to dress in her smart clothes and slip +away without her father seeing her. She did not want to get to Castle +Wynford much before one o'clock, but she would leave The Priory long +before that hour and wander about in her usual fashion. No outdoor +exercise tired this energetic girl. She looked forward to a whole long +day of unalloyed bliss, to the society of other girls, to congenial +warmth and comfort and luxury. She even looked forward with a pleasure, +that her father would put down to distinct greediness, to nice, +temptingly served meals. Oh yes, she meant to enjoy everything. She +meant to drink this cup of bliss to the bottom, not to leave one drop +untasted. Jasper seemed to share her pleasure. Jasper burdened her with +many messages to Evelyn; she got Sylvia to promise that she would +contrive a meeting between Evelyn and her old maid on the following day. +Jasper selected the rendezvous, and told Sylvia exactly what she was to +say to Evelyn. + +"Whatever happens, I must see her," said the woman. "Tell her there are +many reasons; and tell her too that I am hungry for a sight of +her--hungry, hungry." + +"Because you love her so much," said Sylvia, a soft light in her eyes. + +"Yes, my darling, that is it--I love her." + +"And she must love you very much," said Sylvia. + +Jasper uttered a quick sigh. + +"It is not Evelyn's way to love to extremities," she said slowly. "You +must not blame her, my dear; we are all made according to the will of +the Almighty; and Evelyn--oh yes, she is as the apple of the eye to me, +but I am nothing of that sort to her. You see, dear, her head is a bit +turned with the lofty future that lies before her. In some ways it does +not suit her; it would suit you, Miss Sylvia, or it would suit Miss +Audrey, but it does not suit little Eve. It is too much for my little +Eve; she would do better in a less exalted sphere." + +"Well, I do hope and trust she will be glad to see you and glad to hear +about you," said Sylvia. "I will be sure to tell her what a dear old +thing you are. But, oh, Jasper, do you think she will notice the smart +dress made out of her dress?" + +"You can give her this note, dear; I am sending her a word of warning +not to draw attention to your dress. And now, don't you think you had +better get into it, and let me see you out by the back premises?" + +"I must go and see father just for a minute first," said Sylvia. + +She ran off, saw her father, as usual busily writing letters, and bent +down to kiss him. + +"Don't disturb me," he said in a querulous tone. "I am particularly +busy. The post this morning has brought me some gratifying news. A +little investment I made a short time ago in great fear and trembling +has turned up trumps. I mean to put a trifle more money--oh, my dear! I +only possess a trifle--into the same admirable undertaking (gold-mines, +my dear), and if all that the prospectus says is true I shall be in very +truth a rich man. Not yet, Sylvia--don't you think it--but some day." + +"Oh father! and if you are----" + +"Why, you may spend a little more then, dear--a little more; but it is +wrong to squander gold. Gold is a beautiful and precious thing, my dear; +very beautiful, very precious, very hard to get." + +"Yes, father; and I hope you will have a great deal of it, and I hope +you will put plenty--plenty of money into the--into the----" + +"Investment," said Mr. Leeson. "The investment that sounds so promising. +Don't keep me now, love." + +"I am going out for a long walk, father; it is such a bright, sunshiny +day. Good-by for the present." + +Mr. Leeson did not hear; he again bent over the letter which he was +writing. Sylvia ran back to Jasper. + +"He seems quite well," she said, "and very much interested in what the +post brought him this morning. I think I can leave him quite safely. You +will be sure to see that he has his food." + +"Bless you, child!--yes." + +"And you will on no account betray that you live here?" + +"Bless you, child! again--not I." + +"Well then, I will get into my finery. How grand and important I shall +feel!" + +So Sylvia was dressed in the brown costume and the pretty brown velvet +hat, and she wore a little sable collar and a sable muff; and then she +kissed Jasper, and telling her she would remember all the messages, +started on her day of pleasure. Jasper saw her out by the back entrance. +This entrance had been securely closed before Jasper's advent, but +between them the woman and the girl had managed to open the rusty gate, +although Mr. Leeson was unaware that it had moved on its hinges for many +a long day. It opened now to admit of Sylvia's exit, and Jasper went +slowly back to the house, meditating as she did so. Whatever her +meditations were, they roused her to action. She engaged herself busily +in her bedroom and kitchen. She opened her trunk and took out a small +bag which contained her money. She had plenty of money, still, but it +would not last always. Without Sylvia's knowing it, she had often spent +more than a pound a week on this establishment. It had been absolutely +necessary for her to provide herself with warm bedclothes, and to add to +the store of coals by purchasing anthracite coal, which is almost +smokeless. In one way or another her hoard was diminished by twenty +pounds; she had therefore only forty more. When this sum was spent she +would be penniless. + +"Not that I am afraid," thought Jasper, "for Evelyn will have to give me +more money--she must. I could not leave my dear little Sylvia now that I +find the dreadful plight she is in; and I cannot stay far from my dear +Evelyn, for although she does not love me as I love her, still, I should +suffer great pain if I could not be, so to speak, within call. I wonder +if my plan will succeed. I must have a try." + +Jasper, having fulfilled her small duties, sat for a time gazing +straight before her. The hours went on. The little carriage clock which +she kept in her bedroom struck eleven, then twelve. + +"Time for him to have something," thought Jasper. "Now, can I possibly +manage? Yes, I think so." + +She took a saucepan, which held something mysterious, out into the open +air. It was an old, shabby saucepan. She hid it in the shrubbery. She +then went back to her room and changed her dress. She was some little +time over her toilet, and when she once more emerged into view, the old +Jasper, to all appearance, had vanished. + +A dark, somewhat handsome woman, in a faded red gipsy cloak, now stood +before the looking-glass. Jasper slipped out the back way, pushed aside +the rusty gate, said a friendly word to Pilot, who wagged his tail with +approbation, and carrying a basket on her arm, walked slowly down the +road. She met one or two people, and accosted them in the true Romany +style. + +"May I tell your fortune, my pretty miss? May I cross your hand with +silver and tell you of the fine gentleman who is going to ride by +presently? Let me, my dear--let me." + +And when the young girl she addressed ran away giggling, little +suspecting that Jasper was not a real gipsy, Jasper knew that her scheme +had succeeded. She even induced a village boy to submit to her +fortune-telling, and half-turned his head by telling him of a treasure +to be found, and a wife in an upper class who would raise him once for +all to a position of luxury. She presently pounded loudly on The Priory +gates. Mr. Leeson had an acute ear; he always sat within view of these +gates. His one desire was to keep all strangers from the premises; he +had trained Pilot for the purpose. Accordingly Jasper's knocks were not +heeded. Sylvia was always desired to go to the village to get the +necessary food; trades-people were not allowed on the premises. His +letter occupied him intently; he was busy, too, looking over files of +accounts and different prospectuses; he was engaged over that most +fascinating pastime, counting up his riches. But, ah! ah! how poor he +was! Oh, what a poverty-stricken man! He sighed and grumbled as he +thought over these things. Jasper gave another furious knock, and +finding that no attention was paid to her imperious summons, she pushed +open the gate. Pilot immediately, as his custom was, appeared on guard. +He stood in front of Jasper and just for a moment barked at her, but she +gave him a mysterious sign, and he wagged his tail gently, went up to +her, and let her pat him on the head. The next instant, to Mr. Leeson's +disgust, the gipsy and the dog were walking side by side up to the door. +He sprang to his feet, and in a moment was standing on the steps. + +"Go away, my good woman; go away at once. I cannot have you on the +premises. I will set the dog on you if you don't go away." + +"One minute, kind sir," whined Jasper. "I have come to know if you have +any fowls to sell. I want some fowls; old hens and cocks--not young +pullets or anything of that sort. I want to buy them, sir, and I am +prepared to give a good price." + +These extraordinary remarks aroused Mr. Leeson's thoughtful attention. +He had long been annoyed by the barn-door fowls, and they were decidedly +old. He had often wished to dispose of them; they were too tough to eat, +and they no longer laid eggs. + +"If you will promise to take the fowls right away with you now, I do not +mind selling them for a good price," he said. "Are you prepared to give +a good price? I wonder where my daughter is; she would know better than +I what they are worth. Stand where you are, my good woman; do not +attempt to move or the dog Pilot will fly at your throat. I will call my +daughter." + +Mr. Leeson went into the house and shouted for Sylvia. Of course there +was no answer. + +"I forgot," muttered Mr. Leeson. "Sylvia is out. Really that child +over-exercises; such devotion to the open air must provoke unnecessary +appetite. I wish that horrid gipsy would go away! How extraordinary that +Pilot did not fly at her! But they say gipsies have great power over men +and animals. Well, if she does give a fair price for the birds I may as +well be quit of them; they annoy me a good deal, and some time, in +consequence of them, some one may discover my treasure. Good heavens, +how awful! The thought almost unmans me." + +Mr. Leeson therefore came out and spoke in quite a civil tone for him. + +"If you will accompany me to the fowl-house I will show you the birds, +but I may as well say at once that I won't give them for a mere nothing, +old as they are--and I should be the last to deceive you as to their age. +They are of a rare kind, and interesting from a scientific point of +view." + +"I do not know about scientific fowls," replied the gipsy, "but I want +to buy a few old hens to put into my pot." + +"Eh?" cried Mr. Leeson in a tone of interrogation. "Have you a recipe +for boiling down old fowls?" + +"Have not I, your honor! And soon they are done, too--in a jiffy, so to +speak. But let me look at them, your honor, and I will pay you far more +than any one else would give for them." + +"You won't get them unless you give a very good sum. You gipsies, if the +truth were known, are all enormously rich." + +He walked round to the hen-house, accompanied by the supposed gipsy and +Pilot. The fowls, about a dozen in number, were strutting up and down +their run. They were hungry, poor creatures, for they had had but a +slight meal that morning. The gipsy pretended to bargain for them, +keeping a sharp eye all the time on Mr. Leeson. + +"This one," she said, catching the most disreputable-looking of the +birds, "is the one I want for the gipsies' stew. There, I will give you +ninepence for this bird." + +"Ninepence!" cried Mr. Leeson, almost shrieking out the word. "Do you +think I would sell a valuable hen like that for ninepence? And you say +it can be boiled down to eat tender!" + +"Boiled down to eat tender!" said the supposed gipsy. "Why, it can be +made delicious. There is broth in it, soup in it, and meat in it. There +is dinner for four, and supper for four, and soup for four in this old +hen!" + +"And you offer me ninepence for such a valuable bird! I tell you what: I +wish you would show me that recipe. I will give you sixpence for it. I +do not know how to make an old hen tender." + +"Give me a quarter of an hour, your honor, and you will not know that +you are not eating the youngest chicken in the land." + +"But how are you to cook it?" + +"I will make a bit of fire in the shrubbery, and do it by a recipe of my +own." + +"You are sure you will not go near the house?" + +"No, your honor." + +"But how can a fowl that is now alive be fit to eat in a quarter of an +hour?" + +"It is a recipe of my grandmother's, your honor, and I am not going to +give it until you taste what the bird is like. Now, if you will go away +I will get it ready for you." + +Mr. Leeson really felt interested. + +"What a sensible woman!" he said to himself. "I shall try and get that +recipe out of her for threepence; it will be valuable for my little book +of cheap recipes; it would probably sell the book. How to make four +dinners, four lunches, and four plates of soup out of an old hen. A most +taking recipe--most taking!" + +He walked up and down while the pretended gipsy heated up the stew she +had already made out of a really tender chicken. The poor old hen was +tied up so that she could not cackle or make any sound, and put into the +bottom of the supposed gipsy's basket; and presently Jasper appeared +carrying the stew in a cracked basin. + +"Here, your honor, eat it up before me, and tell me afterwards if a +better or a more tender fowl ever existed." + +It was in this way that Mr. Leeson made an excellent repast. He was +highly pleased, for decidedly the boniest and most scraggy of the fowls +had been selected, and nothing could be more delicious than this stew. +He fetched a plate and knife and fork from his sitting-room, where he +always kept a certain amount of useful kitchen utensils, ate his dinner, +pronounced it to be the best of the best, and desired the gipsy to leave +the balance in the porch. + +"Thank you," he said; "it is admirable. And so you really made that out +of my old hen in a few minutes? I will give you threepence if you will +give me the recipe." + +"I could not sell it for threepence, sir--no, not for sixpence; no, not +for a shilling. But I should like to make a bargain for the rest of the +fowls." + +"How much will you give for each?" + +"Taking them all in a heap, I will give sixpence apiece," replied the +gipsy. + +Mr. Leeson uttered a scream. + +"You have outdone yourself, my good woman," he said. "Do you think I am +going to give fowls that will make such delicious and nourishing food +away for that trivial sum? My little daughter is a very clever cook, and +I shall instruct her with regard to the serving up of the remainder of +my poultry. If you will not give me the recipe I must ask you to go." + +The gipsy pretended to be extremely angry. + +"I won't go," she said, "unless you allow me to tell you your fortune; I +won't stir, and that's flat." + +"I do not believe in gipsy fortune-tellers. I shall have to call the +police if you do not leave my establishment immediately." + +"And how will you manage when you don't ever leave your own grounds? I +am thinking it may be you are a bit afraid. People who stick so close to +home often have a reason." + +This remark frightened Mr. Leeson very much. He was always in terror +lest some one would guess that he kept his treasure on the premises. + +"Look here," he said, raising his voice. "You see before you the poorest +man for my position in the whole of England; it is with the utmost +difficulty that I can keep soul and body together. Observe the place; +observe the house. Do you think I should care for a recipe to make old +fowls tender if I were not in very truth a most poverty-stricken +person?" + +"I will tell you if you show me your palm," said the gipsy. + +Now, Mr. Leeson was superstitious. It was the last thing he credited +himself with, but nevertheless he was. The gipsy, with her dancing black +eyes, looked full at him. He had a shadowy, almost a fearful idea that +he had seen that face before--he could not make out when. Then it +occurred to him that this was the very face that had bent over him for +an instant the night before when he was coming back from his fit of +unconsciousness. Oh, it was impossible that the gipsy could have been +here then! Had he seen her in a sort of vision? He felt startled and +alarmed. The gipsy kept watching him; she seemed to be reading him +through and through. + +"I saw you in a dream," she said. "And I know you will show your hand; +and I know I have things to tell you, both good and bad." + +"Well, well!" said Mr. Leeson, "here is sixpence. Tell me your +gibberish, and then go." + +The gipsy looked twice at the coin. + +"It is a poor one," she said. "But them who is rich always give the +smallest." + +"I am not rich, I tell you." + +"They who are rich find it hardest to part with their pelf. But I will +take it." + +"I will give you a shilling if you'll go. But it is hard for a very poor +man to part with it." + +"Sixpence will do," said the gipsy, with a laugh. "Give it me. Now show +me your palm." + +She pretended to look steadily into the wrinkled palm of the miser's +hand, and then spoke. + +"I see here," she said, "much wealth. Yes, just where this cross lies is +gold. I also see poverty. I also see a very great loss and a judgment." + +"Go!" screamed the angry man. "Do not tell me another word." + +He dashed into the house in absolute terror, and banged the hall door +after him. + +"I said I would give him a fright," said Jasper to herself. "Well, if he +don't touch another morsel till Miss Sylvia comes home late to-night, he +won't die after my dinner. Ah, the poor old hen! I must get her out of +the basket now or she will be suffocated." + +The gipsy walked slowly down the path, let herself out by the front +entrance, walked round to the back, got in once more, and handed the old +hen to a boy who was standing by the hedge. + +"There," she said. "There's a present for you. Take it at once and go." + +"What do I want with it?" he asked in astonishment. "Why, it belongs to +old Mr. Leeson, the miser!" + +"Go--go!" she said. "You can sell it for sixpence, or a shilling, or +whatever it will fetch, only take it away." + +The boy ran off laughing, the hen tucked under his arm. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX.--"WHY DID YOU DO IT?" + + +Meanwhile Sylvia was thoroughly enjoying herself. She started for the +Castle in the highest spirits. Her walk during the morning hours had not +fatigued her; and when, soon after twelve o'clock, she walked slowly and +thoughtfully up the avenue, a happier, prettier girl could scarcely be +seen. The good food she had enjoyed since Jasper had appeared on the +scene had already begun to tell. Her cheeks were plump, her eyes bright; +her somewhat pale complexion was creamy in tint and thoroughly healthy. +Her dress, too, effected wonders. Sylvia would look well in a cotton +frock; she would look well as a milkmaid, as a cottage girl; but she +also had that indescribable grace which would enable her to fill a +loftier station. And now, in her rich furs and dark-brown costume, she +looked fit to move in any society. She held Evelyn's letter in her hand. +Her one fear was that Evelyn would remark on her own costume +transmogrified for Sylvia's benefit. + +"Well, if she does, I don't much care," thought the happy girl. "After +all, truth is best. Why should I deceive? I deceived when I was here +last, when I wore Audrey's dress. I had not the courage then that I have +now. Somehow to-day I feel happy and not afraid of anything." + +She was met, just before she reached the front entrance, by Audrey and +Evelyn. + +"Here, Evelyn," she cried--"here is a note for you." + +Evelyn took it quickly. She did not want Audrey to know that Jasper was +living at The Priory. She turned aside and read her note, and Audrey +devoted herself to Sylvia. Audrey had liked Sylvia before; she liked her +better than ever now. She was far too polite to glance at her improved +dress; that somehow seemed to tell her that happier circumstances had +dawned for Sylvia, and a sense of rejoicing visited her. + +"I am so very glad you have come!" she said. "Evelyn and I have been +planning how we are to spend the day. We want to give you, and ourselves +also, a right good time. Do you know that Evelyn and I are schoolgirls +now? Is it not strange? Dear Miss Sinclair has left us. We miss her +terribly; but I think we shall like school-life--eh, Eve?" + +Evelyn had finished Jasper's letter, and had thrust it into her pocket. + +"I hate school-life!" she said emphatically. + +"Oh Eve! but why?" asked Audrey. "I thought you were making a great many +friends at school." + +"Wherever I go I shall make friends," replied Evelyn in a careless tone. +"That, of course, is due to my position. But I do not know, after all," +she continued, "that I like fair-weather friends. Mothery used to tell +me that I must be careful when with them. She said they would, one and +all, expect me to do something for them. Now, I hate people who want you +to do things for them. For my part, I shall soon let my so-called +friends know that I am not that sort of girl." + +"Let us walk about now," said Audrey. "It will be lunch-time before +long; afterwards I thought we might go for a ride. Can you ride, +Sylvia?" + +"I used to ride once," she answered, coloring high with pleasure. + +"I can lend you a habit; and we have a very nice horse--quite quiet, and +at the same time spirited." + +"I am not afraid of any horses," answered the girl. "I should like a +ride immensely." + +"We will have lunch, then a ride, then a good cozy chat together by the +schoolroom fire, then dinner; and then, what do you say to a dance? We +have asked some young friends to come to the Castle to-night for the +purpose." + +"I must not be too late in going home," said Sylvia. "And," she added, +"I have not brought a dress for the evening." + +"Oh, we must manage that," said Audrey. "What a good thing that you and +I are the same height! Now, shall we walk round the shrubbery?" + +"The shrubbery always reminds me," said Sylvia, "of the first day we +met." + +"Yes. I was very angry with you that day," said Audrey, with a laugh. +"You must know that I always hated that old custom of throwing the +Castle open to every one on New Year's Day." + +"But I am too glad of it," said Sylvia. "It made me know you, and Evelyn +too." + +"Don't forget, Audrey," said Evelyn at that moment, "that Sylvia is +really my friend. It was I who first brought her to the Castle.--You do +not forget that, do you, Sylvia?" + +"No," said Sylvia, smiling. "And I like you both awfully. But do tell me +about your school--do, please." + +"Well," said Audrey, "there is a rather exciting thing to tell--something +unpleasant, too. Perhaps you ought not to know." + +"Please--please tell me. I am quite dying to hear about it." + +Audrey then described the mysterious damage done to Sesame and Lilies. + +"Miss Henderson was told," she said, "and yesterday morning she spoke to +the entire school. She is going to punish the person who did it very +severely if she can find her; and if that person does not confess, I +believe the whole school is to be put more or less into Coventry." + +"But how does she know that any of the girls did it?" was Sylvia's +answer. "There are servants in the house. Has she questioned them?" + +"She has; but it so happens that the servants are quite placed above +suspicion, for the book was whole at a certain hour the very first day +we came to school, and that evening it was found in its mutilated +condition. During all those hours it happened to be in the Fourth Form +schoolroom." + +"Yes," said Evelyn in a careless tone. "It is quite horrid for me, you +know, for I am a Fourth Form girl. I ought not to be. I ought to be in +the Sixth Form with Audrey. But there! those unpleasant mistresses have +no penetration." + +"But why should you wish to be in a higher form than your acquirements +warrant?" replied Sylvia. "Oh," she added, with enthusiasm, "don't I +envy you both your luck! Should I not love to be at school in order to +work hard!" + +"By the way, Sylvia," said Audrey suddenly, "how have you been +educated?" + +"Why, anyhow," said the girl. "I have taught myself mostly. But please +do not ask me any questions. I don't want to think of my own life at all +to-day; I am so very happy at being with you two." + +Audrey immediately turned the conversation; but soon, by a sort of +instinct, it crept back again to the curious occurrence which had taken +place at Miss Henderson's school. + +"Please do not speak of it at lunch," said Audrey, "for we have not told +mother or father anything about it. We hope that this disgraceful thing +will not be made public, but that the culprit will confess." + +"Much chance of that!" said Evelyn; and she nudged Sylvia's arm, on +which she happened to be leaning. + +The girls presently went into the house. Lunch followed. Lady Frances +was extremely kind to Sylvia--in fact, she made a pet of her. She looked +with admiration at the pretty and suitable costume, and wondered in her +own heart what she could do for the little girl. + +"I like her," she said to herself. "She suits me better than any girl I +have ever met except my own dear Audrey. Oh, how I wish she were the +heiress instead of Evelyn!" + +Evelyn was fairly well behaved; she had learnt to suppress herself. She +was now outwardly dutiful to Lady Frances, and was, without any seeming +in the matter, affectionate to her uncle. The Squire was always +specially kind to Evelyn; but he liked young girls, and took notice of +Sylvia also, trying to draw her out. He spoke to her about her father. +He told her that he had once known a distinguished man of the name, and +wondered if it could be the same. Sylvia colored painfully, and showed +by many signs that the conversation distressed her. + +"It cannot be the same, of course," said the Squire lightly, "for my +friend Robert Leeson was a man who was likely to rise to the very top of +his profession. He was a barrister of extreme eminence. I shall never +forget the brilliant way he spoke in a _cause celebre_ which occupied +public attention not long ago. He won the case for his clients, and +covered himself with well-earned glory." + +Sylvia's eyes sparkled; then they grew dim with unshed tears. She +lowered her eyes and looked on her plate. Lady Frances nodded softly to +herself. + +"The same--doubtless the same," she said to herself. "A most +distinguished man. How terribly sad! I must inquire into this; Edward +has unexpectedly given me the clue." + +The girls went for a ride after lunch, and the rest of the delightful +day passed swiftly. Sylvia counted the hours. Whenever she looked at the +clock her face grew a little sadder. Half-hour after half-hour of the +precious time was going by. When should she have such a grand treat +again? At last it was time to go up-stairs to dress for dinner. + +"Now, you must come to my room, Sylvia," said Evelyn. "Yes, I insist," +she added, "for I was in reality your first friend." + +Sylvia was quite willing to comply. She soon found herself in Evelyn's +extremely pretty blue-and-silver room. How comfortable it looked--how +luxurious, how sweet, how refreshing to the eyes! The cleanliness and +perfect order of the room, the brightness of the fire, the calm, proper +look of Read as she stood by waiting to dress Evelyn for dinner, all +impressed Sylvia. + +"I like this life," she said suddenly. "Perhaps it is bad for me even to +see it, but I like it; I confess as much." + +"Perhaps, Miss Leeson," said Read just then in a very courteous voice, +"you will not object to Miss Audrey lending you the same dress you wore +the last time you were here? It has been nicely made up, and looks very +fresh and new." + +As Read spoke she pointed to the lovely Indian muslin robe which lay +across Evelyn's bed. + +"Please, Read," said Evelyn suddenly, "don't stay to help me to dress +to-night; Sylvia will do that. I want to have a chat with her; I have a +lot to say." + +"I will certainly help Evelyn if I can," replied Sylvia. + +"Very well, miss," replied Read. "To tell you the truth, I shall be +rather relieved; my mistress requires a fresh tucker to be put into the +dress she means to wear this evening, and I have not quite finished it. +Then you will excuse me, young ladies. If you want anything, will you +have the goodness to ring?" + +The next moment Read had departed. + +"Now, that is right," said Evelyn. "Now we shall have a cozy time; there +is nearly an hour before we need go down-stairs. How do you like my +room, Sylvia?" + +"Very much indeed. I see the second bed has gone." + +"Oh yes. I do not mind a scrap sleeping alone now; in fact, I rather +prefer it. Sylvia, I want so badly to confide in you!" + +"To confide in me! How? Why?" + +"I want to ask you about Jasper. Oh yes, she wants to see me. I can +manage to slip out about nine o'clock on Tuesday next; we are not to +dine down-stairs on Tuesday night, for there is a big dinner party. She +can come to meet me then; I shall be standing by the stile in the +shrubbery." + +"But surely Lady Frances will not like you to be out so late!" + +"As if I minded her! Sylvia, for goodness' sake don't tell me that you +are growing goody-goody." + +"No; I never was that," replied Sylvia. "I don't think I could be; it is +not in me, I am afraid." + +"I hope not; I don't think Jasper would encourage that sort of thing. +Yes, I have a lot to tell her, and you may say from me that I don't care +for school." + +"Oh, I am so sorry! It is incomprehensible to me, for I should think +that you would love it." + +"For some reasons I might have endured it; but then, you see, there is +that awkward thing about the Ruskin book." + +"The Ruskin book!" said Sylvia. She turned white, and her heart began to +beat. "Surely--surely, Evelyn, you have had nothing to do with the +tearing out of the first pages of _Sesame and Lilies_!" + +"You won't tell--you promise you won't tell?" said Evelyn, nodding her +head, and her eyes looking very bright. + +"Oh! I don't know. This is dreadful; please relieve my anxiety." + +"You will not tell; you dare not!" said Evelyn, with passion. "If you +did I would tell about Jasper--I would. Oh! I would not leave a stone +unturned to make your life miserable. There, Sylvia, forgive me; I did +not mean to scold. I like you so much, dear Sylvia; and I am so glad you +have Jasper with you, and it suits me to perfection. But I did tear the +leaves out of the book; yes, I did, and I am glad I did; and you must +never, never tell." + +"But, Eve--oh, Eve! why did you do such a dreadful thing?" + +"I did it in a fit of temper, to spite that horrid Miss Thompson; I hate +her so! She was so intolerably cheeky; she made me stay in during +recreation on the very first day, and she accused me of telling lies, +and when she had left the room I saw the odious book lying on the table. +I had seen her reading it before, and I thought it was her book; and +almost before I had time to think, the pages were out and torn up and in +the fire. If I had known it was Miss Henderson's book, of course, I +should not have done it. But I did not know. I meant to punish horrid +old Thompson, and it seems I have succeeded better than I expected." + +"But, Eve--Eve, the whole school is suspected now. What are you going to +do?" + +"Do!" replied Evelyn. "Nothing." + +"But you have been asked, have you not, whether you knew anything about +the injury to the book?" + +"I have, and I told a nice little whopper--a nice pretty little whopper--a +dear, charming little whopper--and I mean to stick to it." + +"Eve!" + +"You look shocked. Well, cheer up; it has not been your fault. I must +confide in some one, so I have told you, and you may tell Jasper if you +like. Dear old Jasper! she will applaud me for my spirit. Oh dear! do +you know, Sylvia, I think you are rather a tiresome girl. I thought you +too would have admired the plucky way I have acted." + +"How can I admire deceit and lies?" replied Sylvia in a low tone. + +"You dare say those words to me!" + +"Yes, I dare. Oh, you have made me unhappy! Oh, you have destroyed my +day! Oh Eve, Eve, why did you do it?" + +"You won't tell on me, please, Sylvia? You have promised that, have you +not?" + +"Oh, why should I tell? It is not my place. But why did you do it?" + +"If you will not tell, nothing matters. I have done it, and it is not +your affair." + +"Yes, it is, now that you have confided in me. Oh, you have made me +unhappy!" + +"You are a goose! But you may tell dear Jasper; and tell her too that +her little Eve will wait for her at the turnstile on Tuesday night at +nine o'clock. Now then, let's get ready or we shall be late for dinner." + + + + +CHAPTER XX.--"NOT GOOD NOR HONORABLE." + + +It was very late indeed when Sylvia got home. On this occasion she was +not allowed to return to The Priory unaccompanied; Lady Frances insisted +on Read going with her. Read said very little as the two walked over the +roads together; but she was ever a woman of few words. Sylvia longed to +question her, as she wanted to take as much news as possible to Jasper, +but Read's face was decidedly uninviting. As soon as the woman had gone, +Sylvia slipped round to the back entrance, where Jasper was waiting for +her. Jasper had the gate ajar, and Pilot was standing by her side. + +"Come, darling--come right in," she said. "The coast is clear, and, oh! I +have a lot to tell you." + +She fastened the back gate, making it look as though it had not been +disturbed for years, and a moment later the woman and the girl were +standing in the warm kitchen. + +"The door is locked, and he will not come," said Jasper. "He is quite +well, and I heard him go up-stairs to his bed an hour ago." + +"And did he eat anything, Jasper?" + +"Oh, did he not, my love? Oh, I am fit to die with laughter when I think +of it! He imagines that he has demolished one quarter of the scraggiest +hen in the hen-house." + +"What! old Wallaroo?" replied Sylvia, a smile breaking over her face. + +"Wallaroo, or whatever outlandish name you like to call the bird." + +"Please tell me all about it." + +Sylvia sank down as she spoke into a chair. Jasper related her morning's +adventure, and the two laughed heartily. + +"Only it seems a shame to deceive him," said Sylvia at last. "And so +Wallaroo has really gone! Do you know, I shall miss her; I have stood +and watched her antics for so many long days. She was the most +outrageous flirt of any bird I have ever come across, and so indignant +when old Roger paid the least attention to any of his other wives." + +"She has passed her flirting days," replied Jasper, "and is now the +property of little Tim Donovan in the village; perhaps, however, she +will get more food there. My dear Miss Sylvia, you must make up your +mind that each one of those birds has to be disposed of in secret, and +that I in exchange get in sleek and fat young fowls for your father's +benefit. But now, that is enough on the subject for the present. Tell me +all about Miss Evelyn; I am just dying to hear." + +"She will meet you on Tuesday evening at nine o'clock by the turnstile +in the shrubbery," replied Sylvia. + +"That is right. What a brave, dear, plucky pet she is!" + +Sylvia was silent. + +"What is the matter with you, Miss Sylvia? Had you not a happy day?" + +"I had--very, very happy until just before dinner." + +"And what happened then?" + +"I will tell you in the morning, Jasper--not to-night. Something happened +then. I am sorry and sad, but I will tell you in the morning. I must +slip up to bed now without father knowing it." + +"Your father thinks that you are in bed, for I went up, just imitating +your step to perfection, an hour before he did, and I went into your +room and shut the door; and when he went up he knocked at the door, and +I answered in your voice that I had a bit of a headache and had gone to +bed. He asked me if I had had any supper, and I said no; and he said the +best thing for a headache was to rest the stomach. Bless you! he is keen +on that, whatever else he is not keen on. He went off to his bed +thinking you were snug in yours. When I made sure that he was well in +his bed, which I could tell by the creaking of the bedstead, I let +myself out. I had oiled the lock previously. I shut the door without +making a sound loud enough to wake a mouse, and crept down-stairs; and +here I am. You must not go up to-night or you will give me away, and +there will be a fine to-do. You must sleep in my cozy room to-night." + +"Well, I do not mind that," replied Sylvia. "How clever you are, Jasper! +You really did manage most wonderfully; only again I must say it seems a +shame to deceive my dear old father." + +"It is a question of dying in the cause of your dear old father or +deceiving him," replied Jasper in blunt tones. "Now then, come to bed, +my love, for if you are not dead with sleep I am." + +The next morning Mr. Leeson was in admirable spirits. He met Sylvia at +breakfast, and congratulated her on the long day she had spent in the +open air. + +"And you look all the better for it," he said. "I was too busy to think +about you at tea-time; indeed, I did not have any tea, having consumed a +most admirable luncheon some time before one o'clock. I was so very busy +attending to my accounts all the afternoon that I quite forgot my dear +little girl. Well, I have made arrangements, dearest, to buy shares in +the Kilcolman Gold-mines. The thing may or may not turn up trumps, but +in any case I have made an effort to spare a little money to buy some of +the shares. That means that we must be extra prudent and careful for the +next year or so. You will aid me in that, will you not, Sylvia? You will +solemnly promise me, my dear and only child, that you will not give way +to recklessness; when you see a penny you will look at it two or three +times before you spend it. You have not the least idea how careful it +makes you to keep what I call close and accurate accounts, every +farthing made to produce its utmost value, and, if possible--if possible, +my dear Sylvia--saved. It is surprising how little man really wants here +below; the luxuries of the present day are disgusting, enervating, +unnecessary. I speak to you very seriously, for now and then, I grieve +to say, I have seen traces in you of what rendered my married life +unhappy." + +"Father, you must not speak against mother," said Sylvia. Her face was +pale and her voice trembled. "There was no one like mother," she +continued, "and for her sake I----" + +"Yes, Sylvia, what do you do for her sake?" + +"I put up with this death in life. Oh father, father, do you think I +really--really like it?" + +Mr. Leeson looked with some alarm at his child. Sylvia's eyes were full +of tears; she laid her hands on the table, bent forward, and looked full +across at her father. + +"For mother's sake I bear it; you cannot think that I like it!" she +repeated. + +Mr. Leeson's first amazement now gave place to cold displeasure. + +"We will not pursue this topic," he said. "I have something more to tell +you. I made a pleasant discovery yesterday. During your absence a +strange thing occurred. A gipsy woman entered the avenue and walked up +to the front door, unmolested by Pilot. She seemed to have a strange +power over Pilot, for the dog did not bar her entrance in the least. I +naturally went to see what she wanted, and she told me that she had +come, thinking I might have some fowls for sale. Now, you know, my dear, +those old birds in the hen-house have long been eating their heads off, +and I rather hailed an opportunity of getting rid of them; they only lay +eggs--and that but a few--in the warm weather, and during the winter we +are at a loss by our efforts to keep them alive." + +"I know plenty about fowls," said Sylvia then. "They need hot suppers +and all sorts of good things to make them lay eggs in cold weather." + +"We can do without eggs, but we cannot afford to give the fowls hot +suppers," said Mr. Leeson in a tone of great dignity. "But now, Sylvia, +to the point. The woman offered a ludicrous price for the birds, and of +course I would not part with them; at the same time she +incidentally--silly person--gave herself away. She let me understand that +she wanted the fowls to stew down in the gipsy pot. Now, of late, when +arranging my recipes for publication, I have often thought of the +gipsies and the delicious stews they make out of all sorts of things +which other people would throw away. It occurred to me, therefore, to +question her; and the result was, dear, not to go too much into +particulars, that she killed one of the fowls, and in a very short time +brought me a delicious stew made out of the bird, really as tasty and +succulent as anything I have ever swallowed. I paid her a trifle for her +services, and the remainder of the fowl is at the present moment lying +in the cupboard in our sitting-room. I should like it to be warmed up +for our midday repast; there is a great deal more there than we can by +any possibility consume, but we can have a dainty meal out of part of +the stew, and the rest can be saved for supper. I have further decided +that we must get some one to kill the rest of the birds, and we will +have them one by one on the table. Do you ever, my dear Sylvia, in your +perambulations abroad, go near any of the gipsies?--for, if so, I should +not mind giving you a shilling to purchase that woman's recipe." + +Sylvia at this juncture rose from the table. She had with the utmost +difficulty kept her composure while her father was so innocently talking +about the gipsy's stew. + +"I will see--I will see, father. I quite understand," she said; and the +next instant she ran out of the room. + +"Really," thought Mr. Leeson when she had gone, "Sylvia talks a little +strangely at times. Just think how she spoke just now of her happy home! +Death in life, she called it--a most wrong and exaggerated term; and +exaggeration of speech leads to extravagance of mind, and extravagance +of mind means most reckless expenditure. If I am not very careful my +poor child will soon be on the road to ruin. I doubt if I ought to feed +her up with dainties--and really that stewed fowl made a rare and +delicious dish--but it is the most saving thing I can do; there are +enough birds in the hen-house to last Sylvia and me for several weeks to +come." + +Meanwhile Sylvia had rushed off to Jasper. + +"Oh Jasper!" she said, "I nearly died with laughter, and yet it is +horrid to deceive him. Oh! please do not kill any more of the birds for +a long time; it is more than I can stand. Father is so delighted; and he +has offered me a shilling to buy the recipe from you." + +"Bless you, dear!" replied Jasper, "and I think what I am doing for your +father is well worth a shilling, so you had better give it to me." + +"I have not got it yet," replied Sylvia. "You must live on trust, +Jasper; but, oh, it is quite too funny!" + +"Now, you sit down just there," said Jasper, "and tell me what troubled +you last night." + +Sylvia's face changed utterly when Jasper spoke. + +"It is about Eve," she said. "She has done very wrong--very wrong +indeed." And then Sylvia related exactly what had occurred at school. + +Jasper stood and listened with her arms akimbo; her face more than once +underwent a curious expression. + +"And so you blame my little Eve very much?" she said when Sylvia had +ceased speaking. + +"How can I help it? To get the whole school accused--to tell a lie to do +it! Oh Jasper, how can I help myself?" + +"You were brought up so differently," said Jasper. "Maybe if I had had +the rearing of you and the loving of you from your earliest days I might +have thought with you; as it is, I think with Eve. I could not counsel +her to tell. I cannot but admire her spirit when she did what she did." + +"Jasper! Jasper!" said Sylvia in a tone of horror, "you cannot--cannot +mean what you are saying! Oh, please unsay those dreadful words! I was +hoping--hoping--hoping that you might put things right. What is to be +done? There is going to be a great fuss--a great commotion--a great +trouble at Miss Henderson's school. Evelyn can put it right by +confessing; are you not going to urge her to confess?" + +"I urge my darling to lower herself! Miss Sylvia, if you say that kind +of thing to me again, you and I can scarcely be friends." + +"Jasper! Jasper!" + +"We won't talk about it," said Jasper, with decision. "I love you, miss, +and what is more, I respect and admire you, but I cannot rise as high as +you, Miss Sylvia; I was not reared so. I do not think that my little Eve +could have done other than she did when she was so tempted." + +"Then, Jasper, you are a bad friend to Evelyn--a very bad friend; and +what is more, if there is great trouble at the school, and if Audrey +gets into it, and if Evelyn herself will never tell, why, I must." + +"Oh, good gracious! you would not be so mean as that; and the poor, dear +little innocent confided in you!" + +"I do not want to be so mean, and I will not tell for a long, long time; +but I will tell--I will--if no one else can put it right, for it is quite +too cruel." + +Jasper looked long and full at Sylvia. + +"This may mean a good deal," she said--"more than you think. And have you +no sense of honor, miss? What you are told in confidence, have you any +right to give to the world?" + +"I will not tell if I can help myself, but this matter has made me very +unhappy indeed." + +Then Sylvia put on her shabby hat and went out. She passed the +fowl-house, and stood for a moment, a sad smile on her face, looking +down at the ill-fed birds. Then she went along the tiny shrubbery to the +front entrance, and, accompanied as usual by her beloved Pilot, started +forth. She was in her very shabbiest and oldest dress to-day, and the +joy and brightness of her appearance of twenty-four hours ago had +absolutely left her young face. It was Sunday morning, but Sylvia never +went to church. She heard the bells ringing now. Sweetly they pealed +across the valley, and one little church on the top of the hill sent +forth a low and yet joyful chime. Sylvia longed to press her hands to +her ears; she did not want to listen to the church bells. Those who went +to church did right, not wrong; those who went to church listened to +God's Word, and followed the ways--the good and holy ways--of religion. + +"And I cannot go because of my shabby, shabby dress," she thought. "But +why should I not wear the beautiful dress I had yesterday and venture to +church?" + +No sooner had the thought come to her than she returned, dashed in by +the back entrance, desired Pilot to stay where he was, flew up-stairs, +dressed herself recklessly in her rich finery of yesterday, and started +off for church. She had a fancy to go to the church on the top of the +hill, but she had to walk fast to reach it. She did arrive there a +little late. The verger showed her into a pew half-way up the church. +One or two people turned to stare at the handsome girl. The brilliant +color was in her cheeks from the quickness of her walk. She dropped on +her knees and covered her face; all was confusion in her mind. In the +Squire's pew, a very short distance away, sat Audrey and Evelyn. Could +Evelyn indeed mean to pray? Of what sort of nature was Evelyn made? +Sylvia felt that she could not meet her eyes. + +"Some people who are not good, who are not honorable, go to church," she +thought to herself. "It is very sad and very puzzling." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI.--THE TORN BOOK. + + +On the following morning Audrey and Evelyn started off for school. On +the way Audrey turned to her companion. + +"I wonder if anything has been discovered with regard to the injured +book?" she said. + +"Oh, I wish you would not talk so continually about that stupid old +fuss!" said Evelyn in her crossest voice. + +"It is useless to shirk it," was Audrey's reply. "You do not suppose for +a single moment that Miss Henderson will not get to the bottom of the +mischief? For my part, I think I could understand a girl doing it just +for a moment in a spirit of revenge, although I have never yet felt +revengeful to any one--but how any one could keep it up and allow the +school to get into trouble is what puzzles me." + +"Were you ever at school before, Audrey?" was Evelyn's remark. + +"No; were you?" + +"I wish I had been; I have always longed for school." + +"Well, you have your wish at last. How do you like it?" + +"I should like it fairly well if I were put into a higher form, and if +this stupid fuss were not going on." + +"Why do you dislike the subject being mentioned so much?" + +Evelyn colored slightly. Audrey looked at her. There was no suspicion in +Audrey's eyes; it was absolutely impossible for her to connect her +cousin with anything so mean and low. Evelyn had a great many +objectionable habits, but that she could commit what was in Audrey's +opinion a very grave sin, and then tell lies about it, was more than the +young girl could either imagine or realize. + +The pretty governess-cart took them to school in good time, and the +usual routine of the morning began. It was immediately after prayers, +however, that Miss Henderson spoke from her desk to the assembled +school. + +"I am sorry to tell you all," she began, "that up to the present I have +not got the slightest clue to the mystery of the injured book. I have +questioned, I have gone carefully into every particular, and all I can +find out is that the book was left in classroom No. 4 (which is usually +occupied by the girls of the Fourth Form); that it was placed there at +nine o'clock in the morning, and was not used again by Miss Thompson +until school was over--namely, between five and six o'clock in the +evening. During that time, as far as I can make out, only one girl was +alone in the room. That girl was Evelyn Wynford. I do not in any way +accuse Evelyn Wynford of having committed the sin--for sin it was--but I +have to mention the fact that she was alone in the room during recess, +having failed to learn a lesson which had been set her. During the +afternoon the room was, as far as I can tell, empty for a couple of +hours, and of course some one may have come in then and done the +mischief. I therefore have not the slightest intention of suspecting a +girl who only arrived that morning; but I mention the fact, all the +same, that Evelyn Wynford was _alone in the room for the space of twenty +minutes_." + +While Miss Henderson was speaking all eyes were turned in Evelyn's +direction; all eyes saw a white and stubborn face, and two angry brown +eyes that flashed almost wildly round the room and then looked down. +Just for an instant a few of the girls said to themselves, "That is a +guilty face." But again they thought, "How could she do it? Why should +she do it? No, it certainly cannot be Evelyn Wynford." + +As to Audrey, she pitied Evelyn very much. She thought it extremely hard +on her that Miss Henderson should have singled her out for individual +notice on this most painful occasion, and out of pity for her she would +not once glance in her direction. + +Miss Henderson paused for a moment; then she continued: + +"Whoever the sinner may be, I am determined to sift this crime to the +bottom. I shall severely punish the girl who tore the book unless she +makes up her mind to confess to me between now and to-morrow evening. If +she confesses before school is over to-morrow evening, I shall not only +not punish but I shall forgive her. It will be my painful duty, however, +to oblige her to confess her sin before the entire school, as in no +other way can the rest of the girls be exonerated. I give her till +to-morrow evening to make up her mind. I hope she will ask for strength +from above to enable her to make this very painful confession. I myself +shall pray that she may be guided aright. If no one comes forward by +that time, I must again assemble the school to suggest a very terrible +alternative." + +Here Miss Henderson left the room, and the different members of the +school went off to their respective duties. + +School went on much as usual. The girls were forced to attend to their +numerous duties; the all-absorbing theme was therefore held more or less +in abeyance for the time being. At recess, however, knots of girls might +be seen talking to one another in agitated whispers. The subject of the +injured book was the one topic on every one's tongue. Evelyn produced +chocolates, crystallized fruits, and other dainties from a richly +embroidered bag which she wore at her side, and soon had her own little +coterie of followers. To these she imparted her opinion that Miss +Henderson was not only a fuss, but a dragon; that probably a servant had +torn the book--or perhaps, she added, Miss Thompson herself. + +"Why," said Evelyn, "should not Miss Thompson greatly dislike Miss +Henderson, and tear the outside page out of the book just to spite her?" + +But this theory was not received as possible by any one to whom she +imparted it. Miss Thompson was a favorite; Miss Thompson hated no one; +Miss Thompson was the last person on earth to do such a shabby thing. + +"Well," said Evelyn crossly, "I don't know who did it; and what is more, +I don't care. Come and walk with me, Alice," she said to a pretty little +curly-headed girl who sat next to her at class. "Come and let me tell +you about all the grandeur which will be mine by and by. I shall be +queen by and by. It is a shame--a downright shame--to worry a girl in my +position with such a trifle as a torn book. The best thing we can all do +is to subscribe amongst ourselves and give the old dragon another +_Sesame and Lilies_. I don't mind subscribing. Is it not a good +thought?" + +"But that will not help her," said Alice; while Cherry, who stood near, +solemnly shook her head. + +"Why will it not help her?" asked Evelyn. + +"Because it was the inscription she valued--the inscription in her +brother's writing; her brother who is dead, you know." + +Evelyn was about to make another pert remark when a memory assailed her. +Naughty, heartless, rude as she was, she had somewhere a spark of +feeling. If she had loved any one it was the excitable and strange woman +she had called "mothery." + +"If mothery gave me something and wrote my name in it I'd be fond of +it," she thought; and just for a moment a prick of remorse visited her +hard little heart. + +No other girl in the whole school could confess the crime which Evelyn +had committed, and the evening came in considerable gloom and +excitement. Audrey could talk of nothing else on their way home. + +"It is terrible," said Audrey. "I am really sorry we are both at the +school; it makes things so unpleasant for us. And you, Evelyn--I did pity +you when Miss Henderson said to-day that you were alone in the room. Did +you not feel awful?" + +"No, I did not," replied Evelyn. "At least, perhaps I did just for a +minute." + +"Well, it was very brave of you. I should not have liked to be in your +position." + +Evelyn turned the conversation. + +"I wonder whether any one will confess to-morrow," said Audrey again. + +"Perhaps it was one of the servants," remarked Evelyn. Then she said +abruptly, "Oh, do let us change the subject!" + +"There is something fine about Evelyn after all," thought Audrey; "And I +am so glad! She took that speech of Miss Henderson's very well indeed. +Now, I scarcely thought it fair to have her name singled out in the way +it was. Surely Miss Henderson could not have suspected my little +cousin!" + +At dinner Audrey mentioned the whole circumstance of the torn book to +her parents. The girls were again dining with the Squire and Lady +Frances. The Squire was interested for a short time; he then began to +chat with Evelyn, who was fast, in her curious fashion, becoming a +favorite of his. She was always at her best in his society, and now +nestled up close to him, and said in an almost winsome manner: + +"Don't let us talk about the old fuss at school." + +"Whom do you call the old fuss, Evelyn?" + +"Miss Henderson. I don't like her a bit, Uncle Edward." + +"That is very naughty, Evelyn. Remember, I want you to like her." + +"Why?" + +"Because for the present, at least, she is your instructress." + +"But why should I like my instructress?" + +"She cannot influence you unless you like her." + +"Then she will never influence me, because I shall never like her," +cried the reckless girl. "I wish you would teach me, Uncle Edward. I +should learn from you; you would influence me because I love you." + +"I do try to influence you, Evelyn, and I want you to do a great many +things for me." + +"I would do anything in all the world for him," thought Evelyn, "except +confess that I tore that book; but that I would not do even for him. Of +course, now that there has been such an awful fuss, I am sorry I did it, +but for no other reason. It is one comfort, however, they cannot +possibly suspect me." + +Lady Frances, however, took Audrey's information in a very different +spirit from what her husband did. She felt indignant at Evelyn's having +been singled out for special and undoubtedly unfavorable notice by Miss +Henderson, and resolved to call at the school the next day to have an +interview with the head-mistress. She said nothing to Audrey about her +intention, and the girls went off to school without the least idea of +what Lady Frances was about to do. Her carriage stopped before Chepstow +House a little before noon. She inquired for Miss Henderson, and was +immediately admitted into the head-mistress's private sitting-room. +There Miss Henderson a moment or two later joined her. + +"I am sorry to trouble you," began Lady Frances at once, "but I have +come on a matter which occasioned me a little distress. I allude to the +mystery of the torn book. Audrey has told me all about it, so I am in +possession of full particulars. Of course I am extremely sorry for you, +and can quite understand your feelings with regard to the injury of a +book you value so much; but, at the same time, you will excuse my +saying, Miss Henderson, that I think your mentioning Evelyn's name in +the way you did was a little too obvious. It was uncomfortable for the +poor child, although I understand from my daughter that she took it +extremely well." + +"In a case of this kind," replied Miss Henderson quietly, "one has to be +just, and not to allow any favoritism to appear." + +"Oh, certainly," said Lady Frances; "it was my wish in sending both +girls to school that they should find their level." + +"And I regret to say," answered Miss Henderson, "that your niece's level +is not a high one." + +"Alas! I am aware of it. I have been terribly pained since Evelyn came +home by her recklessness and want of obedience; but this is a very +different matter. This shows a most depraved nature; and of course you +cannot for a moment have suspected my niece when you spoke of her being +alone in the room." + +"Had any other girl been alone in the room I should equally have +mentioned her name," said Miss Henderson. "I certainly did not at the +time suspect Miss Wynford." + +"What do you mean by 'did not at the time'? Have you changed your +opinion?" + +Lady Frances's face turned very white. + +"I am sorry to say that I have." + +"What do you mean?" + +"If you will pardon me for a moment I will explain." + +Miss Henderson left the room. + +While she was absent Lady Frances felt a cold dew breaking out on her +forehead. + +"This is beyond everything," she thought. "But it is impossible; the +child could never have done it. What motive would she have? She is not +as bad as that; and it was her very first day at school." + +Miss Henderson re-entered the room, accompanied by Miss Thompson. In +Miss Thompson's hand was a copy of the History of England that Evelyn +had been using. + +"Will you kindly open that book," said Miss Henderson, "and show Lady +Frances what you have found there?" + +Miss Thompson did so. She opened the History at the reign of Edward I. +Between the leaves were to be seen two fragments of torn paper. Miss +Thompson removed them carefully and laid them upon Lady Frances's hand. +Lady Frances glanced at them, and saw that they were beyond doubt torn +from a copy of Ruskin's _Sesame and Lilies_. She let them drop back +again on to the open page of the book. + +"I accuse no one," said Miss Henderson. "Even now I accuse no one; but I +grieve to tell you, Lady Frances, that this book was in the hands of +your niece, Evelyn Wynford, on that afternoon.--Miss Thompson, will you +relate the entire circumstances to Lady Frances?" + +"I am very, very sorry," said Miss Thompson. "I wish with all my heart I +had understood the child better, but of course she was a stranger to me. +The circumstance was this: I gave her the history of the reign of Edward +I. to look over during class, as of course on her first day at school +she had no regular lessons ready. She glanced at it, told me she knew +the reign, and amused herself looking about during the remainder of the +time. At recess I called her to me and questioned her. She seemed to be +totally ignorant of anything relating to Edward I. I reproved her for +having made an incorrect statement----" + +"For having told a lie, you mean," snapped Lady Frances. + +Miss Thompson bowed. + +"I reproved her, and as a punishment desired her to look over the reign +while the other girls were in the playground." + +"And quite right," said Lady Frances. + +"She was very much annoyed, but I was firm. I left her with the book in +her hand. I have nothing more to say. At six o'clock that evening I +removed _Sesame and Lilies_ from its place in the classroom, and took it +away to continue the preparation of a lecture. I then found that several +pages had been removed. This morning, early, I happened to take this +very copy of the History, and found these fragments in the part of the +book which contains the reign of Edward I." + +"Suspicion undoubtedly now points to Evelyn," said Miss Henderson; "and +I must say, Lady Frances, that although a matter of this kind pertains +entirely to the school, and must be dealt with absolutely by the +head-mistress, yet your having called, and in a measure taken the matter +up, relieves me of a certain responsibility." + +"Suspicion does undoubtedly point to the unhappy child," said Lady +Frances; "but still, I can scarcely believe it. What do you mean to do?" + +"I shall to-morrow morning have to state before the entire school what I +have now stated to you." + +"It might be best for me to remove Evelyn, and let her confess to you in +writing." + +"I do not think that would be either right or fair. If the girl is taken +away now she is practically injured for life. Give her a chance, I +beseech you, Lady Frances, of retrieving her character." + +"Oh, what is to be done?" said Lady Frances. "To think that my daughter +should have a girl like that for a companion! You do not know how we are +all to be pitied." + +"I do indeed; you have my sincere sympathy," said Miss Henderson. + +"And what do you advise?" + +"I think, as she is a member of the school, you must leave her to me. +She committed this offense on the very first day of her school-life, and +if possible we must not be too severe on her. She has not been brought +up as an English girl." + +Lady Frances talked a little longer with the head-mistress, and went +away; she felt terribly miserable and unhappy. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII.--"STICK TO YOUR COLORS, EVELYN." + + +Evelyn met Jasper, as arranged, on Tuesday evening. She found it quite +easy to slip away unnoticed, for in truth Lady Frances was too unhappy +to watch her movements particularly. The girls had been dining alone. +Audrey had a headache, and had gone to bed early. Evelyn rushed up to +her room, put on a dark shawl, which completely covered her fair hair +and white-robed little figure, and rushed out by a side entrance. She +wore thin shoes, however, being utterly reckless with regard to her +health. Jasper was waiting for her. It took but an instant for Jasper to +clasp her in her arms, lifting her off the ground as she did so. + +"Oh, my little darling," cried the affectionate woman--"my sweet little +white Eve! Oh, let me hug you; let me kiss you! Oh, my pet! it is like +cold water to a thirsty person to clasp you in my arms again." + +"Do not squeeze me quite so tight, Jasper," said Evelyn. "Yes, of +course, I am glad to see you--very glad." + +"But let me feel your feet, pet. Oh, to think of your running out like +this in your house-shoes! You will catch your death! Here, I will sit +down on this step and keep you in my arms. Now, is not that cozy, my fur +cloak wrapped round you, feet and all? Is not that nice, little Eve?" + +"Yes, very nice," said Evelyn. "It is almost as good as if I were back +again on the ranch with mothery and you." + +"Ah, the happy old days!" sighed Jasper. + +"Yes, they were very happy, Jasper. I almost wish I was back again. I am +worried a good bit; things are not what I thought they would be in +England. There is no fuss made about me, and at school they treat me so +horribly." + +"You bide your time, my love; you bide your time." + +"I don't like school, Jas." + +"And why not, my beauty? You know you must be taught, my dear Miss +Evelyn; an ignorant young lady has no chance at all in these enlightened +days." + +"Oh! please, Jas, do not talk so much like a horrid book; be your true +old self. What does learning matter?" + +"Everything, love; I assure you it does." + +"Well, I shall never be learned; it is too much trouble." + +"But why don't you like school, pet?" + +"I will tell you. I have got into a scrape; I did not mean to, but I +have." + +"Oh, you mean about that book. Sylvia told me. Why did you tell Sylvia, +Evelyn?" + +"I had to tell some one, and she is not a schoolgirl." + +"She is not your sort, Evelyn." + +"Is she not? I like her very much." + +"But she is not your sort; for instance, she could not do a thing of +that kind." + +"Oh, I do not suppose many people would have spirit enough," said Evelyn +in the voice of one who had done a very fine act. + +"She could not do it," repeated Jasper; "and I expect she is in the +right, and that you, my little love, are in the wrong. You were +differently trained. Well, my dear Eve, the long and short of it is that +I admire what you did, only somehow Sylvia does not, and you will have +to be very careful or she may----" + +"What--what, Jasper?" + +"She may not regard it as a secret that she will always keep." + +"Is she that sort? Oh, the horrid, horrid thing!" said Evelyn. "Oh, to +think that I should have told her! But you cannot mean it; it is +impossible that you can mean it, Jasper!" + +"Don't you fret, love, for I will not let her. If she dares to tell on +you, why, I will leave her, and then it is pretty near starvation for +the poor little miss." + +"You are sure you will not let her tell? I really am in rather a nasty +scrape. They are making such a horrid fuss at school. This evening was +the limit given for the guilty person--I should not say the guilty +person, but the spirited person--to tell, and the spirited person has not +told; and to-morrow morning goodness knows what will happen. Miss +Henderson has a rod in pickle for us all, I expect. I declare it is +quite exciting. None of the girls suspect me, and I talk so openly, and +sometimes they laugh, too. I suppose we shall all be punished. I do not +really know what is going to be done." + +"You hold your tongue and let the whole matter slide. That is my +advice," said Jasper. "I would either do that or I would out with it +boldly--one or the other. Say you did it, and that you are not ashamed to +have done it." + +"I could not--I could not," said Evelyn. "I may be brave after a fashion, +but I am not brave enough for that. Besides, you know, Jasper, I did say +already that I had not done it." + +"Oh, to be sure," answered Jasper. "I forgot that. Well, you must stick +to your colors now, Eve; and at the worst, my darling, you have but to +come to me and I will shield you." + +"At the worst--yes, at the worst," said Evelyn. "I will remember that. +But if I want to come to you very badly how can I?" + +"I will come every night to this stile at nine o'clock, and if you want +me you will find me. I will stay here for exactly five minutes, and any +message you may like to give you can put under this stone. Now, is not +that a 'cute thought of your dear old Jasper's?" + +"It is--it is," said the little girl. "Perhaps, Jasper, I had better be +going back now." + +"In a minute, darling--in a minute." + +"And how are you getting on with Sylvia, Jasper?" + +"Oh, such fun, dear! I am having quite an exciting time--hidden from the +old gentleman, and acting the gipsy, and pretending I am feeding him +with old fowls when I am giving him the tenderest chicken. You have not, +darling, a little scrap of money to spare that you can help old Jasper +with?" + +"Oh! you are so greedy, Jasper; you are always asking for things. Uncle +Edward makes me an allowance, but not much; no one would suppose I was +the heiress of everything." + +"Well dear, the money don't matter. I will come here again to-morrow +night. Now, keep up your pecker, little Eve, and all will be well." + +Evelyn kissed Jasper, and was about to run back to the house when the +good woman remembered the light shoes in which she had come out. + +"I'll carry you back," she said. "Those precious little feet shall not +touch the frosty ground." + +Jasper was very strong, and Evelyn was all too willing. She was carried +to within fifty yards of the side entrance in Jasper's strong arms; then +she dashed back to the house, kissed her hand to the dark shadow under a +tree, and returned to her own room. Read had seen her, but Evelyn knew +nothing of that. Read had had her suspicions before now, and determined, +as she said, to keep a sharp lookout on young miss in future. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII.--ONE WEEK OF GRACE. + + +There never was a woman more distressed and puzzled than Miss Henderson. +She consulted with her sister, Miss Lucy; she consulted with her +favorite teacher, Miss Thompson. They talked into the small hours of the +night, and finally it was resolved that Evelyn should have another +chance. + +"I must appeal to her honor; it is impossible that any girl could be +quite destitute of that quality," said Miss Henderson. + +"I am sure you are doing right, sister," said Miss Lucy. "Once you +harden a girl you do for her. Whatever Evelyn Wynford's faults may be, +she will hold a high position one day. It would be terrible--more than +terrible--if she grew up a wicked woman. How awful to have power and not +to use it aright! My dear Maria, whatever you are, be merciful." + +"I must pray to God to guide me aright," answered Miss Maria. "This is a +case for a right judgment in all things. Poor child! I pity her from my +heart; but how to bring her to the necessary confession is the +question." + +Miss Henderson went to bed, but not to sleep. Early in the morning she +arose, having made up her mind what to do. + +Accordingly, when Audrey and Evelyn arrived in the pretty little +governess-cart--Audrey with a high color in her cheeks, looking as sweet +and fresh and good and nice as English girl could look, and Evelyn +tripping after her with a certain defiance on her white face and a look +of hostility in her brown eyes--they were both greeted by Miss Henderson +herself. + +"Ah, Audrey dear," she said in a cheerful and friendly tone, "how are +you this morning?--How do you do, Evelyn?--No, Audrey, you are not late; +you are quite in nice time. Will you go to the schoolroom, my dear? I +will join you presently for prayers.--Evelyn, can I have a word with +you?" + +"Why so?" asked Evelyn, backing a little. + +"Because I have something I want to say to you." + +Audrey also stood still. She cast a hostile glance at Miss Henderson, +saying to herself: + +"After all, my head-mistress is horribly unfair; she is doubtless going +to tell Evelyn that she suspects her." + +"Evelyn," said Audrey, "I will wait for you in the dressing-room if Miss +Henderson has no objection." + +"But I have, for it may be necessary for me to detain your cousin for a +short time," said Miss Henderson. "Go, Audrey; do not keep me any +longer." + +Evelyn stood sullenly and perfectly still in the hall; Audrey +disappeared in the direction of the schoolrooms. Miss Henderson now took +Evelyn's hand and led her into her private sitting-room. + +"What do you want me for?" asked the little girl. + +"I want to say something to you, Evelyn." + +"Then say it, please." + +"You must not be pert." + +"I do not know what 'pert' is." + +"What you are now. But there, my dear child, please control yourself; +believe me, I am truly sorry for you." + +"Then you need not be," said Evelyn, with a toss of her head. "I do not +want anybody to be sorry for me. I am one of the most lucky girls in the +world. Sorry for me! Please don't. Mothery could never bear to be +pitied, and I won't be pitied; I have nothing to be pitied for." + +"Who did you say never cared to be pitied?" asked Miss Henderson. + +"Never you mind." + +"And yet, Evelyn, I think I have heard the words. You allude to your +mother. I understand from Lady Frances that your mother is dead. You +loved her, did you not?" + +Evelyn gave a quick nod; her face seemed to say, "That is nothing to +you." + +"I see you did, and she was fond of you." + +In spite of herself Evelyn gave another nod. + +"Poor little girl; how sad to be without her!" + +"Don't," said Evelyn in a strained voice. + +"You lived all your early days in Tasmania, and your mother was good to +you because she loved you, and you loved her back; you tried to please +her because you loved her." + +"Oh, bother!" said Evelyn. + +"Come here, dear." + +Evelyn did not budge an inch. + +"Come over to me," said Miss Henderson. + +Miss Henderson was not accustomed to being disobeyed. Her tone was not +loud, but it was quiet and determined. She looked full at Evelyn. Her +eyes were kind. Evelyn felt as if they mesmerized her. Step by step, +very unwillingly, she approached the side of the head-mistress. + +"I love girls like you," said Miss Henderson then. + +"Bother!" said Evelyn again. + +"And I do not mind even when they are sulky and rude and naughty, as you +are now; still, I love them--I love them because I am sorry for them." + +"You need not be sorry for me; I won't have you sorry for me," said +Evelyn. + +"If I must not be sorry for you I must be something else." + +"What?" + +"Angry with you." + +"Why so? I never! What do you mean now?" + +"I must be angry with you, Evelyn--very angry. But I will say no more by +way of excusing my own conduct. I will say nothing of either sorrow or +anger. I want to state a fact to you." + +"Get it over," said Evelyn. + +Miss Henderson now approached the table; she opened the History at the +reign of Edward I., and taking two tiny fragments of torn paper from the +pages of the book, she laid them in her open palm. In her other hand she +held the mutilated copy of _Sesame and Lilies_. The print on the torn +scrap exactly corresponded with the print in the injured volume. Miss +Henderson glanced from Evelyn to the scraps of paper, and from Evelyn to +the copy of Ruskin. + +"You have intelligence," she said; "you must see what this means." + +She then carefully replaced the bits of paper in the History and laid it +on the table by her side. + +"Between now," she said, "and this time yesterday Miss Thompson +discovered these scraps of paper in the copy of the History which you +had to read on the morning of the day when you first came to school. The +scraps are evidently part of the pages torn from the injured book. Have +you anything to say with regard to them?" + +Evelyn shook her head; her face was white and her eyes bright. But there +was a small red spot on each cheek--a spot about the size of a farthing. +It did not grow any larger. It gave a curious effect to the pallid face. +The obstinacy of the mouth was very apparent. The cleft in the chin +still further showed the curious bias of the girl's character. + +"Have you anything to say--any remark to make?" + +Again the head was slowly shaken. + +"Is there any reason why I should not immediately after prayers to-day +explain these circumstances to the whole school, and allow the school to +draw its own conclusions?" + +Evelyn now raised her eyes and fixed them on Miss Henderson's face. + +"You will not do that, will you?" she asked. + +"Have you ever, Evelyn, heard of such a thing as circumstantial +evidence?" + +"No. What is it?" + +"You are very ignorant, my dear child--ignorant as well as wilful; wilful +as well as wicked." + +"No, I am not wicked; you shall not say it!" + +"Tell me, is there any reason why I should not show what I have now +shown you to the rest of the school, and allow the school to draw its +own conclusion?" + +"You won't--will you?" + +"Must I explain to you, Evelyn, what this means?" + +"You can say anything you like." + +"These scraps of paper prove beyond doubt that you, for some +extraordinary reason, were the person who tore the book. Why you did it +is beyond my conception, is beyond Miss Thompson's conception, is beyond +the conception of my sister Lucy; but that you did do it we none of us +for a moment doubt." + +"Oh, you are wicked! How dare you think such things of me?" + +"Tell me, Evelyn--tell me why you did it. Come here and tell me. I will +not be unkind to you, my poor little girl. I am sorry for one so +ignorant, so wanting in all conceptions of right or wrong. Tell me, +dear, and as there is a God in heaven, Evelyn, I will forgive you." + +"I will not tell you what I did not do," said the angry child. + +"You are vexed now and do not know what you are saying. I will go away, +and come back again at the end of half an hour; perhaps you will tell me +then." + +Evelyn stood silent. Miss Henderson, taking the History with her, left +the room. She turned the key in the lock. Evelyn rushed to the window. +Could she get out by it? She rushed to the door and tried to open it. +Window and door defied her efforts. She was locked in. She was like a +wild creature in a trap. To scream would do no good. Never before had +the spoilt child found herself in such a position. A wild agony seized +her; even now she did not repent. + +If only mothery were alive! If only she were back on the ranch! If only +Jasper were by her side! + +"Oh mothery! oh Jasper!" she cried; and then a sob rose to her throat, +tears burst from her eyes. The tension for the time was relieved; she +huddled up in a chair, and sobbed as if her heart would break. + +Miss Henderson came back again in half an hour. Evelyn was still +sobbing. + +"Well, Evelyn," she said, "I am just going into the schoolroom now for +prayers. Have you made up your mind? Will you tell me why you did it, +and how you did it, and why you denied it? Just three questions, dear; +answer truthfully, and you will have got over the most painful and +terrible crisis of your life. Be brave, little girl; ask God to help +you." + +"I cannot tell you what I do not know," burst now from the angry child. +"Think what you like. Do what you like. I am at your mercy; but I hate +you, and I will never be a good girl--never, never! I will be a bad girl +always--always; and I hate you--I hate you!" + +Miss Henderson did not speak a word. The most violent passion cannot +long retain its hold when the person on whom its rage is spent makes no +reply. Even Evelyn cooled down a little. Miss Henderson stood quite +still; then she said gently: + +"I am deeply sorry. I was prepared for this. It will take more than this +to subdue you." + +"Are you going into the schoolroom with those scraps of paper, and are +you going to tell all the girls I am guilty?" said Evelyn. + +"No, I shall not do that; I will give you another chance. There was to +have been a holiday to-day, but because of that sin of yours there will +be no holiday. There was to be a visit on Saturday to the museum at +Chisfield, which the girls were all looking forward to; they are not to +go on account of you. There were to be prizes at the break-up; they will +not be given on account of you. The girls will not know that you are the +cause of this deprivation, but they will know that the deprivation is +theirs because there is a guilty person in the school, and because she +will not confess. Evelyn, I give you a week from now to think this +matter over. Remember, my dear, that I know you are guilty; remember +that my sister Lucy knows it, and Miss Thompson; but before you are +publicly disgraced we wish to give you a chance. We will treat you +during the week that has yet to run as we would any other girl in the +school. You will be treated until the week is up as though you were +innocent. Think well whether you will indeed doom your companions to so +much disappointment as will be theirs during the next week, to so dark a +suspicion. During the next week the school will practically be sent to +Coventry. Those who care for the girls will have to hold aloof from +them. All the parents will have to be written to and told that there is +an ugly suspicion hanging over the school. Think well before you put +your companions, your schoolfellows, into this cruel position." + +"It is you who are cruel," said Evelyn. + +"I must ask God to melt your hard heart, Evelyn." + +"And are you really going to do all this?" + +"Certainly." + +"And at the end of the week?" + +"If you have not confessed before then I shall be obliged to confess for +you before all the school. But, my poor child, you will; you must make +amends. God could not have made so hard a heart!" + +Evelyn wiped away her tears. She scarcely knew what she felt; she +scarcely comprehended what was going to happen. + +"May I bathe my eyes," she said, "before I go with you into the +schoolroom?" + +"You may. I will wait for you here." + +The little girl left the room. + +"I never met such a character," said Miss Henderson to herself. "God +help me, what am I to do with her? If at the end of a week she has not +confessed her sin, I shall be obliged to ask Lady Frances to remove her. +Poor child--poor child!" + +Evelyn came back looking pale but serene. She held out her hand to Miss +Henderson. + +"I do not want your hand, Evelyn." + +"You said you would treat me for a week as if I were innocent." + +"Very well, then; I will take your hand." + +Miss Henderson entered the schoolroom holding Evelyn's hand. Evelyn was +looking as if nothing had happened; the traces of her tears had +vanished. She sat down on her form; the other girls glanced at her in +some wonder. Prayers were read as usual; the head-mistress knelt to +pray. As her voice rose on the wings of prayer it trembled slightly. She +prayed for those whose hearts were hard, that God would soften them. She +prayed that wrong might be set right, that good might come out of evil, +and that she herself might be guided to have a right judgment in all +things. There was a great solemnity in her prayer, and it was felt +throughout the hush in the big room. When she rose from her knees she +ascended to her desk and faced the assembled girls. + +"You know," she said, "what an unpleasant task lies before me. The +allotted time for the confession of the guilty person who injured my +book, _Sesame and Lilies_, has gone by. The guilty person has not +confessed, but I may as well say that the injury has been traced home to +one of your number--but to whom, I am at present resolved not to tell. I +give that person one week in order to make her confession. I do this for +reasons which my sister and I consider all-sufficient; but during that +week, I am sorry to say, my dear girls, you must all bear with her and +for her the penalty of her wrong-doing. I must withhold indulgences, +holidays, half-holidays, visits from friends; all that makes life +pleasant and bright and home-like will have to be withdrawn. Work will +have to be the order of the hour--work without the impetus of reward--work +for the sake of work. I am sorry to have to do this, but I feel that +such a course of conduct is due to myself. In a week's time from now, if +the girl has not confessed, I must take further steps; but I can assure +the school that the cloud of my displeasure will then alone visit the +guilty person, on whom it will fall with great severity." + +There was a long, significant pause when Miss Henderson ceased speaking. +She was about to descend from her seat when Brenda Fox spoke. + +"Is this quite fair?" she said. "I hope I am not asking an impertinent +question, but is it fair that the innocent should suffer for the +guilty?" + +"I must ask you all to do so. Think of the history of the past, girls. +Take courage; it is not the first time." + +"I think," said Brenda Fox later on that same day to Audrey, "that Miss +Henderson is right." + +"Then I think her wrong," answered Audrey. "Of course I do not know her +as well as you do, Brenda, and I am also ignorant with regard to the +ordinary rules of school-life, but I cannot but feel it would be much +better, if the guilty girl will not confess, to punish her at once and +put an end to the thing." + +"It would be pleasanter for us," replied Brenda Fox; "but then, Miss +Henderson never thinks of that." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean that Miss Henderson is the sort of woman who would think very +little of small personal pain and inconvenience compared with the injury +which might be permanently inflicted on a girl who was harshly dealt +with." + +"Still I do not quite understand. If any girl in the school did such a +disgraceful thing it ought to be known at once." + +"Miss Henderson evidently does know, but for some reason she hopes the +girl will repent." + +"And we are to be punished?" + +"Is it not worth having a little discomfort if the girl's character can +be saved?" + +"Yes, of course; if it does save her." + +"We must hope for that. For my part," said Brenda in a reverent tone, "I +shall pray about it. I believe in prayer." + +"And so do I," answered Audrey. "But do you know, Brenda, that I think +Miss Henderson was greatly wanting in tact when she mentioned my poor +little cousin's name two days ago." + +"Why so? Your cousin did happen to be alone in the room." + +"But it seemed to draw a very unworthy suspicion upon her head." + +"Oh no, no, Audrey!" answered Brenda. "Who could think that your cousin +would do it? Besides, she is quite a stranger; it was her first day at +school." + +"Then have you the least idea who did it?" + +"None; no one has. We are all very fond of Miss Thompson. We are all +fond of Miss Henderson; we respect her and Miss Lucy as most able and +worthy mistresses. We enjoy our school-life. Who could have been so +unkind?" + +Audrey had an uncomfortable sensation at her heart that Evelyn at least +did not enjoy her school-life; that Evelyn disliked Miss Thompson, and +openly said that she hated Miss Henderson. Still, that Evelyn could +really be guilty did not for an instant visit her brain. + +Meanwhile Evelyn went recklessly on her way. The _denouement_, of +whatever nature, was still a week off. For a week she could be gay or +impertinent or rude or defiant or good, just as the mood took her; at +the end of the week, or towards the end, she would run away. She would +go to Jasper and tell her she must hide her. This was her resolve. She +was as inconsequent as an infant. To save herself trouble and pain was +her one paramount idea; even her schoolfellows' annoyance and distress +scarcely worried her. As she and Audrey always spent their evenings at +home, the dulness of the school, the increase of lessons and the absence +of play, the walks two and two in absolute silence, scarcely depressed +her; she could laugh and play at home, and talk to her uncle and draw +him out to tell her stories of her father. The one redeeming trait in +her character was her love for Uncle Edward. She was certainly going +downhill very rapidly at this time. Poor child! who was there to +understand her, to bring her to a standstill, to help her to choose +right? + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV.--"WHO IS E. W.?" + + +The one person who might have helped Evelyn was too busy with her own +troubles just then to think a great deal about her. Poor Sylvia was +visited with a very great dread. Her father's manner was strange; she +began to fear that he suspected Jasper's presence in the house. If +Jasper left, Sylvia felt that things must come to a crisis; she could +not stand the life she had lived before the comfortable advent of this +kindly but ill-informed woman. Sylvia was really very much attached to +Jasper, and although she argued much over Evelyn, and disagreed strongly +with her with regard to the best way to treat this unruly little member +of society, Sylvia's very life depended on Jasper's purse and Jasper's +tact. + +One by one the fowls disappeared, the same boy receiving them over the +hedge day by day from Jasper. The boy sold each of the old hens for +sixpence, and reaped quite a harvest in consequence. He was all too +willing to keep Jasper's secret. Jasper bought tender young cockerels +from a neighbor in the village, conveyed them home under her arm, killed +them, and dressed them in various and dainty manners for Mr. Leeson's +meals. He was loud in his praise of Sylvia, and told her that if the +worst came to the worst she could go out as a lady cook. + +"Nothing could give me such horror, my dear child," he said, "as to +think that a Leeson, and a member of one of the proudest families in the +kingdom, should ever demean herself to earn money; but, my dear girl, in +these days of chance and change one must be prepared for the worst--there +never is any telling. Sylvia, I go through anxious moments--very, very +anxious moments." + +"You do, father," answered the girl. "You watch the post too much. I +cannot imagine," she continued, "why you are so fretted and so +miserable, for surely we must spend very, very little indeed." + +"We spend more than we ought, Sylvia--far more. But there, dear, I am not +complaining; I suppose a young girl must have dainties and fine dress." + +"Fine dress!" said Sylvia. She looked down at her shabby garment and +colored painfully. + +Mr. Leeson faced her with his bright and sunken dark eyes. + +"Come here," he said. + +She went up to him, trembling and her head hanging. + +"I saw you two days ago; it was Sunday, and you went to church. I was +standing in the shrubbery. I was lost--yes, lost--in painful thoughts. +Those recipes which I was about to give to the world were occupying my +mind, and other things as well. You rushed by in your shabby dress; you +went into the house by the back entrance. Sylvia dear, I sometimes think +it would be wise to lock that door. With you and me alone in the house +it might be safest to have only one mode of ingress." + +"But I always lock it when I go out," said Sylvia; "and it saves so much +time to be able to use the back entrance." + +"It is just like you, Sylvia; you argue about every thing I say. +However, to proceed. You went in; I wondered at your speed. You came out +again in a quarter of an hour transformed. Where did you get that +dress?" + +"What dress, father?" + +"Do not prevaricate. Look me straight in the face and tell me. You were +dressed in brown of rich shade and good material. You had a stylish and +fanciful and hideous hat upon your head; it had feathers. My very breath +was arrested when I saw the merry-andrew you made of yourself. You had +furs, too--doubtless imitations, but still, to all appearance, rich +furs--round neck and wrist. Sylvia, have you during these months and +years been secretly saving money?" + +"No, father." + +"You say 'No, father,' in a very strange tone. If you had no money to +buy the dress, how did you get it?" + +"It was--given to me." + +"By whom?" + +"I would rather not say." + +"But you must say." + +Here Mr. Leeson took Sylvia by both her wrists; he held them tightly in +his bony hands. He was seated, and he pulled her down towards him. + +"Tell me at once. I insist upon knowing." + +"I cannot--there! I will not." + +"You defy me?" + +"If that is defying you, father, yes. The dress was given to me." + +"You refuse to say by whom?" + +"Yes, father." + +"Then leave my presence. I am angry, hurt. Sylvia, you must return it." + +"Again, no, father." + +"Sylvia, have you ever heard of the Fifth Commandment?" + +"I have, father; but I will break it rather than return the dress. I +have been a good daughter to you, but there are limits. You have no +right to interfere. The dress was given to me; I did not steal it." + +"Now you are intolerable. I will not be agitated by you; I have enough +to bear. Leave me this minute." + +Sylvia left the room. She did not go to Jasper; she felt that she could +not expose her father in the eyes of this woman. She ran up to her own +bedroom, locked the door, and flung herself on her bed. Of late she had +not done this quite so often. Circumstances had been happier for her of +late: her father had been strange, but at the same time affectionate; +she had been fed, too, and warmed; and, oh! the pretty dress--the pretty +dress--she had liked it. She was determined that she would not give it +up; she would not submit to what she deemed tyranny. She wept for a +little; then she got up, dried her tears, put on her cloak (sadly thin +from wear), and went out. Pilot came, looked into her face, and begged +for her company. She shook her head. + +"No, darling; stay at home--guard him," she whispered. + +Pilot understood, and turned away. Sylvia found herself on the +high-road. As she approached the gate, and as she spoke to Pilot, eager +eyes watched her over the wire screen which protected the lower part of +Mr. Leeson's sitting-room. + +"What can all this mean?" he said to himself. "There is a mystery about +Sylvia. Sometimes I feel that there is a mystery about this house. +Sylvia used to be a shocking cook; now the most dainty chef who has ever +condescended to cook meals for my pampered palate can scarcely excel +her. She confessed that she did not get the recipe from the gipsy; the +gipsies had left the common, so she could not get what I gave her a +shilling to obtain. Or, did I give her the shilling? I think not--I hope +not. Oh, good gracious! if I did, and she lost it! I did not; I must +have it here." + +He fumbled anxiously in his waistcoat pocket. + +"Yes, yes," he said, with a sigh of relief. "I put it here for her, but +she did not need it. Thank goodness, it is safe!" + +He looked at it affectionately, replaced it in its harbor of refuge, and +thought on. + +"Now, who gave her those rich and extravagant clothes? Can she possibly +have been ransacking her mother's trunks? I was under the impression +that I had sold all my poor wife's things, but it is possible I may have +overlooked something. I will go and have a look now in the attics. I had +her trunks conveyed there. I will go and have a look." + +When Mr. Leeson was engaged in what he was pleased to call a voyage of +discovery, he, as a rule, stepped on tiptoe. As he wore, for purposes of +economy, felt slippers when in the house, his steps made no noise. Now, +it so happened that when Jasper arrived at The Priory she brought not +only her own luggage, which was pretty considerable, but two or three +boxes of Evelyn's finery. These trunks having filled up Jasper's bedroom +and the kitchens to an unnecessary extent, she and Sylvia had contrived +to drag them up to the attics in a distant part of the house without Mr. +Leeson hearing. The trunks, therefore, mostly empty, which had contained +the late Mrs. Leeson's wardrobe and Evelyn's trunks were now all +together, in what was known as the back attic--that attic which stood, +with Sylvia's room between, exactly over the kitchen. + +Mr. Leeson knew, as he imagined, every corner of the house. He was well +aware of the room where his wife's trunks were kept, and he went there +now, determined, as he expressed it, to ferret out the mystery which was +unsettling his life. + +He reached the attic in question, and stared about him. There were the +trunks which he remembered so well. Many marks of travel were on +them--names of foreign hotels, names of distant places. Here was a trophy +of a good time at Florence; here a remembrance of a delightful fortnight +at Rome; here, again, of a week in Cairo; here, yet more, of a +never-to-be-forgotten visit to Constantinople. He stared at the +hall-marks of his past life as he gazed at his wife's trunks, and for a +time memory overpowered the lonely man, and he stood with his hands +clasped and his head slightly bent, thinking--thinking of the days that +were no more. No remorse, it is true, seized his conscience. He did not +recognize how, step by step, the demon of his life had gained more and +more power over him; how the trunks became too shabby for use, but the +desire for money prevented his buying new ones. Those labels were old, +and the places he and his wife had visited were much changed, and the +hotels where they had stayed had many of them ceased to exist, but the +labels put on by the hall porters remained on the trunks and bore +witness against Mr. Leeson. He turned quickly from the sight. + +"This brings back old times," he said to himself, "and old times create +old feelings. I never knew then that she would be cursed by the demon of +extravagance, and that her child--her only child--would inherit her +failing. Well, it is my bounden duty to nip it in the bud, or Sylvia +will end her days in the workhouse. I thought I had sold most of the +clothes, but doubtless she found some materials to make up that +unsuitable costume." + +He dragged the trunks forward. They were unlocked, being supposed to +contain nothing of value. He pulled them open and went on his knees to +examine them. Most of them were empty; some contained old bundles of +letters; there was one in the corner which still had a couple of muslin +dresses and an old-fashioned black lace mantilla. Mr. Leeson remembered +the mantilla and the day when he bought it, and how pretty his handsome +wife had looked in it. He flung it from him now as if it distressed him. + +"Faugh!" he said. "I remember I gave ten guineas for it. Think of any +man being such a fool!" + +He was about to leave the attic, more mystified than ever, when his eyes +suddenly fell upon the two trunks which contained that portion of Evelyn +Wynford's wardrobe which Lady Frances had discarded. The trunks were +comparatively new. They were handsome and good, being made of crushed +cane. They bore the initials E. W. in large white letters on their +arched roofs. + +"But who in the name of fortune is E. W.?" thought Mr. Leeson; and now +his heart beat in ungovernable excitement. "E. W.! What can those +initials stand for?" + +He came close to the trunks as though they fascinated him. They were +unlocked, and he pulled them open. Soon Evelyn's gay and useless +wardrobe was lying helter-skelter on the attic floor--silk dresses, +evening dresses, morning dresses, afternoon dresses, furs, hats, cloaks, +costumes. He kicked them about in his rage; his anger reached +white-heat. What was the meaning of this? + +E. W. and E. W.'s clothes took such an effect on his brain that he could +scarcely speak or think. He left the attic with all the things scattered +about, and stumbled rather than walked down-stairs. He had nearly got to +his own part of the house when he remembered something. He went back, +turned the key in the attic door, and put it in his pocket. He then +breathed a sigh of relief, and went back to his sitting-room. The fire +was nearly out; the day was colder than ever--a keen north wind was +blowing. It came in at the badly fitting windows and shook the old panes +of glass. The attic in which Mr. Leeson had stood so long had also been +icy-cold. He shivered and crept close to the remains of the fire. Then a +thought came to him, and he deliberately took up the poker and poked out +the remaining embers. They flamed up feebly on the hearth and died out. + +"No more fires for me," he said to himself; "I cannot afford it. She is +ruining--ruining me. Who is E. W.? Where did she get all those clothes? +Oh, I shall go mad!" + +He stood shivering and frowning and muttering. Then a change came over +him. + +"There is a secret, and I mean to discover it," he said to himself; "and +until I do I shall say nothing. I shall find out who E. W. is, where +those trunks came from, what money Sylvia stole to purchase those awful +and ridiculous and terrible garments. I shall find out before I act. +Sylvia thinks that she can make a fool of her old father; she will +discover her mistake." + +The postman's ring was heard at the gate. The postman was never allowed +to go up the avenue. Mr. Leeson kept a box locked in the gate, with a +little slit for the postman to drop in the letters. He allowed no one to +open this box but himself. Without even putting on his greatcoat, he +went down the snowy path now, unlocked the box, and took out a letter. +He returned with it to the house; it was addressed to himself, and was +from his broker in London. The letter contained news which affected him +pretty considerably. The gold mine in which he had invested nearly the +whole of his available capital was discovered to be by no means so rich +in ore as was at first anticipated. Prices were going down steadily, and +the shares which Mr. Leeson had bought were now worth only half their +value. + +"I'll sell out--I'll sell out this minute," thought the wretched man; "if +I don't I shall lose all." + +But then he paused, for there was a postscript to the letter. + +"It would be madness to sell now," wrote the broker. "Doubtless the +present scare is a passing one; the moment the shares are likely to go +up then sell." + +Mr. Leeson flung the letter from him and tore his gray hair. He paced up +and down the room. + +"Disaster after disaster," he murmured. "I am like Job; all these things +are against me. But nothing cuts me like Sylvia. To buy those things--two +trunks full of useless finery! Oh yes, I have money on the +premises--money which I saved and never invested; I wonder if that is +safe. For all I can tell----But, oh, no, no, no! I will not think that. +That way madness lies. I will bury the canvas bag to-night; I have +delayed too long. No one can discover that hiding-place. I will bury the +canvas bag, come what may, to-night." + +Mr. Leeson wrote to his broker, telling him to seize the first +propitious moment to sell out from the gold-mine, and then sat moodily, +getting colder and colder, in front of the empty grate. + +Sylvia came in presently. + +"Dinner is ready, father," she said. + +"I don't want dinner," he muttered. + +She went up to him and laid her hand on his arm. + +"Why are you like ice?" she said. + +He pushed her away. + +"The fire is out," she continued; "let me light it." + +"No!" he thundered. "Leave it alone; I wish for no fire. I tell you I am +a beggar, and worse; and I wish for no fire!" + +"Oh father--father darling!" said the girl. + +"Don't 'darling' me; don't come near me. I am displeased with you. You +have cut me to the quick. I am angry with you. Leave me." + +"You may be angry," she answered, "but I will not leave you ; and if you +are cold--cold to death--and cannot afford a fire, you will warm yourself +with me. Let me put my arms round you; let me lay my cheek against +yours. Feel how my cheek glows. There, is not that better?" + +He struggled, but she insisted. She sat on his knee now and put the +cloak she was wearing, thin and poor enough in itself, round his neck. +Inside the cloak she circled him with her arms. Her dark luxuriant hair +fell against his white and scanty locks; she pressed her face close to +his. + +"You may hate me, but I am going to stay with you," she said. "How cold +you are!" + +Just for a minute or two Mr. Leeson bore the loving caress and the +endearing words. She was very sweet, and she was his--his only child--bone +of his bone. Yes, it was nicer to be warm than cold, nicer to be loved +than to be hated, nicer to----But was he loved? Those trunks up-stairs; +that costly, useless finery; those initials which were not Sylvia's! + +"Oh that I could tell her!" he said to himself. "She pretends; she is +untrue--untrue as our first mother. What woman was ever yet to be +trusted?" + +"Go, Sylvia," he replied vehemently; and he started up and shook her off +cruelly, so that she fell and hurt herself. + +She rose, pushed her hair back from her forehead and gazed at him in +bewilderment. Was he going mad? + +"Come and eat your dinner before it gets cold," she said. "It is +extravagant to waste good food; come and eat it." + +"Made from some of those old fowls?" he queried; and a scornful smile +curled his lips. + +"Come and eat it; it costs you practically nothing," she added. "Come, +it is extravagant to waste it." + +He pondered in his own mind; there were still about three fowls left. He +would not take her hand but he followed her into the dining-room. He sat +down before the dainty dish, helped her to a small portion, and ate the +rest. + +"Now you are better," she said cheerfully. + +He gave her a glance which seemed to her to be one of almost venom. + +"I am going into my sitting-room," he said; "do not disturb me again +to-day." + +"But you must have a fire!" + +"I decline to have a fire." + +"You will die of cold." + +"Much you care." + +"Father!" + +"Yes, Sylvia, much you care; you are like the one who gave you being. I +will not say any more." + +She started away at this; he knew she would. She was patient with him +almost beyond the limits of human patience, but she could not stand +having her mother abused. + +He went down the passage, and locked himself in his sitting-room. + +"Now I can think," he thought; "and to-night when Sylvia is in bed I +will bury the last canvas bag." + +When Sylvia went into the kitchen Jasper asked her at once what was the +matter. She stood for a moment without speaking; then she said in a low, +broken-hearted voice: + +"Father sometimes gets these moods, but I never saw him as bad before. +He refuses to have a fire in the parlor; he will die of this cold." + +"Let him," muttered Jasper under her breath. She did not say these words +aloud; she knew Sylvia too well by this time. + +"What has put him into this state of mind?" she asked as she dished up a +hot dinner for Sylvia and herself. + +"It was my dress, Jasper; I ought not to have allowed you to make it for +me. I ran in to put it on to go to church on Sunday; and he saw me and +drew his own conclusions, as he said. He asked me where I got it, and I +refused to tell him." + +"Now, if I were you, dear," said Jasper, "I would just up and tell him +the whole story. I would tell him that I am here, and that I mean to +stay, and that he has been living on me for some time now. I would tell +him everything. He would rage and fume, but not more than he has raged +and fumed. Things are past bearing, darling. Why, your pretty, young, +and brave heart will be broken. I would not bear it. It is best for him +too, dear; he must learn to know you, and if necessary to fear you. He +cannot go on killing himself and every one else with impunity. It is +past bearing, Sylvia, my love--past bearing." + +"I know, Jasper--I know--but I dare not tell him. You cannot imagine what +he is when he is really roused. He would turn you out." + +"Well, darling, and you would come with me. Why should we not go out?" + +"In the first place, Jasper, you have no money to support us both. Why, +poor, dear old thing, you are using up all your little savings to keep +me going! And in the next place, even if you could afford it, I promised +mother that I would never leave him. I could not break my word to her. +Oh! it hurt much; but the pain is over. I will never leave him while he +lives, Jasper." + +"Dear, dear!" said Jasper, "what a power of love is wasted on worthless +people! It is the most extraordinary fact on earth." + +Sylvia half-smiled. She thought of Evelyn, who was also in her opinion +more or less worthless, and how Jasper was wasting both substance and +heart on her. + +"Well," she said, "I can eat if I can do nothing else ; but the thought +of father dying of cold does come between me and all peace." + +She finished her dinner, and then went and stood by the window. + +"It is a perfect miracle he has not found me out before," said Jasper; +"and, by the same token," she added, "I heard footsteps in the attic +up-stairs while I was preparing his fowl for dinner. My heart stood +still. It must have been he; and I thought he would see the smoke +curling up through that stack of chimneys just alongside of the attics. +What was he doing up stairs?" + +"Oh, I know--I know!" said Sylvia; and her face turned very white, and +her eyes seemed to start from her head. "He went to look in mother's +trunks; he thought that I had got my brown dress from there." + +"And he will discover Evelyn's trunks as sure as fate," said Jasper; +"and what a state he will be in! That accounts for it, Sylvia. Well, +darling, discovery is imminent now; and for my part the sooner it is +over the better." + +"I wonder if he did discover! Something has put him into a terrible +rage," thought the girl. + +She went out of the kitchen, and stole softly up-stairs to the attic +where the trunks were kept. It was locked. Doubt was now, of course, at +an end. Sylvia went back and told her discovery to Jasper. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV.--UNCLE EDWARD. + + +According to her promise, Jasper went that evening to meet Evelyn at the +stile. Evelyn was there, and the news she had for her faithful nurse was +the reverse of soothing. + +"You cannot stand it," said Jasper; "you cannot demean yourself. I don't +know that I'd have done it--yes, perhaps I would--but having done it, you +must stick to your guns." + +"Yes," said Evelyn in a mournful tone; "I must run away. I have quite, +quite, absolutely made up my mind." + +"And when, darling?" said Jasper, trembling a good deal. + +"The night before the week is up. I will come to you here, Jasper, and +you must take me." + +"Of course, love; you will come back with me to The Priory. I can hide +you there as well as anywhere on earth--yes, love, as well as anywhere on +earth." + +"Oh, I'd be so frightened! It would be so close to them all!" + +"The closer the better, dear. If you went into any village or any town +near you would be discovered; but they'd never think of looking for you +at The Priory. Why, darling, I have lived there unsuspected for some +time now--weeks, I might say. Sylvia will not tell. You shall sleep in my +bed, and I will keep you safe. Only you must bring some money, Evelyn, +for mine is getting sadly short." + +"Yes," said Evelyn. "I will ask Uncle Edward; he will not refuse me. He +is very kind to me, and I love him better than any one on earth--better +even than Jasper, because he is father's very own brother, and because I +am his heiress. He likes to talk to me about the place and what I am to +do when it belongs to me. He is not angry with me when I am quite alone +with him and I talk of these things; only he has taught me to say +nothing about it in public. If I could be sorry for having got into this +scrape it would be on his account; but there, I was not brought up with +his thoughts, and I cannot think things wrong that he thinks wrong. Can +you, Jasper?" + +"No, my little wild honey-bird--not I. Well, dearie, I will meet you +again to-morrow night; and now I must be going back." + +Evelyn returned to the house. She went up to her room, changed her +shoes, tidied her hair, and came down to the drawing-room. Lady Frances +was leaning back in a chair, turning over the pages of a new magazine. +She called Evelyn to her side. + +"How do you like school?" she said. Her tones were abrupt; the eyes she +fixed on the child were hard. + +Evelyn's worst feelings were always awakened by Lady Frances's manner to +her. + +"I do not like it at all," she said. "I wish to leave." + +"Your wishes, I am afraid, are not to be considered; all the same, you +may have to leave." + +"Why?" asked Evelyn, turning white. She wondered if Lady Frances knew. + +Her aunt's eyes were fixed, as though they were gimlets, on her face. + +"Sit down," said Lady Frances, "and tell me how you spend your day. What +class are you in? What lessons are you learning?" + +"I am in a very low class indeed?" said Evelyn. "Mothery always said I +was clever." + +"I do not suppose your mother knew." + +"Why should she not know, she who was so very clever herself? She taught +me all sorts of things, and so did poor Jasper." + +"Ah! I am glad at least that I have removed that dreadful woman out of +your path," said Lady Frances. + +Evelyn smiled and lowered her eyes. Her manner irritated her aunt +extremely. + +"Well," she said, "go on; we will not discuss the fact of the form you +ought to be in. What lessons do you do?" + +"Oh, history, grammar; I suppose, the usual English subjects." + +"Yes, yes; but history--that is interesting. English history?" + +"Yes, Aunt Frances." + +"What part of the history?" + +"We are doing the reigns of the Edwards now." + +"Ah! can you tell me anything with regard to the reign of Edward I.?" + +Evelyn colored. Lady Frances watched her. + +"I am certain she knows," thought the little girl. "But, oh, this is +terrible! Has that awful Miss Henderson told her? What shall I do? I do +not think I will wait until the week is up; I think I will run away at +once." + +"Answer my question, Evelyn," said her aunt. + +Evelyn did mutter a tiny piece of information with regard to the said +reign. + +"I shall question you on your history from time to time," said Lady +Frances. "I take an interest in this school experiment. Whether it will +last or not I cannot say; but I may as well say one thing--if for any +reason your presence is not found suitable in the school where I have +now sent you, you will go to a very different order of establishment and +to a much stricter _regime_ elsewhere." + +"What is a _regime?_" asked Evelyn. + +"I am too tired to answer your silly questions. Now go and read your +book in that corner. Do not make a noise; I have a headache." + +Evelyn slouched away, looking as cross and ill-tempered as a little girl +could look. + +"Audrey darling," called her mother in a totally different tone of +voice, "play me that pretty thing of Chopin's which you know I am so +fond of." + +Audrey approached the piano and began to play. + +Evelyn read her book for a time without attending much to the meaning of +the words. Then she observed that her uncle, who had been asleep behind +his newspaper, had risen and left the room. Here was the very +opportunity that she sought. If she could only get her Uncle Edward +quite by himself, and when he was in the best of good humors, he might +give her some money. She could not run away without money to go with. +Jasper, she knew, had not a large supply. Evelyn, with all her ignorance +of many things, had early in her life come into contact with the want of +money. Her mother had often and often been short of funds. When Mrs. +Wynford was short, the ranch did without even, at times, the necessaries +of life. Evelyn had a painful remembrance of butterless breakfasts and +meatless dinners; of shoes which were patched so often that they would +scarcely keep out the winter snows; of little garments turned and turned +again. Then money had come back, and life became smooth and pleasant; +there was an abundance of good food for the various meals, and Evelyn +had shoes to her heart's content, and the sort of gay-colored garments +which her mother delighted in. Yes, she understood Jasper's appeal for +money, and determined on no account to go to that good woman's +protection without a sufficient sum in hand. + +Therefore, as Audrey was playing some of the most seductive music of +that past master of the art, Chopin, and Lady Frances lay back in her +chair with closed eyes and listened, Evelyn left the room. She knew +where to find her uncle, and going down a corridor, opened the door of +his smoking-room without knocking. He was seated by the fire smoking. A +newspaper lay by his side; a pile of letters which had come by the +evening post were waiting to be opened. When Evelyn quietly opened the +door he looked round and said: + +"Ah, it is you, Eve. Do you want anything, my dear?" + +"May I speak to you for a minute or two, Uncle Edward?" + +"Certainly, my dear Evelyn; come in. What is the matter, dear?" + +"Oh, nothing much." + +Evelyn went and leant up against her uncle. She had never a scrap of +fear of him, which was one reason why he liked her, and thought her far +more tolerable than did his wife or Audrey. Even Audrey, who was his own +child, held him in a certain awe; but Evelyn leant comfortably now +against his side, and presently she took his arm of her own accord and +passed it securely round her waist. + +"Now, that is nice," she said; "when I lean up against you I always +remember that you are father's brother." + +"I am glad that you should remember that fact, Evelyn." + +"You are pleased with me on the whole, aren't you, Uncle Edward?" asked +the little girl. Evelyn backed her head against his shoulder as she +spoke, and looked into his face with her big and curious eyes. + +"On the whole, yes." + +"But Aunt Frances does not like me." + +"You must try to win her affection, Evelyn; it will all come in good +time." + +"It is not pleasant to be in the house with a person who does not like +you, is it, Uncle Edward?" + +"I can understand you, Evelyn; it is not pleasant." + +"And Audrey only half-likes me." + +"My dear little girl," said her uncle, rousing himself to talk in a more +serious strain, "would it not be wisest for you to give over thinking of +who likes you and who does not, and to devote all your time to doing +what is right?" + +Evelyn made a wry face. + +"I don't care about doing what is right," she said; "I don't like it." + +Her uncle smiled. + +"You are a strange girl; but I believe you have improved," he said. + +"You would be sorry if I did anything very, very naughty, Uncle Edward?" + +"I certainly should." + +Evelyn lowered her eyes. + +"He must not know. I must keep him from knowing somehow, but I wonder +how I shall," she thought. + +"And perhaps you would be sorry," she continued, "if I were not here--if +your naughty, naughty Eve was no longer in the house?" + +"I should. I often think of you. I----" + +"What, Uncle Edward?" + +"Love you, little girl." + +"Love me! Do you?" she asked in a tone of affection. "Do you really? +Please say that again." + +"I love you, Evelyn." + +"Uncle Edward, may I give you just the tiniest kiss?" + +"Yes, dear." + +Evelyn raised her soft face and pressed a light kiss on her uncle's +cheek. She was quite silent then for a minute; truth to tell, her heart +was expanding and opening out and softening, and great thrills of pure +love were filling it, so that soon, soon that heart might have melted +utterly and been no longer a hard heart of stone. But, alas! as these +good thoughts visited her, there came also the remembrance of the sin +she had committed, and of the desperate measures she was about to take +to save herself--for she had by no means come to the stage of confessing +that sin, and by so doing getting rid of her naughtiness. + +"Uncle Edward," she said abruptly, "I want you to give me a little +money. I have come here to ask you. I want it all for my very own self. +I want some money which no one else need know anything about." + +"Of course, dear, you shall have money. How much do you want?" + +"Well, a good bit. I want to give Jasper a present." + +"Your old nurse?" + +"Yes. You know it was unkind of Aunt Frances to send her away; mothery +wished her to stay with me." + +"I know that, Evelyn, and as far as I personally am concerned, I am +sorry; but your aunt knows very much more about little girls than I do." + +"She does not know half so much about this girl." + +"Well, anyhow, dear, it was her wish, and you and I must submit." + +"But you are sorry?" + +"For some reasons, yes." + +"And you would like me to help Jasper?" + +"Certainly. Do you know where your nurse is now, Evelyn?" + +"I do." + +"Where?" + +"I would rather not say; only, may I send her some money?" + +"That seems reasonable enough," thought the Squire. + +"How much do you want?" he asked. + +"Would twenty pounds be too much?" + +"I think not. It is a good deal, but she was a faithful servant. I will +give you twenty pounds for her now." + +The Squire rose and took out his check-book. + +"Oh, please," said Evelyn, "I want it in gold." + +"But how will you send it to her?" + +"Never, never mind; I must have it in gold." + +"Poor child! She is in earnest," thought the Squire. "Perhaps the woman +will come to meet her somewhere. I really cannot see why she should be +tabooed from having a short interview with her old nurse. Frances and I +differ on this head. Yes, I will let her have the money; the child has a +good deal of heart when all is said and done." + +So the Squire put two little rolls, neatly made up in brown paper, into +Evelyn's hands. + +"There," he said; "it is a great deal of money to trust a little girl +with, but you shall have it; only you must not ask me for any more." + +"Oh, what a darling you are, Uncle Edward! I feel as if I must kiss you +again. There! those kisses are full of love. Now I must go. But, oh, I +say, _what_ a funny parcel!" + +"What parcel, dear?" + +"That long parcel on that table." + +"It is a gun-case which I have not yet unpacked. Now run away." + +"But that reminds me. You said I might go out some day to shoot with +you." + +"On some future day. I do not much care for girls using firearms; and +you are so busy now with your school." + +"You think, perhaps, that I cannot fire a gun, but I can aim well; I can +kill a bird on the wing as neatly as any one. I told Audrey, and she +would not believe me. Please--please show me your new gun. + +"Not now; I have not looked at it myself yet." + +"But you do believe that I can shoot?" + +"Oh yes, dear--yes, I suppose so. All the same, I should be sorry to +trust you; I do not approve of women carrying firearms. Now leave me, +Evelyn; I have a good deal to attend to." + +Evelyn went to bed to think over her uncle's words; her disgrace at +school; the terrible _denouement_ which lay before her; the money, which +seemed to her to be the only way out, and which would insure her comfort +with Jasper wherever Jasper might like to take her; and finally, and by +no means least, she meditated over the subject of her uncle's new gun. +On the ranch she had often carried a gun of her own; from her earliest +days she had been accustomed to regard the women of her family as +first-class shots. Her mother had herself taught her how to aim, how to +fire, how to make allowance in order to bring her bird down on the wing, +and Evelyn had followed out her instructions many times. She felt now +that her uncle did not believe her, and the fear that this was the case +irritated her beyond words. + +"I do not pretend to be learned," thought Evelyn, "and I do not pretend +to be good, but there is one thing that I am, and that is a first-rate +shot. Uncle Edward might show me his new gun. How little he guesses that +I can manage it quite as well as he can himself!" + +Two or three days passed without anything special occurring. Evelyn was +fairly good at school; it was not, she considered, worth her while any +longer to shirk her lessons. She began in spite of herself, and quite +against her declared inclination, to have a sort of liking for her +books. History was the only lesson which she thoroughly detested. She +could not be civil to Miss Thompson, whom she considered her enemy; but +to her other teachers she was fairly agreeable, and had already to a +certain extent won the hearts of more than one of the girls in her form. +She was bright and cheerful, and could say funny things; and as also she +brought an unlimited supply of chocolates and other sweetmeats to +school, these facts alone insured her being more or less of a favorite. +At home she avoided her aunt and Audrey, and evening after evening she +went to the stile to have a chat with Jasper. + +Jasper never failed to meet her little girl, as she called Evelyn, at +their arranged rendezvous. Evelyn managed to slip out without, as she +thought, any one noticing her; and the days went by until there was only +one day left before Miss Henderson would proclaim to the entire school +that Evelyn Wynford was the guilty person who had torn the precious +volume of Ruskin. + +"When you come for me to-morrow night, Jasper," said Evelyn, "I will go +away with you. Are you quite sure that it is safe to take me back to The +Priory?" + +"Quite, quite safe, darling; hardly a soul knows that I am at The +Priory, and certainly no one will suspect that you are there. Besides, +the place is all undermined with cellars, and at the worst you and I +could hide there together while the house was searched." + +"What fun!" cried Evelyn, clapping her hands. "I declare, Jasper, it is +almost as good as a fairy story." + +"Quite as good, my little love." + +"And you will be sure to have a very, very nice supper ready for me +to-morrow night?" + +"Oh yes, dear; just the supper you like best--chocolate and sweet cakes." + +"And you will tuck me up in bed as you used to?" + +"Darling, I have put a little white bed close to my own, where you shall +sleep." + +"Oh Jasper, it will be nice to be with you again! And you are positive +Sylvia will not tell?" + +"She is sad about you, Evelyn, but she will not tell. I have arranged +that." + +"And that terrible old man, her father, will he find out?" + +"I think not, dear; he has not yet found out about me at any rate." + +"Perhaps, Jasper, I had better go back now; it is later than usual." + +"Be sure you bring the twenty pounds when you come to-morrow night," +said Jasper; "for my funds, what with one thing and another, are getting +low." + +"Yes, I will bring the money," replied Evelyn. + +She returned to the house. No one saw her as she slipped in by the back +entrance. She ran up to her room, smoothed her hair, and went down to +the drawing-room. Lady Frances and Audrey were alone in the big room. +They had been talking together, but instantly became silent when Evelyn +entered. + +"They have been abusing me, of course," thought the little girl; and she +flashed an angry glance first at one and then at the other. + +"Evelyn," said her aunt, "have you finished learning your lessons? You +know how extremely particular Miss Henderson is that school tasks should +be perfectly prepared." + +"My lessons are all right, thank you," replied Evelyn in her brusquest +voice. She flung herself into a chair and crossed her legs. + +"Uncross your legs, my dear; that is a very unlady-like thing to do." + +Evelyn muttered something, but did what her aunt told her. + +"Do not lean back so much, Evelyn; it is not good style. Do not poke out +your chin, either; observe how Audrey sits." + +"I don't want to observe how Audrey sits," said Evelyn. + +Lady Frances colored. She was about to speak, but a glance from her +daughter restrained her. Just then Read came into the room. Between Read +and Evelyn there was already a silent feud. Read now glanced at the +young lady, tossed her head a trifle, and went up to Lady Frances. + +"I am very sorry to trouble you, madam," she said, "but if I may see you +quite by yourself for a few moments I shall be very much obliged." + +"Certainly, Read; go into my boudoir and I will join you there," said +her mistress. "I know," added Lady Frances graciously, "that you would +not disturb me if you had not something important to say." + +"No, madam; I should be very sorry to do so." + +Lady Frances and Read now left the room, and Audrey and Evelyn were +alone. Audrey uttered a sigh. + +"What is the matter, Audrey?" asked her cousin. + +"I am thinking of the day after to-morrow," answered Audrey. "The +unhappy girl who has kept her secret all this time will be openly +denounced. It will be terribly exciting." + +"You do not pretend that you pity her!" said Evelyn in a voice of scorn. + +"Indeed I do pity her." + +"What nonsense! That is not at all your way." + +"Why should you say that? It is my way. I pity all people who have done +wrong most terribly." + +"Then have you ever pitied me since I came to England?" + +"Oh yes, Evelyn--oh, indeed I have!" + +"Please keep your pity to yourself; I don't want it." + +Audrey relapsed into silence. + +By and by Lady Frances came back; she was still accompanied by Read. + +"What does a servant want in this room?" said Evelyn in her most +disagreeable voice. + +"Evelyn, come here," said her aunt; "I have something to say to you." + +Evelyn went very unwillingly. Read stood a little in the background. + +"Evelyn," said Lady Frances, "I have just heard something that surprises +me extremely, that pains me inexpressibly; it is true, so there is no +use in your denying it, but I must tell you what Read has discovered." + +"Read!" cried Evelyn, her voice choking with passion and her face white. +"Who believes what a tell-tale-tit of that sort says?" + +"You must not be impertinent, my dear. I wish to tell you that Read has +found you out. Your maid Jasper has not left this neighborhood, and you, +Evelyn--you are naughty enough and daring enough to meet her every night +by the stile that leads into the seven-acre meadow. Read observed your +absence one night, and followed you herself to-night, and she discovered +everything." + +"Did you hear what I was saying to Jasper?" asked Evelyn, turning her +white face now and looking full at Read. + +"No, Miss Evelyn," replied the maid; "I would not demean myself to +listen." + +"You would demean yourself to follow," said Evelyn. + +"Confess your sin, Evelyn, and do not scold Read," interrupted Lady +Frances. + +"I have nothing to confess, Aunt Frances." + +"But you did it?" + +"Certainly I did it." + +"You dared to go to meet a woman privately, clandestinely, whom I, your +aunt, prohibited the house?" + +"I dared to go to meet the woman my mother loved," replied Evelyn, "and +I am not a bit ashamed of it; and if I had the chance I would do it +again." + +"You are a very, very naughty girl. I am more than angry with you. I am +pained beyond words. What is to become of you I know not. You are a bad +girl; I cannot bear to think that you should be in the same house with +Audrey." + +"Loving the woman whom my mother loved does not make me a bad girl," +replied Evelyn. "But as you do not like to have me in the room, Aunt +Frances, I will go away--I will go up-stairs. I think you are very, very +unkind to me; I think you have been so from the first." + +"Do not dare to say another word to me, miss; go away immediately." + +Evelyn left the room. She was half-way up-stairs when she paused. + +"What is the use of being good?" she said to herself. "What is the use +of ever trying to please anybody? I really did not mean to be naughty +when first I came, and if Aunt Frances had been different I might have +been different too. What right had she to deprive me of Jasper when +mothery said that Jasper was to stay with me? It is Aunt Frances's fault +that I am such a bad girl now. Well, thank goodness! I shall not be here +much longer; I shall be away this time to-morrow night. The only person +I shall be sorry to leave is Uncle Edward. Audrey and I will be going to +school early in the morning, and then there will be the fuss and bustle +and the getting away before Read sees me. Oh, that dreadful old Read! +what can I do to blind her eyes to-morrow night? Throw dust into them in +some fashion I must. I will just go and have one word of good-by with +Uncle Edward now." + +Evelyn ran down the corridor which led to her uncle's room. She tapped +at the door. There was no answer. She opened the door softly and peeped +in. The room was empty. She was just about to go away again, +considerably crestfallen and disappointed, when her eyes fell upon the +gun-case. Instantly a sparkle came into her eyes; she went up to the +case, and removing the gun, proceeded to examine it. It was made on the +newest pattern, and was light and easily carried. It held six chambers, +all of which could be most simply and conveniently loaded. + +Evelyn knew well how to load a gun, and finding the proper cartridges, +now proceeded to enjoy herself by making the gun ready for use. Having +loaded it, she returned it to its case. + +"I know what I'll do," she thought. "Uncle Edward thinks that I cannot +shoot; he thinks that I am not good at any one single thing. But I will +show him. I'll go out and shoot two birds on the wing before breakfast +to-morrow; whether they are crows or whether they are doves or whether +they are game, it does not matter in the least; I'll bring them in and +lay them at his feet, and say: + +"Here is what your wild niece Evelyn can do; and now you will believe +that she has one accomplishment which is not vouchsafed to other girls." + +So, having completed her task of putting the gun in absolute readiness +for its first essay in the field, she returned the case to its corner +and went up-stairs to bed. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI.--TANGLES. + + +When Audrey and her mother found themselves alone, Lady Frances turned +at once to her daughter. + +"Audrey," she said, "I feel that I must confide in you." + +"What about, mother?" asked Audrey. + +"About Evelyn." + +"Yes, mother?" + +Audrey's face looked anxious and troubled; Lady Frances's scarcely less +so. + +"The child hates me," said Lady Frances. "What I have done to excite +such a feeling is more than I can tell you; from the first I have done +my utmost to be kind to her." + +"It is difficult to know how best to be kind to Evelyn," said Audrey in +a thoughtful voice. + +"What do you mean, my dear?" + +"I mean, mother, that she is something of a little savage. She has never +been brought up with our ideas. Do you think, mother--I scarcely like to +say it to one whom I honor and love and respect as I do you--but do you +think you understand her?" + +"No, I do not," said Lady Frances. "I have never understood her from the +first. Your father seems to manage her better." + +"Ah, yes," said Audrey; "but then, she belongs to him." + +Lady Frances looked annoyed. + +"She belongs to us all," she remarked. "She is your first cousin, and my +niece, of course, by marriage. Her father was a very dear fellow; how +such a daughter could have been given to him is one of those puzzles +which will never be unraveled. But now, dear, we must descend from +generalities to facts. Something very grave and terrible has occurred. +Read did right when she told me about Evelyn's secret visits to Jasper +at the stile. You know how from the very first I have distrusted and +disliked that woman. You must not suppose, Audrey, that I felt no pain +when I turned the woman away after the letter which Evelyn's mother had +written to me; but there are times when it is wrong to yield, and I felt +that such was the case." + +"I knew, my darling mother, that you must have acted from the best of +motives," said Audrey. + +"I did, my dearest child; I did. Well, Evelyn has managed to meet this +woman, and instead of being removed from her influence, is under it to a +remarkable and dangerous degree--for the woman, of course, thinks herself +wronged, and Evelyn agrees with her. Now, the fact is this, Audrey: I +happen to know about that very disagreeable occurrence which took place +at Chepstow House." + +"What, mother--what?" cried Audrey. "You speak as if you knew something +special." + +"I do, Audrey." + +"But what, mother?" + +Audrey's face turned red; her eyes shone. She went close to her mother, +knelt by her, and took her hand. + +"Who has spoken to you about it?" she asked. + +"Miss Henderson." + +"Oh mother! and what did she say?" + +"My darling, I am afraid you will be terribly grieved; I can scarcely +tell you how upset I am. Audrey, the strongest, the very strongest, +circumstantial evidence points to Evelyn as the guilty person." + +"Oh mother! Evelyn! But why? Oh, surely, surely whoever accuses poor +Evelyn is mistaken!" + +"I agreed with you, Audrey; I felt just as indignant as you do when +first I heard what Miss Henderson told me; but the more I see of Evelyn +the more sure I am that she would be capable of this action, that if the +opportunity came she would do this cruel and unjustifiable wrong, and +after having done it the unhappy child would try to conceal it." + +"But, mother darling, what motive could she have?" + +"Well, dear, let me tell you. Miss Henderson seems to be well aware of +the entire story. On the first day when Evelyn went to school she was +asked during class to read over the reign of Edward I. in the history of +England. Evelyn, in her usual pert way which we all know so well, +declared that she knew the reign, and while the other girls in her form +were busy with their lessons she amused herself looking about her. As it +was the first day, Miss Thompson took no notice; but when the girls went +into the playground for recess she called Evelyn to her and questioned +her with regard to the history. Evelyn's wicked lie was immediately +manifest, for she did not know a single word about the reign. Miss +Thompson was naturally angry, and desired her to stay in the schoolroom +and learn the reign while the other girls were at play. Evelyn was +angry, but could not resist. About six o'clock that evening Miss +Thompson came into the schoolroom, found Ruskin's _Sesame and Lilies_, +which she had left there that morning, and took it away with her. She +was preparing a lecture out of the book, and did not open it at once. +When she did so she perceived, to her horror, that some pages had been +torn out. You know, my dear, what followed. You know what a strained and +unhappy condition the school is now in." + +"Oh yes, mother--yes, I know all that; the only part that is new to me is +that Evelyn was kept indoors to learn her history." + +"Yes, dear, and that supplies the motive; not to one like you, my +Audrey, but to such a perverted, such an unhappy and ignorant child as +poor Evelyn, one who has never learnt self-control, one whose passions +are ever in the ascendency." + +"Oh, poor Evelyn, poor Evelyn!" said Audrey. "But still, +mother--still----Oh, I am sure she never did it! She has denied it, mother; +whatever she is, she is not a coward. She might have done it in a fit of +rage; but if she did she would confess. Why should she wreak her anger +on Miss Henderson? Oh, mother darling, there is nothing proved against +her!" + +"Wait, Audrey; I have not finished my story. Two days passed before Miss +Thompson needed to open the history-book which Evelyn had been using; +when she did, she found, lying in the pages which commenced the reign of +Edward I., some scraps of torn paper, all too evidently torn out of +_Sesame and Lilies_. + +"Mother!" + +"It is true, Audrey." + +"Who told you this?" + +"Miss Henderson." + +"Does Miss Henderson believe that Evelyn is guilty?" + +"Yes; and so do I." + +"Mother, mother, what will happen?" + +"Who knows? But Miss Henderson is determined--and, yes, my dear, I must +say I agree with her--she is determined to expose Evelyn; she said she +would give her a week in which to repent." + +"And that week will be up the day after to-morrow," said Audrey. + +"Yes, Audrey--yes; there is only to-morrow left." + +"Oh mother, how can I bear it?" + +"My poor child, it will be dreadful for you." + +"Oh mother, why did she come here? I could almost hate her! And yet--no, +I do not hate her--no, I do not; I pity her." + +"You are an angel! When I think that you, my sweet, will be mixed up in +this, and--and injured by it, and brought to low esteem by it, oh, my +dearest, what can I say?" + +Audrey was silent for a moment. She bent her head and looked down; then +she spoke. + +"It is a trial," she said, "but I am not to be pitied as Evelyn is to be +pitied. Mother darling, there is but one thing to be done." + +"What is that, dearest?" + +"To get her to repent--to get her to confess between now and the morning +after next. Oh mother! leave her to me." + +"I will, Audrey. If any one can influence her, you can; you are so +brave, so good, so strong!" + +"Nay, I have but little influence over her," said Audrey. "Let me think +for a few moments, mother." + +Audrey sank into a chair and sat silent. Her sweet, pure, high-bred face +was turned in profile to her mother. Lady Frances glanced at it, and +thought over the circumstances which had brought Evelyn into their +midst. + +"To think that that girl should supplant her!" thought the mother; and +her anger was so great that she could not keep quiet. She was going out +of the room to speak to her husband, but before she reached the door +Audrey called her. + +"What are you going to do, mother?" + +"It is only right that I should tell you, Audrey. An idea has come to +me. Evelyn respects your father; if I told him just what I have told you +he might induce her to confess." + +"No, mother," said Audrey suddenly; "do not let us lower her in his +eyes. The strongest possible motive for Evelyn to confess her sin will +be that father does not know; that he need never know if she confesses. +Do not tell him, please, mother; I have got another thought." + +"What is that, my darling?" + +"Do you not remember Sylvia--pretty Sylvia?" + +"Of course. A dear, bright, fascinating girl!" + +"Evelyn is fond of her--fonder of Sylvia than she is of me; perhaps +Sylvia could induce her to confess." + +"It is a good thought, Audrey. I will ask Sylvia over here to dine +to-morrow evening." + +"Oh, mother darling, that is too late! May I not send a messenger for +her to come in the morning? Oh mother, if she could only come now!" + +"No dearest; it is too late to-night." + +"But Evelyn ought to see her before she goes to school." + +"My dearest, you have both to be at school at nine o'clock." + +"Oh, I don't know what is to be done! I do feel that I have very little +influence, and Sylvia may have much. Oh dear! oh dear!" + +"Audrey, I am almost sorry I have told you; you take it too much to +heart." + +"Dear mother, you must have told me; I could not have stood the shock, +the surprise, unprepared. Oh mother, think of the morning after next! +Think of our all standing up in school, and Evelyn, my cousin, being +proclaimed guilty! And yet, mother, I ought only to think of Evelyn, and +not of myself; but I cannot help thinking of myself--I cannot--I cannot." + +"Something must be done to help you, Audrey. Let me think. I will write +a line to Miss Henderson and say I am detaining you both till afternoon +school. Then, dearest, you can have your talk with Evelyn in the +morning, and afterwards Sylvia can see her, and perhaps the unhappy +child may be brought to repentance, and may speak to Miss Henderson and +confess her sin in the afternoon. That is the best thing. Now go to bed, +and do not let the trouble worry you, my sweet; that would indeed be the +last straw." + +Audrey left the room. But during that night she could not sleep. From +side to side of her pillow she tossed; and early in the morning, an hour +or more before her usual time of rising, she got up. She dressed herself +quickly and went in the direction of Evelyn's room. Her idea was to +speak to Evelyn there and then before her courage failed her. She opened +the door of her cousin's room softly. She expected to see Evelyn, who +was very lazy as a rule, sound asleep in bed; but, to her astonishment, +the room was empty. Where could she be? + +"What can be the matter?" thought Audrey; and in some alarm she ran +down-stairs. + +The first person she saw was Evelyn, who was making straight for her +uncle's room, intending to go out with the well-loaded gun. Evelyn +scowled when she saw her cousin, and a look of anger swept over her +face. + +"What are you doing up so early, Evelyn?" asked Audrey. + +"May I ask what are _you_ doing up so early," retorted Evelyn. + +"I got up early on purpose to talk to you." + +"I don't want to talk just now." + +"Do come with me, Evelyn--please do. Why should you turn against me and +be so disagreeable? Oh, dear! oh dear! I am so terribly sorry for you! +Do you know that I was awake all night thinking of you?" + +"Then you were very silly," said Evelyn, "for certainly I was not awake +thinking of you. What is it you want to say?" she continued. + +She recognized that she must give up her sport. How more than provoking! +for the next morning she would be no longer at Wynford Castle; she would +be under the safe shelter of her beloved Jasper's wing. + +"The morning is quite fine," said Audrey; "do come out and let us walk." + +Evelyn looked very cross, but finally agreed, and they went out +together. Audrey wondered how she should proceed. What could she say to +influence Evelyn? In truth, they were not the sort of girls who would +ever pull well together. Audrey had been brought up in the strictest +school, with the highest sense of honor. Evelyn had been left to grow up +at her own sweet will; honorable actions had never appealed to her. +Tricks, cheating, smart doings, clever ways, which were not the ways of +righteousness, were the ways to which she had been accustomed. It was +impossible for her to see things with Audrey's eyes. + +"What do you want to say to me?" said Evelyn. "Why do you look so +mysterious?" + +"I want to say something--something which I must say. Evelyn, do not ask +me any questions, but do just listen. You know what is going to happen +to-morrow morning at school?" + +"Lessons, I suppose," said Evelyn. + +"Please don't be silly; you must know what I mean." + +"Oh, you allude to the row about that stupid, stupid book. What a fuss! +I used to think I liked school, but I don't now. I am sure mistresses +don't go on in that silly way in Tasmania, for mothery said she loved +school. Oh, the fun she had at school! Stolen parties in the attics; +suppers brought in clandestinely; lessons shirked! Oh dear! oh dear! she +had a time of excitement. But at this school you are all so proper! I do +really think you English girls have no spunk and no spirit." + +"But I'll tell you what we have," said Audrey; and she turned and faced +her cousin. "We have honor; we have truth. We like to work straight, not +crooked; we like to do right, not wrong. Yes, we do, and we are the +better for it. That is what we English girls are. Don't abuse us, +Evelyn, for in your heart of hearts--yes, Evelyn, I repeat it--in your +heart of hearts you must long to be one of us." + +There was something in Audrey's tone which startled Evelyn. + +"How like Uncle Edward you look!" she said; and perhaps she could not +have paid her cousin a higher compliment. + +The look which for just a moment flitted across the queer little face of +the Tasmanian girl upset Audrey. She struggled to retain her composure, +but the next moment burst into tears. + +"Oh dear!" said Evelyn, who hated people who cried, "what is the +matter?" + +"You are the matter. Oh, why--_why_ did you do it?" + +"I do what?" said Evelyn, a little startled, and turning very pale. + +"Oh! you know you did it, and--and---- There is Sylvia Leeson coming across +the grass. Do let Sylvia speak to you. Oh, you know--you know you did +it!" + +"What is the matter?" said Sylvia, running up, panting and breathless. +"I have been asked to breakfast here. Such fun! I slipped off without +father knowing. But are not you two going to school? Why was I asked? +Audrey, what are you crying about?" + +"About Evelyn. I am awfully unhappy----" + +"Have you told, Evelyn?" asked Sylvia breathlessly. + +"No," said Evelyn; "and if you do, Sylvia----" + +"Sylvia, do you know about this?" cried Audrey. + +"About what?" asked Sylvia. + +"About the book which got injured at Miss Henderson's school." + +Sylvia glanced at Evelyn; then her face flushed, her eyes brightened, +and she said emphatically: + +"I know; and dear little Evelyn will tell you herself.--Won't you, +darling--won't you?" + +Evelyn looked from one to the other. + +"You are enough, both of you, to drive me mad," she said. "Do you think +for a single moment that I am going to speak against myself? I hate you, +Sylvia, as much as I ever loved you." + +Before either girl could prevent her she slipped away, and flying round +the shrubberies, was lost to view. + +"Then she did do it?" said Audrey. "She told you?" + +Sylvia shut her lips. + +"I must not say any more," she answered. + +"But, Sylvia, it is no secret. Miss Henderson knows; there is +circumstantial evidence. Mother told me last night. Evelyn will be +exposed before the whole school." + +Now Jasper, for wise reasons, had said nothing to Sylvia of Evelyn's +proposed flight to The Priory, and consequently she was unaware that the +naughty girl had no intention of exposing herself to public disgrace. + +"She must be brought to confess," continued Audrey, "and you must find +her and talk to her. You must show her how hopeless and helpless she is. +Show her that if she tells, the disgrace will not be quite so awful. Oh, +do please get her to tell!" + +"I can but try," said Sylvia; "only, somehow," she added, "I have not +yet quite fathomed Evelyn." + +"But I thought she was fond of you?" + +"You see what she said. She did confide something to me, only I must not +tell you any more; and she is angry with me because she thinks I have +not respected her confidence. Oh, what is to be done? Yes, I will go and +have a talk with her. Go in, please, Audrey; you look dead tired." + +"Oh! as if anything mattered," said Audrey. "I could almost wish that I +were dead; the disgrace is past enduring." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII.--THE STRANGE VISITOR IN THE BACK BEDROOM. + + +In vain Sylvia pleaded and argued. She brought all her persuasions to +bear; she brought all her natural sweetness to the fore. She tried love, +with which she was so largely endowed; she tried tact, which had been +given to her in full measure; she tried the gentle touch of scorn and +sarcasm; finally she tried anger, but for all she said and did she might +as well have held her peace. Evelyn put on that stubbornness with which +she could encase herself as in armor; nowhere could Sylvia find a crack +or a crevice through which her words might pierce the obdurate and +naughty little heart. What was to be done? At last she gave up in +despair. Audrey met her outside Evelyn's room. Sylvia shook her head. + +"Don't question me," she said. "I am very unhappy. I pity you from my +heart. I can say nothing; I am bound in honor to say nothing. Poor +Evelyn will reap her own punishment." + +"If," said Audrey, "you have failed I give up all hope." + +After lunch Evelyn and Audrey went back to school. There were a good +many classes to be held that afternoon--one for deportment, another for +dancing, another for recitation. Evelyn could recite extremely well when +she chose. She looked almost pretty when she recited some of the +spirited ballads of her native land for the benefit of the school. Her +eyes glowed, darkened, and deepened; the pallor of her face was +transformed and beautified by a faint blush. There was a heart somewhere +within her; as Audrey watched her she was obliged to acknowledge that +fact. + +"She is thinking of her dead mother now," thought the girl. "Oh, if only +that mother had been different we should not be placed in our present +terrible position!" + +It was the custom of the school for the girls on recitation afternoons +to do their pieces in the great hall. Miss Henderson, Miss Lucy, and a +few visitors generally came to listen to the recitations. Miss Thompson +was the recitation mistress, and right well did she perform her task. If +a girl had any dramatic power, if a girl had any talent for seeing +behind the story and behind the dream of the poet, Miss Thompson was the +one to bring that gift to the surface. Evelyn, who was a dramatist by +nature, became like wax in her hands; the way in which she recited that +afternoon brought a feeling of astonishment to those who listened to +her. + +"What remarkable little girl is that?" said a lady of the neighboring +town to Miss Henderson. + +"She is a Tasmanian and Squire Edward Wynford's niece," replied Miss +Henderson; but it was evident that she was not to be drawn out on the +subject, nor would she allow herself to express any approbation of +Evelyn's really remarkable powers. + +Audrey's piece, compared with Evelyn's, was tame and wanting in spirit. +It was well rendered, it is true, but the ring of passion was absent. + +"Really," said the same lady again, "I doubt whether recitations such as +Miss Evelyn Wynford has given are good for the school; surely girls +ought not to have their minds overexcited with such things!" + +Miss Henderson was again silent. + +The time passed by, and the close of the day arrived. Just as the girls +were putting on their cloaks and hats preparatory to going home, and +some were collecting round and praising Evelyn for her remarkable +performance of the afternoon, Miss Henderson appeared on the scene. She +touched the little girl on the arm. + +"One moment," she said. + +"What do you want?" said Evelyn, backing. + +"To speak to you, my dear." + +Audrey gave Evelyn a beseeching look. Perhaps if Audrey had refrained +from looking at that moment, Evelyn, excited by her triumph, touched by +the plaudits of her companions, might have done what she was expected to +do, and what immediately followed need not have taken place. But Evelyn +hated Audrey, and if for no other reason but to annoy her she would +stand by her guns. + +Miss Henderson took her hand, and entered a room adjoining the +cloakroom. She closed the door, and said: + +"The week is nearly up. You know what will happen to-morrow?" + +"Yes," said Evelyn, lowering her eyes. + +"You will be present?" + +Evelyn was silent. + +"I shall see that you are. You must realize already what a pitiable +figure you will be, how deep and lasting will be your disgrace. You have +just tasted the sweets of success; why should you undergo that which +will be said of you to-morrow, that which no English girl can ever +forgive? It will not be forgotten in the school that owing to you much +enjoyment has been cut short, that owing to you a cloud has rested on +the entire place for several days--prizes forgone, liberty curtailed, +amusements debarred; and, before and above all these things, the fearful +stigma of disgrace resting on every girl at Chepstow House. But even +now, Evelyn, there is time; even now, by a full confession, much can be +mitigated. You know, my dear, how strong is the case against you. +To-morrow morning both Miss Thompson and I proclaim before the entire +school what has occurred. You are, in short, as a prisoner at the bar. +The school will be the judges; they will declare whether you are +innocent or guilty." + +"Let me go," said Evelyn. "Why do you torture me? I said I did not do +it, and I mean to stick to what I said. Let me go." + +"Unhappy child! I shall not be able to retain you in the school after +to-morrow morning. But go now--go. God help you!" + +Evelyn walked across the hall. Her school companions were still standing +about; many wondered why her face was so pale, and asked one another +what Miss Henderson had to say in especial to the little girl. + +"It cannot be," said Sophie, "that she did it. Why, of course she did +not do it; she would have no motive." + +"Don't let us talk about it," said her companion. "For my part I rather +like Evelyn--there is something so quaint and out-of-the-common about +her--only I wish she would not look so angry sometimes." + +"But how splendidly she recited that song of the ranch!" said Sophie. "I +could see the whole picture. We must not expect her to be quite like +ourselves; before she came here she was only a wild little savage." + +The governess-cart had come for the two girls. They drove home in +silence. Audrey was thinking of the misery of the following morning. +Evelyn was planning her escape. She meant to go before dinner. She had +asked Jasper to meet her at seven o'clock precisely. She had thought +everything out, and that seemed to be the best hour; the family would be +in their different rooms dressing. Evelyn would make an excuse to send +Read away--indeed, she seldom now required her services, preferring to +dress alone. Read would be busy with her mistress and her own young +lady, and Evelyn would thus be able to slip away without her prying eyes +observing it. + +Tea was ready for the girls when they got home. They took it almost +without speaking. Evelyn avoided looking at Audrey. Audrey felt that it +was now absolutely hopeless to say a word to Evelyn. + +"I should just like to bid Uncle Edward good-by," thought the child. +"Perhaps I may never come back again. I do not suppose Aunt Frances will +ever allow me to live at the Castle again. I should like to kiss Uncle +Edward; he is the one person in this house whom I love." + +She hesitated between her desire and her frantic wish to be out of reach +of danger as soon as possible, but in the end the thought that her uncle +might notice something different from usual about her made her afraid of +making the attempt. She went up to her room. + +"It is not necessary to dress yet," said Audrey, who was going slowly in +the direction of the pretty schoolroom. + +"No; but I have a slight headache," said Evelyn. "I will lie down for a +few minutes before dinner. And, oh! please, Audrey, tell Read I do not +want her to come and dress me this evening. I shall put on my white +frock, and I know how to fasten it myself." + +"All right; I will tell her," replied Audrey. + +She did not say any more, but went on her way. Evelyn entered her room. +There she packed a few things in a bag; she was not going to take much. +In the bottom of the bag she placed for security the two little rolls of +gold. These she covered over with a stout piece of brown paper; over the +brown paper she laid the treasures she most valued. It did not occur to +her to take any of the clothes which her Aunt Frances had bought for +her. + +"I do not need them," she said to herself. "I shall have my own dear old +things to wear again. Jasper took my trunks, and they are waiting for me +at The Priory. How happy I shall be in a few minutes! I shall have +forgotten the awful misery of my life at Castle Wynford. I shall have +forgotten that horrid scene which is to take place to-morrow morning. I +shall be the old Evelyn again. How astonished Sylvia will be! Whatever +Sylvia is, she is true to Jasper; and she will be true to me, and she +will not betray me." + +The time flew on; soon it was a quarter to seven. Evelyn could see the +minute and hour hand of the pretty clock on her mantelpiece. The time +seemed to go on leaden wings. She did not dare to stir until a few +minutes after the dressing-gong had sounded; then she knew she should +find the coast clear. At last seven silvery chimes sounded from the +little clock, and a minute later the great gong in the central hall +pealed through the house. There was the gentle rustle of ladies' silk +dresses as they went to their rooms to dress--for a few visitors had +arrived at the Castle that day. Evelyn knew this, and had made her plans +accordingly. The family had a good deal to think of; Read would be +specially busy. She went to the table where she had put her little bag, +caught it up, took a thick shawl on her arm, and prepared to rush +down-stairs. She opened the door of her room and peeped out. All was +stillness in the corridor. All was stillness in the hall below. She +hoped that she could reach the side entrance and get away into the +shrubberies without any one seeing her. Cautiously and swiftly she +descended the stairs. The stairs were made of white marble, and of +course there was no sound. She crossed the big hall and went down by a +side corridor. Once she looked back, having a horrible suspicion that +some one was watching her. There was no one in sight. She opened the +side door, and the next instant had shut it behind her. She gave a gasp +of pleasure. She was free; the horrid house would know her no more. + +"Not until I go back as mistress and pay them all out," thought the +angry little girl. "Never again will I live at Castle Wynford until I am +mistress here." + +Then she put wings to her feet and began to run. But, alas for Evelyn! +the best-laid plans are sometimes upset, and at the moment of greatest +security comes the sudden fall. For she had not gone a dozen yards +before a hand was laid on her shoulder, and turning round and trying to +extricate herself, she saw her Aunt Frances. Lady Frances, who she +supposed was safe in her room was standing by her side. + +"Evelyn," she said, "what are you doing?" + +"Nothing," said Evelyn, trying to wriggle out of her aunt's grasp. + +"Then come back to the house with me." + +She took the little girl's hand, and they re-entered the house side by +side. + +"You were running away," said Lady Frances, "but I do not permit that. +We will not argue the point; come up-stairs." + +She took Evelyn up to her room. There she opened the door and pushed her +in. + +"Doubtless you can do without dinner as you intended to run away," said +Lady Frances. "I will speak to you afterwards; for the present you stay +in your room." She locked the door and put the key into her pocket. + +The angry child was locked in. To say that Evelyn was wild with passion, +despair, and rage is but lightly to express the situation. For a time +she was almost speechless; then she looked round her prison. Were there +any means of escape? Oh! she would not stand it; she would burst open +the door. Alas, alas for her puny strength! the door was of solid oak, +firmly fastened, securely locked; it would defy the efforts of twenty +little girls of Evelyn's size and age. The window--she would escape by +the window! She rushed to it, opened it, and looked out. Evelyn's room +was, it is true, on the first floor, but the drop to the ground beneath +seemed too much for her. She shuddered as she looked below. + +"If I were on the ranch, twenty Aunt Franceses would not keep me," she +thought; and then she ran into her sitting-room. + +Of late she had scarcely ever used her sitting-room, but now she +remembered it. The windows here were French; they looked on the +flower-garden. To drop down here would not perhaps be so difficult; the +ground at least would be soft. Evelyn wondered if she might venture; but +she had once seen, long ago in Tasmania, a black woman try to escape. +She had heard the thud of the woman's body as it alighted on the ground, +and the shriek which followed. This woman had been found and brought +back to the house, and had suffered for weeks from a badly-broken leg. +Evelyn now remembered that thud, and that broken leg, and the shriek of +the victim. It would be worse than folly to injure herself. But, oh, was +it not maddening? Jasper would be waiting for her--Jasper with her big +heart and her great black eyes and her affectionate manner; and the +little white bed would be made, and the delicious chocolate in +preparation; and the fun and the delightful escapade and the daring +adventure must all be at an end. But they should not--no, no, they should +not! + +"What a fool I am!" thought Evelyn. "Why should I not make a rope and +descend in that way? Aunt Frances has locked me in, but she does not +know how daring is the nature of Evelyn Wynford. I inherit it from my +darling mothery; I will not allow myself to be defeated." + +Her courage and her spirits revived when she thought of the rope. She +must wait, however, at least until half-past seven. The great gong +sounded once more. Evelyn rushed to her door, and heard the rustle of +the silken dresses of the ladies as they descended. She had her eye at +the keyhole, and fancied that she detected the hated form of her aunt +robed in ruby velvet. A slim young figure in white also softly +descended. + +"My cousin Audrey," thought the girl. "Oh dear! oh dear! and they leave +me here, locked up like a rat in a trap. They leave me here, and I am +out of everything. Oh, I cannot, will not stand it!" + +She ran to her bed, tore off the sheets, took a pair of scissors, and +cut them into strips. She had all the ways and quick knowledge of a girl +from the wilds. She knew how to make a knot which would hold. Soon her +rope was ready. It was quite strong enough to bear her light weight. She +fastened it to a heavy article of furniture just inside the French +windows of her sitting-room, and then dropping her little bag to the +ground below, she herself swiftly descended. + +"Free! free!" she murmured. "Free in spite of her! She will see how I +have gone. Oh, won't she rage? What fun! It is almost worth the misery +of the last half-hour to have escaped as I have done." + +There was no one now to watch the little culprit as she stole across the +grass. She ran up to the stile where Jasper was still waiting for her. + +"My darling," said Jasper, "how late you are! I was just going back; I +had given you up." + +"Kiss me, Jasper," said Evelyn. "Hug me and love me and carry me a bit +of the way in your strong arms; and, oh! be quick--be very quick--for we +must hide, you and I, where no one can ever, ever find us. Oh Jasper, +Jasper, I have had such a time!" + +It was not Jasper's way to say much in moments of emergency. She took +Evelyn up, wrapped her warm fur cloak well round the little girl, and +proceeded as quickly as she could in the direction of The Priory. Evelyn +laid her head on her faithful nurse's shoulder, and a ray of warmth and +comfort visited her miserable little soul. + +"Oh, I am lost but for you!" she murmured once or twice. "How I hate +England! How I hate Aunt Frances! How I hate the horrid, horrid school, +and even Audrey! But I love you, darling, darling Jasper, and I am happy +once more." + +"You are not lost with me, my little white Eve," said Jasper. "You are +safe with me; and I tell you what it is, my sweet, you and I will part +no more." + +"We never, never will," said the little girl with fervor; and she +clasped Jasper still more tightly round the neck. + +But notwithstanding all Jasper's love and good-will, the little figure +began to grow heavy, and the way seemed twice as long as usual; and when +Evelyn begged and implored of her nurse to hurry, hurry, hurry, poor +Jasper's heart began to beat in great thumps, and finally she paused, +and said with panting breath: + +"I must drop you to the ground, my dearie, and you must run beside me, +for I have lost my breath, pet, and I cannot carry you any farther." + +"Oh, how selfish I am!" said Evelyn at once. "Yes, of course I will run, +Jasper. I can walk quite well now. I have got over my first fright. The +great thing of all is to hurry. And you are certain, certain sure they +will not look for me at The Priory?" + +"Well, now, darling, how could they? Nobody but Sylvia knows that I live +at The Priory, and why should they think that you had gone there? No; it +is the police they will question, and the village they will go to, and +the railway maybe. But it is fun to think of the fine chase we are +giving them, and all to no purpose." + +Evelyn laughed, and the two, holding each other's hands, continued on +their way. By and by they reached the back entrance to The Priory. +Jasper had left the gate a little ajar. Pilot came up to show +attentions; he began to growl at Evelyn, but Jasper laid her hand on his +big forehead. + +"A friend, good dog! A little friend, Pilot," was Jasper's remark; and +then Pilot wagged his tail and allowed his friend Jasper--to whom he was +much attached, as she furnished him with unlimited chicken-bones--to go +to the house. Two or three minutes later Evelyn found herself +established in Jasper's snug, pretty little bedroom. There the fire +blazed; supper was in course of preparation. Evelyn flung herself down +on a chair and panted slightly. + +"So this is where you live?" she said. + +"Yes, my darling, this is where I live." + +"And where is Sylvia?" asked Evelyn. + +"She is having supper with her father at the present moment." + +"Oh! I should like to see her. How excited and astonished she will be! +She won't tell--you are sure of that, Jasper?" + +"Tell! Sylvia tell!" said Jasper. "Not quite, my dearie." + +"Well, I should like to see her." + +"She'll be here presently." + +"You have not told that I was coming?" + +"No, darling; I thought it best not." + +"That is famous, Jasper; and do you know, I am quite hungry, so you +might get something to eat without delay." + +"You did not by any chance forget the money?" said Jasper, looking +anxiously at Evelyn. + +"Oh no; it is in my little black bag; you had better take it while you +think of it. It is in two rolls; Uncle Edward gave it to me. It is all +gold--gold sovereigns; and there are twenty of them." + +"Are not you a darling, a duck, and all the rest!" said Jasper, much +relieved at this information. "I would not worry you for the money, +darling," she continued as she bustled about and set the milk on to boil +for Evelyn's favorite beverage, "but that my own funds are getting +seriously low. You never knew such a state as we live in here. But we +have fun, darling; and we shall have all the more fun now that you have +come." + +Evelyn leant back in her chair without replying. She had lived through a +good deal that day, and she was tired and glad to rest. She felt secure. +She was hungry, too; and it was nice to be petted by Jasper. She watched +the preparations for the chocolate, and when it was made she sipped it +eagerly, and munched a sponge-cake, and tried to believe that she was +the happiest little girl in the world. But, oh! what ailed her? How was +it that she could not quite forget the horrid days at the Castle, and +the dreadful days at school, and Audrey's face, and Lady Frances's +manner, and--last but not least--dear, sweet, kind Uncle Edward? + +"And I never proved to him that I could shoot a bird on the wing," she +thought. "What a pity--what a sad pity! He will find the gun loaded, and +how astonished he will be! And he will never, never know that it was his +Evelyn loaded it and left it ready. Oh dear! I am sorry that I am not +likely to see Uncle Edward for a long time again. I am sorry that Uncle +Edward will be angry; I do not mind about any one else, but I am sorry +about him." + +Just then there came the sound of a high-pitched and sweet voice in the +kitchen outside. + +"There is Sylvia," said Jasper. "I am going to tell her now, and to +bring her in." + +She went into the outside kitchen. Sylvia, in her shabbiest dress, with +a pinched, cold look on her face, was standing by the embers of the +fire. + +"Oh Jasper," she said eagerly, "I do not know what to make of my father +to-night! He has evidently had bad news by the post to-day--something +about his last investments. I never saw him so low or so irritable, and +he was quite cross about the nice little hash you made for his supper. +He says that he will cut down the fuel-supply, and that I am not to have +big fires for cooking; and, worst of all, Jasper, he threatens to come +into the kitchen to see for himself how I manage. Do you know, I feel +quite frightened to-night. He is very strange in his manner, and +suspicious; and he looks so cold, too. No fire will he allow in the +sitting-room. He gets worse and worse." + +"Well, darling," said Jasper as cheerfully as she could, "this is an old +story, is it not? He did eat his hash, when all is said and done." + +"Yes; but I don't like his manner. And you know he discovered about the +boxes in the box-room." + +"That is over and done with too," said Jasper. "He cannot say much about +that; he can only puzzle and wonder, but it would take him a long time +to find out the truth." + +"I don't like his way," repeated Sylvia. + +"And perhaps you don't like my way either, Sylvia," said a strange +voice; and Sylvia uttered a scream, for Evelyn stood before her. + +"Evelyn!" cried the girl. "Where have you come from? Oh, what is the +matter? Oh, I do declare my head is going round!" + +She clasped her hands to her forehead in absolute bewilderment. Jasper +went and locked the kitchen door. + +"Now we are safe," she said; "and you two had best go into the bedroom. +Yes, you had, for when he comes along it is the wisest plan for him to +find the kitchen locked and the place in darkness. He will never think +of my bedroom; and, indeed, when the curtains are drawn and the shutters +shut you cannot get a blink of light from the outside, however hard you +try." + +"Come, Sylvia," said Evelyn. She took Sylvia's hand and dragged her into +the bedroom. + +"But why have you come, Evelyn? Why is it?" said poor Sylvia, in great +distress and alarm. + +"You will have to welcome me whether you like it or not," said Evelyn; +"and what is more, you will have to be true to me. I came here because I +have run away--run away from the school and the fuss and the disgrace of +to-morrow--run away from horrid Aunt Frances and from the horrid Castle; +and I have come here to dear old Jasper; and I have brought my own +money, so you need not be at any expense. And if you tell you will---- +But, oh, Sylvia, you will not tell?" + +"But this is terrible!" said Sylvia. "I don't understand--I cannot +understand." + +"Sit down, Miss Sylvia, dearie," said Jasper, "and I will try to +explain." + +Sylvia sank down on the side of the little white bed. + +"Now I know why you were getting this ready," she said. "You would not +explain to me, and I thought perhaps it was for me. Oh dear! oh dear!" + +"I longed to tell you, but I dared not," said Jasper. "Would I let my +sweet little lady die or be disgraced? That is not in me. She will hide +here with me for a bit, and afterwards--it will come all right +afterwards, my dear Miss Sylvia. Why, there, darlings! I love you both. +And see what I have been planning. I mean to go up-stairs to-night and +sleep in your room, Miss Sylvia. Yes, darling; and you and Miss Evelyn +can sleep together here. The supper is all ready, and I have had as much +as I want. I mean to go quickly; and then if your father comes along and +rattles at the kitchen door he'll get no answer, and if he peers through +the keyhole, the place will be black as night. Then, being made up of +suspicions, poor man, he'll tramp up-stairs and he'll thunder at your +door; but it will be locked, and after a time I'll answer him in your +voice from the heart of the big bed, and all his suspicions will melt +away like snow when the sun shines on it. That is all, Miss Sylvia; and +I mean to do it, and at once, too; for if we were so careful and chary +and anxious before, we must be twice as careful and twice as chary now +that I have got the precious little Eve to look after." + +Jasper's plan was carried out to the letter. Sylvia did not like it, but +at the same time she did not know how to oppose it; and when Evelyn put +her arms round her neck and was soft and gentle--she who was so hard with +most, and so difficult to manage--and when she pleaded with tears in her +big brown eyes and a pathetic look on her white face, Sylvia yielded for +the present. Whatever happened, she would not betray her. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII.--THE ROOM WITH THE LIGHT THAT FLICKERED. + + +Now, all might have gone well for the little conspirators but for Evelyn +herself. But when the girls, tired with talking, tired with the spirit +of adventure, had lain down--Sylvia in Jasper's bed, and Evelyn in the +new little white couch which had been got so lovingly ready for +her--Sylvia, tired out, soon fell asleep; but Evelyn could not rest. She +was pleased, excited, relieved, but at the same time she had a curious +sense of disappointment about her. Her heart beat fast; she wondered +what was happening. It seemed to her that in this tiny room at the back +of the kitchen she was in a sort of prison. The sense of being in prison +was anything but pleasant to this child of a free country and of an +untrained mother. She slipped softly out of bed, and going to the +window, unbarred the heavy shutters and looked out. + +There was a moon in the sky, and the garden stood in streaks of bright +light, and of dense shadow where the thick yew-hedge shut away the cold +rays of the moon. Evelyn's white little face was pressed against the +pane. Pilot stalked up and down outside, now and then baying to the +moon, now and then uttering a suspicious bark, but he never glanced in +the direction of the window out of which Evelyn looked. To the right of +the window lay the hens' run and hen-house which have already been +mentioned in these pages. Evelyn knew nothing about them, however; she +thought the view ugly and uninteresting. She disliked the thick +yew-hedge and the gnarled old yew-tree, and grumbling under her breath, +she turned from the window, having quite forgotten to close the +shutters. She got into bed now and fell asleep, little knowing what +mischief she had done. + +For it was on that very same night that Mr. Leeson determined, not to +bury his bags of gold, but to dig them up. He was in a weak and +trembling condition, and what he considered the most terrible misfortune +had overpowered him, for the large sums which he had lately invested in +the Kilcolman Gold-mines had been irretrievably lost; the gold-mines +were nothing more nor less than a huge fraud, and all the shareholders +had lost their money. The daily papers were full of the fraudulent +scheme, and indignation was rife against the promoters of the company. +But little cared Mr. Leeson for that; one fact alone concerned him. He, +who grudged a penny to give his only child warmth and comfort, had by +one fell blow lost thousands of pounds. He was almost like a man bereft +of his senses. When Sylvia had left him that evening he had stood for +some time in the cold and desolate parlor; then he sat down and began to +think. His money was invested in more than one apparently promising +speculation. He meant to call it all in--to collect it all and leave the +country. He would not trust another sovereign in any bank in the +kingdom; he would guard his own money; above all things, he would guard +his precious savings. He had saved during his residence at The Priory +something over twelve hundred pounds. This money, which really +represented income, not capital, had been taken from what ought to have +been spent on the necessaries of life. More and more had he saved, until +a penny saved was more valuable in his eyes than any virtue under the +sun; and as he saved and added sovereign to sovereign, he buried his +money in canvas bags in the garden. But the time had come now to dig up +his gold and fly. There were three trunks in the box-room; he would +divide the money between the three. They were strong, covered with +cow-hide, old-fashioned, safe to endure even such a weight as was to be +put into them. He had made all his plans. He meant to take Sylvia, leave +The Priory, and go. What further savings he could effect in a foreign +land he knew not; he only wanted to be up and doing. This night, just +when the moon set, would be the very time for his purpose. He was +anxious--very anxious--about those fresh trunks which had been put into +the attic; there was something also about Sylvia which aroused his +suspicions. He felt certain that she was not quite so open with him as +formerly. Those suppers were too good, too delicate, too tasty to be +eaten without suspicion. At the best she was burning too much fuel. He +would go round to the kitchen this very night and see for himself that +the fire was out--dead out. Why should Sylvia warm herself by the kitchen +fire while he shivered fireless and almost candleless in the desolate +parlor? Soon after ten o'clock, therefore, he started on his rounds. He +went through room after room, looking into each; he had never been so +restless. He felt that a great and terrible task lay before him, and so +bewildered was his mind, so much was his balance shaken, that he thought +more of the twelve hundred pounds which he had saved than of the +thousands which he had lost by foolish investment. The desolate rooms in +the old Priory were all as they had ever been--scarcely any furniture in +some, no furniture at all in others; they were bare and bleak and ugly. +He went to the kitchen; the door was locked. He shook it and called +aloud; there was no answer. + +"The child has gone to bed," he said to himself. "That is well." + +He stooped down and tried to look through the keyhole; only darkness met +his gaze. He turned and shambled up-stairs. He turned the handle of +Sylvia's door. How wise had been Jasper when she had guessed that the +master of the house would do just what he did do! + +"Sylvia!" he called aloud--"Sylvia!" + +"Yes, father," said a voice which seemed to be quite the voice of his +daughter. + +"Are you in bed?" + +"Yes. Do you want me?" + +"No; stay where you are. Good night." + +"Good night," answered the pretended Sylvia. + +But Mr. Leeson, as he went down-stairs, did not hear the stifled +laughter which was smothered in the pillows. He waited until the moon +was on the wane, and then, armed with the necessary implements, went +into the garden. He would certainly remove half the bags that night; the +remainder might wait until to-morrow. + +He reached the garden; he arrived at the spot where his treasure was +buried, and then he stood still for a moment, and looked around him. +Everything seemed all right--silent as the grave--still as death. It was a +windless night; the moon would very soon set and there would be +darkness. He wanted darkness for his purpose. Pilot came shuffling up. + +"Good dog! guard--guard. Good dog!" said his master. + +Pilot had been trained to know what this meant, and he went immediately +and stood within a foot or two of the main entrance. Mr. Leeson did not +know that a gate at the back entrance was no longer firmly secured and +chained, as he imagined it to be. He thought himself safe, and began to +work. + +He had dug up six of the bags, and there were six more yet to be +unearthed, when, suddenly raising his head, he saw a light in a window +on the ground floor. It was a very faint light, and seemed to come and +go. + +He was much puzzled. His heart beat strangely; suspicion visited him. +Had any one seen him? If so he was lost. He dared not wait another +moment; he took two of the bags of gold and dragged them as best he +could into the house. He went out again to fetch another two, and yet +another two. He put the six canvas bags in the empty hall, and then +returning to the garden, he pressed down the earth and covered it with +gravel, and tried to make it look as if no one had been there--as if no +one had disturbed it. But he was trembling all over, and as he did so he +looked again at the flickering, broken light which came dimly, like +something gray and uncertain, from within the room. + +He went on tiptoe softly, very softly, up to the window and peered in. +He could not see much--nothing, in fact, except one thing. The room had a +fire. That was enough for him. + +Furious anger shook the man to his depths. He hurried into the house. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX.--WHAT COULD IT MEAN? + + +Anger gave Mr. Leeson a false strength. He put the canvas bags of gold +into a large cupboard in the parlor; he locked the door and put the key +into his pocket. Then he went gingerly and on tiptoe to another +cupboard, and took down out of the midst of an array of dirty empty +bottles one which contained a very little brandy. He kept this brandy +here so that no one should guess at its existence. He poured himself out +about a thimbleful of the potent spirit and drank it off. He then +returned the bottle to its place, and fumbling in a lower shelf, +collected some implements together. With these he went out into the open +air. + +He now approached the window where the light shone--the faint, dim light +which flickered against the blind and seemed almost to go out, and then +shone once more. Slowly and dexterously he cut, with a diamond which he +had brought for the purpose, a square of glass out of the lower pane. He +put the glass on the ground, and slipping in his hand, pushed back the +bolt. All his movements were quiet. He said "Ah!" once or twice under +his breath. When he had gently and very softly lifted the sash, he took +a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away some drops which stood on +his forehead. Then he said "Ah!" once more, and slipped softly, deftly, +and quietly into the room. He had made no noise whatsoever. The young +sleepers never moved. He stood in the fire-lit, and in his opinion +lavishly furnished, room. Here was a small white bed and an occupant; +here a larger bed and another occupant. He crept on tiptoe towards the +two beds. He bent down over the little occupant of the smaller bed. + +A girl--a stranger! A girl with long, fair hair, and light lashes lying +on a white cheek. A curious-looking girl! She moaned once or twice in +her sleep. He did not want to awaken her. + +He looked towards the other bed, in which lay Sylvia, pretty, debonair, +rosy in her happy, warm slumber. She had flung one arm outside the +counterpane. Her lips parted; she uttered the words: + +"Darling father! Poor, poor father!" + +The man who listened started back as though something had struck him. + +Sylvia in that bed--Sylvia who had spoken to him not two hours ago +up-stairs? What did it mean? What could it mean? And who was this +stranger? And what did the fire mean, and all the furniture? A carpet on +the floor, too! A carpet on his floor--his! And a fire which he had never +warranted in his grate, and beds which he had never ordered in his room! +Oh! was it not enough to strike a man mad with fury? And yet again! what +was this? A table and the remains of supper! Good living, warmth, +luxuries, under the roof of the man who was fireless and cold and, as he +himself fondly and foolishly believed, a beggar! + +He stood absolutely dumb. He would not awaken the sleepers. A strange +sensation visited him. He was determined not to give way to his +passions; he was determined, before he said a word to Sylvia, to regain +his self-control. + +"Once I said bitter things to her mother; I will not err in that +direction any more," he said to himself. "And in her sleep she called me +'Father' and 'Poor father.' But all the same I shall cast her away. She +is no longer my Sylvia. I disown her; I disinherit her. She goes out +into the cold. She is ruining her father. She has deceived me; she shall +never be anything to me again. Paw! how I hate her!" + +He went to the window, got out just as he had got in, drew down the +sash, and stepped softly across the dark lawn. + +He was very cold now, and he felt faint; the effect of the tiny supply +of brandy which he had administered to himself had worn off. He went +into his desolate parlor. How cold it was! He thought of the big fire in +the bedroom which he had left. How poor and desolate was this room by +contrast! What a miserable bed he reposed on at night--absolutely not +enough blankets--but Sylvia lay like a bird in its nest, so warm, so +snug! Oh! how bad she was! + +"Her mother was never as bad as that," he muttered to himself. "She was +extravagant, but she was not like Sylvia. She never willingly deceived +me. Sylvia to have a strange and unknown girl--a stranger--in the house! +All my suspicions are verified. My doubts are certainties. God help me! +I am a miserable old man." + +He cowered down, and the icy cold of the room struck through his bones. +He looked at the grate, and observed that a fire had been laid there. + +"Sylvia did that," he said to himself. "The little minx did not like to +feel that she was so warm and I so cold, so she laid the fire; she +thought that I would indulge myself. I! But am I not suffering for her? +While she lies in the lap of luxury I die of cold and hunger, and all +for her. But I will do it no longer. I will light the fire; I will have +a feast; I will eat and drink and be merry, and forget that I had a +daughter." + +So the unfortunate man, half-mad with bewilderment and the grief of his +recent losses, lit a blazing fire, and going to his cupboard, took out +his brandy and drank what was left in the bottle. He was warm now, and +his pulse beat more quickly. He remembered his six bags of gold, and the +other six bags in the garden, and he resolved that if necessary he would +fly without Sylvia. Sylvia could stay behind. If she managed to have +such luxuries without his aid, she could go on having them; he would +leave her a trifle--yes, a trifle--and save the rest for himself, and be +no longer tortured by an unworthy and deceitful daughter. But as he +thought these things he became more and more puzzled. The Sylvia lying +on that bed was undoubtedly his daughter; but his daughter had spoken to +him from her own room at a reasonable hour--between ten and eleven +o'clock--that same night. How could there be two Sylvias? + +"The mystery thickens," he muttered to himself. "This is more than I can +stand. I will ferret the thing out--yes, and to the very bottom. Those +trunks in the attic! I suppose they belong to that ugly child. That +voice in Sylvia's room! Well, of course it was Sylvia's voice; but what +about the other Sylvia down-stairs? I must see into this matter without +delay." + +He went up-stairs and found himself outside Sylvia's door. He turned the +handle, but it was locked. There was a light in the room, doubtless +caused by another fire. He looked through the keyhole; the door was +locked from within, for the key was in the lock. + +More and more remarkable! How could Sylvia lock the door from within if +she was not in the room? Really the matter was enough to daze any man. +Suddenly he made up his mind. It was now five o'clock in the morning; in +a short time the day would break. Sylvia was an early riser. If Sylvia +or any one else was in that room he would wait on the threshold to +confront that person. Oh, of course it was Sylvia; she had slipped back +again and was in bed, and thought he would never discover her. How +astonished she would be when she saw him seated outside her door! + +So Mr. Leeson fetched a broken-down chair from his own bedroom, placed +it softly just outside the door of the room where Jasper was reposing, +and prepared himself to watch. He was far too excited to sleep, and the +hours dragged slowly on. There was an old eight-day clock in the hall, +and it struck solemnly hour after hour. Six o'clock--seven o'clock. +Sylvia rose soon after seven. He waited now impatiently. The days were +beginning to lengthen, and it was light--not full daylight, but nearly +so. He heard a stir in the room. + +"Ha, ha, Miss Sylvia!" he said to himself, "I shall catch you, take you +by the hand, bring you down to my parlor, tell you exactly what I think +of----Hullo! she is making a good deal of noise. How strong she is! How +she bounded out of bed!" + +He listened impatiently. His heart warmed now to the work which lay +before him. He was, on the whole, enjoying himself at the thought of +discovering to Sylvia how black he thought her iniquities. + +"No child of my own any more!" he said to himself. "'Poor father,' +indeed! 'Darling father, forsooth!' No, no, Sylvia; acts speak louder +than words, and you were convicted out of your own mouth, my daughter." + +Jasper dressed with despatch. She washed; she arranged her toilet. She +came to the door; she opened it. Mr. Leeson looked up. + +Jasper fell back. + +"Merciful heavens!" cried the woman; and then Mr. Leeson grasped her +hand and dragged her out of the room. + +"Who are you, woman?" he said. "How dare you come into my house? What +are you doing in my daughter's room?" + +"Ah, Mr. Leeson," said Jasper quietly, "discovered at last. Well, sir, +and I am not sorry." + +"But who are you? What are you? What are you doing in my daughter's +room?" + +"Will you come down to the parlor with me, Mr. Leeson, or shall I +explain here?" + +"You do not stir a step from this place until you tell me." + +"Then I will, sir--I will. I have been living in this house for the last +six weeks. During that time I have paid Miss Sylvia, and she has had +money enough to keep the breath of life within her. Be thankful that I +came, Mr. Leeson, for you owe me much, and I owe you nothing. Ah! do you +recognize me now? The gipsy--forsooth!--the gipsy who gave you a recipe +for making the old hen tender! Ha, ha! I laugh as I thought never to +laugh again when I recall that day." + +Mr. Leeson stood cold and white, looking full at Jasper. Suddenly a +great dizziness took possession of him; he stretched out his hand +wildly. + +"There is something wrong with me," he said. "I don't think I am well." + +"Poor old gentleman!" said Jasper--"no wonder!" and her voice became +mild. "The shock of it all, and the confusion! Sakes alive! I am not +going to take you into that icy bedroom of yours. Lean on me. There now, +sir. You have not lost a penny by me; you have saved, on the contrary, +and I have kept your daughter alive, and I have given you the best food, +made out of the tenderest chickens, out of my own money, mark you--out of +my own money--for weeks and weeks. Come down-stairs, sir; come and I will +get you a bit of breakfast." + +"I--cannot--see," muttered Mr. Leeson again. + +"Well then, sir, I suppose you can feel. Anyhow, here is a good, strong +right arm. Lean on it--all your weight if you like. Now then, we will get +down-stairs." + +Mr. Leeson was past resistance. Jasper pulled his shaky old hand through +her arm, and half-carried, half-dragged him down to the parlor. There +she put him in a big armchair near the fire, and was bustling out of the +room to get breakfast when he called her back. + +"So you really are the woman who had the recipe for making old hens +tender?" + +"Bless you, Mr. Leeson!--bless you!--yes, I am the woman." + +"You will let me buy it from you?" + +"Certainly--yes," replied Jasper, not quite knowing whether to laugh or +to cry. "But I am going to get you some breakfast now." + +"And who is the other girl?" + +"Does he know about her too?" thought Jasper. "What can have happened in +the night?" + +"If you mean my dear little Miss Eve, why, no one has a better right to +be here, for she belongs to me and I pay for her--yes, every penny; and, +for the matter of that, she only came last night. But do not fash +yourself now, my good sir; you are past thought, I take it, and you want +a hearty meal." + +Jasper bustled away; Mr. Leeson lay back in his chair. Was the world +turning upside down? What had happened? Oh, if only he could feel well! +If only that giddiness would leave him! What was the matter? He had been +so well and so fierce and so strong a few hours ago, and now--now even +his anger was slipping away from him. He had felt quite comforted when +he leaned on Jasper's strong arm; and when she pushed him into the +armchair and wrapped an old blanket round him, he had enjoyed it rather +than otherwise. Oh! he ought to be nearly mad with rage; and yet +somehow--somehow he was not. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX.--THE LOADED GUN. + + +Now, it so happened that the fuss and confusion incident on Evelyn's +departure had penetrated to every individual in the Castle with the +exception of the Squire; but the Squire had been absent all day on +business. He had been attending a very important meeting in a +neighboring town, and, as his custom was, told his wife that he should +probably not return until the early morning. When this was the case the +door opening into his private apartments was left on the latch. He could +himself open it with his latch-key and let himself in, go to bed in a +small room prepared for the purpose, and not disturb the rest of the +family. Lady Frances had many times during the previous evening lamented +her husband's absence, but when twelve o'clock came and the police who +had been sent to search for Evelyn could nowhere find the little girl, +and when the different servants had searched the house in vain, and all +that one woman could think of had been done, Lady Frances, feeling +uncomfortable, but also convinced in her own mind that Evelyn and Jasper +were quite safe and snug somewhere, resolved to go to bed. + +"It is no use, Audrey," she said to her daughter; "you have cried +yourself out of recognition. My dear child, you must go to bed now, and +to sleep. That naughty, naughty girl is not worth our all being ill." + +"But, oh, mother! what has happened to her?" + +"She is with Jasper, of course." + +"But suppose she is not, mother?" + +"I do not suppose what is not the case, Audrey. She is beyond doubt with +that pernicious woman, and as far as I am concerned I wash my hands of +her." + +"And--the disgrace to-morrow?" said poor Audrey. + +"My darling, you at least shall not be subjected to it. If I could find +Evelyn I would take her myself to the school, and make her stand up +before the scholars and tell them all that she had done; or if she +refused I would tell for her. But as she is not here you are not going +to be disgraced, my precious. I shall write a line to Miss Henderson +telling her that the guilty party has flown, and that you are far too +distressed to go to school; and I shall beg her to take any steps she +thinks best. Really and truly that girl has made the place too hot to +live in; I shall ask your father to take us abroad for the winter." + +"But surely, mother, you will not allow poor little Evelyn to get quite +lost; you will try to find her?" + +"Oh, my dear! have I not been trying? Do not say any more to me about +her to-night. I am really so irritated that I may say something I shall +be sorry for afterwards." + +So Audrey went to bed, and being young, she soon dropped asleep. Lady +Frances, being dead tired, also slept; and the Squire, who knew nothing +of all the fuss and trouble, came in at an early hour in the morning. + +He lay down to sleep, and awoke after a short slumber. He then got up, +dressed, and went into his grounds. + +Lady Frances and Audrey were at breakfast--Lady Frances very pale, and +Audrey with traces of her violent weeping the night before still on her +face--when a servant burst in great terror and excitement into the room. + +"Oh, your ladyship," he exclaimed, "the Squire is lying in the copse +badly shot with his own gun! One of the grooms is with him, and Jones +has gone for the doctor, and I came at once to tell your ladyship." + +Poor Lady Frances in her agony scarcely knew what she was doing. Audrey +asked a frenzied question, and soon the two were bending over the +stricken man. The Squire was shot badly in the side. A new fowling-piece +lay a yard or two away. + +"How did it happen?" said Lady Frances. "What can it mean?" + +Audrey knelt by her father, took his icy-cold hand in hers, and held it +to her lips. Was he dead? + +As he lay there the young girl for the first time in all her life +learned how passionately, how dearly she loved him. What would life be +without him? In some ways she was nearer to her mother than to her +father, but just now, as he lay looking like death itself, he was all in +all to her. + +"Oh, when will the doctor come?" said Lady Frances, raising her haggard +face. "Oh, he is bleeding to death--he is bleeding to death!" + +With all her knowledge--and it was considerable--with all her +common-sense, on which she prided herself, Lady Frances knew very little +about illness and still less about wounds. She did not know how to stop +the bleeding, and it was well the doctor, a bright-faced young man from +the neighboring village, was soon on the spot. He examined the wounds, +looked at the gun, did what was necessary to stop the immediate +bleeding, and soon the Squire was carried on a hastily improvised litter +back to his stately home. + +An hour ago in the prime of life, in the prime of strength; now, for all +his terrified wife and daughter could know, he was already in the shadow +of death. + +"Will he die, doctor?" asked Audrey. + +The young doctor looked at her pitifully. + +"I cannot tell," he replied; "it depends upon how far the bullet has +penetrated. It is unfortunate that he should have been shot in such a +dangerous part of the body. How did it happen?" + +A groom now came up and told a hasty tale. + +"The Squire called me this morning," he said, "and told me to go into +his study and bring him out his new fowling-piece, which had been sent +from London a few days ago. I brought it just as it was. He took it +without noticing it much. I was about to turn round and say to him, 'It +is at full cock--perhaps you don't know, sir,' but I thought, of course, +he had loaded it and prepared it himself; and the next minute he was +climbing a hedge. I heard a report, and he was lying just where you +found him." + +The question which immediately followed this recital was, "Who had +loaded the gun?" + +Another doctor was summoned, and another telegraphed for from London, +and great was the agitation and misery. By and by Audrey found herself +alone. She could scarcely understand her own sensations. In the first +place, she was absolutely useless. Her mother was absorbed in the +sickroom; the servants were all occupied--even Read was engaged as +temporary nurse until a trained one should arrive. Poor Audrey put on +her hat and went out. + +"If only my dear Miss Sinclair were here!" she thought. "Even if Evelyn +were here it would be better than nothing. Oh, no wonder we quite forget +Evelyn in a time of anguish like the present!" + +Then a fearful thought stabbed her to the heart. + +"If anything happens----" She could not get her lips to form the word she +really thought of. Once again she used the conventional phrase: + +"If anything happens, Evelyn will be mistress here." + +She looked wildly around her. + +"Oh! I must find some one; I must speak to some one," she thought. "I +will go to Sylvia; it is no great distance to The Priory. I will go over +there at once." + +She walked quickly. She was glad of the exercise--of any excuse to keep +moving. She soon reached The Priory, and was just about to put her hand +on the latch to open the big gates when a girl appeared on the other +side--a girl with a white face, somewhat sullen in outline, with big +brown eyes, and a quantity of fair hair falling over her shoulders. Even +in the midst of her agitation Audrey gave a gasp. + +"Evelyn!" she said. + +"I am not going with you," said Evelyn. She backed away, and a look of +apprehension crossed her face. "Why have you come here? You never come +to The Priory. What are you doing here? Go away. You need not think you +will have anything to do with me in the future. I know it is all up with +me. I suppose you have come from the school to--to torture me!" + +"Don't, Evelyn--don't," said Audrey. "Oh, the misery you caused us last +night! But that is nothing to what has happened now. Listen, and forget +yourself for a minute." + +Poor Audrey tottered forward; her composure gave way. The next moment +her head was on her cousin's shoulder; she was sobbing as if her heart +would break. + +"Why, how strange you are!" said Evelyn, distressed and slightly +softened, but, all the same, much annoyed at what she believed would +frustrate all her plans. For things had been going so well! The poor, +silly old man who lived at The Priory was too ill to take any notice. +She and Sylvia could do as they pleased. Jasper was Mr. Leeson's nurse. +Mr. Leeson was delirious and talking wild nonsense. Evelyn was in a +scene of excitement; she was petted and made much of. Why did Audrey +come to remind her of that world from which she had fled? + +"I suppose it was rather bad this morning at school," she said. "I can +imagine what a fuss they kicked up--what a shindy--all about nothing! But +there! yes, of course, I do not mind saying now that I did do it. I was +sorry afterwards; I would not have done it if I had known--if I had +guessed that everybody would be so terribly miserable. But you do not +suppose--you do not suppose, Audrey, that I, who am to be the owner of +Castle Wynford some day----" + +But at these words Audrey gave a piercing cry: + +"Some day! Oh, Evelyn, it may be to-day!" + +"What do you mean?" said Evelyn, her face turning very white. She pushed +Audrey, who was a good deal taller than her cousin, away and looked up +at her. Audrey had now ceased crying; she wiped the tears from her +cheeks. + +"I must tell you," she said. "It is my father. He shot himself by +accident this morning. His new gun from London was loaded. I suppose he +did not know it; anyhow, he knocked the gun against something and it +went off, and--he is at death's door." + +"What--do--you say?" asked Evelyn. + +A complete change had come over her. Her eyes looked dim and yet wild. +She took Audrey by the arm and shook her. + +"The gun from London loaded, and it went off, and---- Is he hurt +much--much? Speak, Audrey--speak!" + +She took her cousin now and shook her frantically. + +"Speak!" she said. "You are driving me mad!" + +"What is the matter with you, Evelyn?" + +"Speak! Is he--hurt--much?" + +"Much!" said Audrey. "The doctor does not know whether he will ever +recover. Oh, what have I done to you?" + +"Nothing," said Evelyn. "Get out of my way." + +Like a wild creature she darted from her cousin, and, fast and fleet as +her feet could carry her, rushed back to Castle Wynford. + +It took a good deal to touch a heart like Evelyn's, but it was touched +at last; nay, more, it was wounded; it was struck with a blow so deep, +so sudden, so appalling, that the bewildered child reeled as she ran. +Her eyes grew dark with emotion. She was past tears; she was almost past +words. By and by, breathless, scared, bewildered, carried completely out +of herself, she entered the Castle. There was no one about, but a +doctor's brougham stood before the principal entrance. Evelyn looked +wildly around her. She knew her uncle's room. She ran up-stairs. Without +waiting for any one to answer, she burst open the door. The room was +empty. + +"He must be very badly hurt," she whispered to herself. "He must be in +his little room on the ground floor." + +She went down-stairs again. She ran down the corridor where often, when +in her best moments, she had gone to talk to him, to pet him, to love +him. She entered the sitting-room where the gun had been. A great +shudder passed through her frame as she saw the empty case. She went +straight through the sitting-room, and, unannounced, undesired, +unwished-for, entered the bedroom. + +There were doctors round the bed; Lady Frances was standing by the head; +and a man was lying there, very still and quiet, with his eyes shut and +a peaceful smile on his face. + +"He is dead," thought Evelyn--"he is dead!" She gave a gasp, and the next +instant lay in an unconscious heap on the floor. + +When the unhappy child came to herself she was lying on a sofa in the +sitting-room. A doctor was bending over her. + +"Now you are better," he said. "You did very wrong to come into the +bedroom. You must lie still; you must not make a fuss." + +"I remember everything," said Evelyn. "It was I who did it. It was I who +killed him. Don't--don't keep me. I must sit up; I must speak. Will he +die? If he dies I shall have killed him. You understand, I--I shall have +done it!" + +The doctor looked disturbed and distressed. Was this poor little girl +mad? Who was she? He had heard of an heiress from Australia: could this +be the child? But surely her brain had given way under the extreme +pressure and shock! + +"Lie still, my dear," he said gently; and he put his hand on the excited +child's forehead. + +"I will be good if you will help me," said the girl; and she took both +his hands in hers and raised her burning eyes to his face. + +"I will do anything in my power." + +"Don't you see what it means to me?--and I must be with him. Is he dead?" + +"No, no." + +"Is he in great danger?" + +"I will tell you, if you are good, after the doctor from London comes." + +"But I did it." + +"Excuse me, miss--I do not know your name--you are talking nonsense." + +"Let me explain. Oh! there never was such a wicked girl; I do not mind +saying it now. I loaded the gun just to show him that I could shoot a +bird on the wing, and--and I forgot all about it; I forgot I had left the +gun loaded. Oh, how can I ever forgive myself?" + +The doctor asked her a few more questions. He tried to soothe her. He +then said if she would stay where she was he would bring her the very +first news from the London doctor. The case was not hopeless, he assured +her; but there was danger--grave danger--and any shock would bring on +hemorrhage, and hemorrhage would be fatal. + +The little girl listened to him, and as she listened a new and wonderful +strength was given to her. At that instant Evelyn Wynford ceased to be a +child. She was never a child any more. The suffering and the shock had +been too mighty; they had done for her what perhaps nothing else could +ever do--they had awakened her slumbering soul. + +How she lived through the remainder of that day she could never tell to +any one. No one saw her in the Squire's sitting-room. No one wanted the +room; no one went near it. Audrey was back again at the Castle, +comforting her mother and trying to help her. When she spoke of Evelyn, +Lady Frances shuddered. + +"Don't mention her," she said. "She had the impertinence to rush into +the room; but she also had the grace to----" + +"What, mother?" + +"She was really fond of her uncle, Audrey; I always said so. She +fainted--poor, miserable girl--when she saw the state he was in." + +But Lady Frances did not know of Evelyn's confession to the young +doctor; nor did Dr. Watson tell any one. + +It was late and the day had passed into night when the doctor came in +and sat down by Evelyn's side. + +"Now," he said, "you have been good, and have kept your word, and have +obliterated yourself." + +She did not ask him the meaning of the word, although she did not +understand it. She looked at him with the most pathetic face he had ever +seen. + +"Speak," she said. "Will he live?" + +"Dr. Harland thinks so, and he is the very best authority in the world. +He hopes in a day or two to remove the pellets which have done the +mischief. The danger, as I have already told you, lies in renewed +hemorrhage; but that I hope we can prevent. Now, are you going to be a +very good girl?" + +"What can I do?" asked Evelyn. "Can I go to him and stay with him?" + +"I wonder," said the doctor--"and yet," he added, "I scarcely like to +propose it. There is a nurse there; your aunt is worn out. I will see +what I can do." + +"If I could do that it would save me," said Evelyn. "There never, never +has been quite such a naughty girl; and I--I did it--oh! not meaning to +hurt him, but I did it. Oh! it would save me if I might sit by him." + +"I will see," said the doctor. + +He felt strangely interested in this queer, erratic, lost-looking child. +He went back again to the sickroom. The Squire was conscious. He was +lying in comparative ease on his bed; a trained nurse was within reach. + +"Nurse," said the doctor. + +The woman went with him across the room. + +"I am going to stay here to-night." + +"Yes, sir; I am glad to hear it." + +"It is quite understood that Lady Frances is to have her night's rest?" + +"Her ladyship is quite worn out, sir. She has gone away to her room. She +will rest until two in the morning, when she will come down-stairs and +help me to watch by the patient." + +"Then I will sit with him until two o'clock," said the doctor. "At two +o'clock I will lie down in the Squire's sitting-room, where I can be +within call. Now, I want to make a request." + +"Yes, sir." + +"I am particularly anxious that a little girl who is in very great +trouble, but who has learnt self-control, should come in and sit in the +armchair by the Squire's side. She will not speak, but will sit there. +Is there any objection?" + +"Is it the child, sir, who fainted when she came into the room to-day?" + +"Yes; she was almost mad, poor little soul; but I think she is all right +now, and she has learnt her lesson. Nurse, can you manage it?" + +"It must be as you please, sir." + +"Then I will risk it," said the doctor. + +He went back to Evelyn, and said a few words to her. + +"You must wash your face," he said, "and tidy yourself; and you must +have a good meal." + +Evelyn shook her head. + +"If you do not do exactly what I tell you I cannot help you." + +"Very well; I will eat and eat until you tell me to stop," she answered. + +"Go, and be quick, then," said the doctor, "for we are arranging things +for the night." + +So Evelyn went, and returned in a few minutes; then the doctor took her +hand and led her into the sickroom, and she sat by the side of the +patient. + +The room was very still--not a sound, not a movement. The sick man slept; +Evelyn, with her eyes wide open, sat, not daring to move a finger. + +What she thought of her past life during that time no one knows; but +that soul within her was coming more and more to the surface. It was a +strong soul, although it had been so long asleep, and already new +desires, unselfish and beautiful, were awakening in the child. Between +twelve and one that night the Squire opened his eyes and saw a little +girl, with a white face and eyes big and dark, seated close to him. + +He smiled, and his hand just went out a quarter of an inch to Evelyn. +She saw the movement, and immediately her own small fingers clasped his. +She bent down and kissed his hand. + +"Uncle Edward, do not speak," she said. "It was I who loaded the gun. +You must get well, Uncle Edward, or I shall die." + +He did not answer in any words, but his eyes smiled at her; and the next +moment she had sunk back in her chair, relieved to her heart's core. Her +eyes closed; she slept. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI.--FOR UNCLE EDWARD'S SAKE. + + +The Squire was a shade better the next morning; but Mr. Leeson, not two +miles away, lay at the point of death. Fever had claimed him for its +prey, and he continued to be wildly delirious, and did not know in the +least what he was doing. Thus two men, each unknown to the other, but +who widely influenced the characters of this story, lay within the Great +Shadow. + +Evelyn Wynford continued to efface herself. This was the first time in +her whole life she had ever done so; but when Lady Frances appeared, +punctual to the hour, to take her place at her husband's side, the +little girl glided from the room. + +It was early on the following morning, when the mistress of the Castle +was standing for a few bewildered moments in her sitting-room, her hand +pressed to her forehead, her eyes looking across the landscape, tears +dimming their brightness, that a child rushed into her presence. + +"Go away, Evelyn," she said. "I cannot speak to you." + +"Tell me one thing," said Evelyn; "is he better?" + +"Yes." + +"Is he out of danger?" + +"The doctors think so." + +"Then, Aunt Frances, I can thank God; and what is more, I--even I, who am +such an awfully naughty girl--can love God." + +"I don't like cant," said Lady Frances; and she turned away with a +scornful expression on her lips. + +Evelyn sprang to her, clutched both her hands, and said excitedly: + +"Listen; you must. I have something to say. It was I who did it!" + +"You, Evelyn--you!" + +Lady Frances pushed the child from her, and moved a step away. There was +such a look of horror on her face that Evelyn at another moment must +have recoiled from it; but nothing could daunt her now in this hour of +intense repentance. + +"I did it," she repeated--"oh, not meaning to do it! I will tell you; you +must listen. Oh, I have been so--so wicked, so--so naughty, so stubborn, +so selfish! I see myself at last; and there never, never was such a +horrid girl before. Aunt Frances, you shall listen. I loaded the gun, +for I meant to go out and shoot some birds on the wing. Uncle Edward +doubted that I could do it, and I wanted to prove to him that I could; +but I was prevented from going, and I forgot about the gun; and the +night before last I ran away. I ran to Jasper. When you locked me up in +my room I got out of my sitting-room window." + +"I know all that," said Lady Frances. + +"I went to Jasper, and Jasper took me to The Priory--to Sylvia's home. +Jasper has been staying in the house with Sylvia for a long time, and I +went to Sylvia and to Jasper, and I hid there. Audrey came yesterday +morning and told me what had happened; and, oh! I thought my heart would +break. But Uncle Edward has forgiven me." + +"What! Have you dared to see him?" + +"The doctor gave me leave. I stayed with him half last night, until you +came at two o'clock; and I told Uncle Edward, and he smiled. He has +forgiven me. Oh! I love him better than any one in all the world; I +could just die for him. And, Aunt Frances, I did tear the book, and I +did behave shockingly at school; and I will go straight to Miss +Henderson and tell her, and I will do everything--everything you wish, if +only you will let me stay in the house with Uncle Edward. For +somehow--somehow," continued Evelyn in a whisper, her voice turning husky +and almost dying away, "I think Uncle Edward has made religion and _God_ +possible to me." + +As Evelyn said the last words she staggered against the table, deadly +white. She put one hand on a chair to steady herself, and looked up with +pathetic eyes at her aunt. + +What was there in that scared, bewildered, and yet resolved face which +for the first time since she had seen it touched Lady Frances? + +"Evelyn," she said, "you ask me to forgive you. What you have said has +shocked me very much, but your manner of saying it has opened my eyes. +If you have done wrong, doubtless I am not blameless I never showed +you----" + +"Neither sympathy nor understanding," said Evelyn. "I might have been +different had you been different. But please--please, do anything with me +now--anything--only let me stay for Uncle Edward's sake." + +Lady Frances sat down. + +"I am a mother," she said, "and I am not without feeling, and not +without sympathy, and not without understanding." + +And then she opened her arms. Evelyn gave a bewildered cry; the next +moment she was folded in their embrace. + +"Oh, can I believe it?" she sobbed. + + * * * * * + +Thus Evelyn Wynford found the Better Part, and from that moment, +although she had struggles and difficulties and trials, she was in the +very best sense of the word a new creature; for Love had sought her out, +and Love can lead one by steep ascents on to the peaks of self-denial, +unselfishness, truth, and honor. + +Sylvia's father, after a mighty struggle with severe illness, came back +again slowly, sadly to the shores of life; and Sylvia managed him and +loved him, and he declared that never to his dying day could he do +without Jasper, who had nursed him through his terrible illness. The +instincts of a miser had almost died out during his illness, and he was +willing that Sylvia should spend as much money as was necessary to +secure good food and the comforts of life. + +The Squire got slowly better, and presently quite well; and when another +New Year dawned upon the world, and once again the Wynfords of Wynford +Castle kept open house, Sylvia was there, and also Mr. Leeson; and all +the characters in this story met under the same roof. Evelyn clung fast +to her uncle's hand. Audrey glanced at her cousin, and then she looked +at Sylvia, and said in a low voice: + +"Never was any one so changed; and, do you know, since the accident she +has never once spoken of being the heiress. I believe if any thing +happened to father Evelyn would die." + + THE END. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Very Naughty Girl, by L. T. 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