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diff --git a/39936-8.txt b/39936-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..08c576c --- /dev/null +++ b/39936-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9153 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Meg's Friend, by Alice Abigail Corkran, +Illustrated by Robert Fowler + + +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: Meg's Friend + A Story for Girls + + +Author: Alice Abigail Corkran + + + +Release Date: June 7, 2012 [eBook #39936] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEG'S FRIEND*** + + +E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Katie Hernandez, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 39936-h.htm or 39936-h.zip: + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/39936/39936-h/39936-h.htm) + or + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/39936/39936-h.zip) + + + + + +[Illustration: "I WISH I WERE DEAD!" CRIED ELSIE.--Page 200.] + + +MEG'S FRIEND. + +A Story for Girls. + +by + +ALICE CORKRAN, + +Author of "Margery Merton's Girlhood," "Down the Snow +Stairs," "Joan's Adventures," etc., etc. + +With Five Full-Page Illustrations by Robert Fowler. + + + + + + + +New York: +A. L. Burt, Publisher. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + CHAPTER I. PAGE + Meg 1 + CHAPTER II. + Two Years Later 21 + CHAPTER III. + Meg to the Rescue 36 + CHAPTER IV. + Farewell 54 + CHAPTER V. + A Mysterious Visit 62 + CHAPTER VI. + Miss Reeve's Establishment for Young Ladies 74 + CHAPTER VII. + At School 85 + CHAPTER VIII. + The School Annual 100 + CHAPTER IX. + Drifting Away 111 + CHAPTER X. + Rebellion 121 + CHAPTER XI. + Away 131 + CHAPTER XII. + An Acquaintance by the Way 142 + CHAPTER XIII. + The Old Gentleman Again 153 + CHAPTER XIV. + Who Gave that Kiss? 165 + CHAPTER XV. + Miss Pinkett's Diamond 172 + CHAPTER XVI. + The Party 183 + CHAPTER XVII. + Poor Meg 192 + CHAPTER XVIII. + Peace 205 + CHAPTER XIX. + Who Is He? 217 + CHAPTER XX. + Arrival 228 + CHAPTER XXI. + Sir Malcolm Loftdale 241 + CHAPTER XXII. + The Editor of the _Greywolds Mercury_ 257 + CHAPTER XXIII. + Friend or Foe 268 + CHAPTER XXIV. + Friend! 277 + CHAPTER XXV. + For "Auld Lang Syne." 288 + CHAPTER XXVI. + Before the Picture 305 + CHAPTER XXVII. + In the Editor's Office 316 + + + + +MEG'S FRIEND. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +MEG. + + +It was a queer old house in Bloomsbury, that had been fashionable some +two hundred years ago, and had fallen into abject neglect. The hall door +was dim for want of paint, and weatherbeaten to a dirty gray; the lower +windows were tawdry with vulgar blinds and curtains, and enlivened with +green boxes full of a few pining flowers. The drawing-room windows +showed a sort of mildewed finery, and then, in melancholy degrees, +poverty claimed the upper stories. It had all the features and cast of a +London lodging house. + +Within, the house carried out the same suggestion of past grandeur and +present decay. The hall was wide, dingy, and unfurnished; the staircase +of oak was impressive, stained, and dusty. + +On the topmost step of the top flight might habitually be seen, toward +sunset, a child seated and watching, with head thrust through the +banisters. She would sit still until there came the scrape of a latchkey +turning in the lock, and the sound of footsteps in the hall. Then the +mute little figure would grow full of sudden life; the little feet would +run down faster than eye could mark. Arrived in the hall, the child +would stop with sudden dignity before a man, robust and tall, and +looking up, ever so high, into a bright, young, manly face smiling down +upon her, she would lift her tiny forefinger, and some such colloquy +would ensue: + +"You are late; where have you been, Mr. Standish?" + +"At work, Meg--at work all the time." + +"You have not been to the parlor of the Dragon?" + +"No, Meg; not set my foot inside it." + +"You have not been with those horrid whisky-smelling men?" + +"Not seen one of them, Meg." + +"Then you may come up," the child would say, taking his hand and leading +him up. + +Mr. William Standish was beginning life as a journalist. He contributed +descriptive articles to a London paper, and was correspondent to a +colonial journal. His straight-featured countenance expressed energy and +decision; his glance betokened a faculty of humorous and rapid +observation; closely cropped blond hair covered his shapely head. + +The journalist occupied the rooms on the upper story of Mrs. Browne's +lodging-house. He was the single member of the nomadic population +sheltering under that decaying roof who lived among his household gods. +He had made it a stipulation, on taking the rooms, that he should have +them unfurnished, and he had banished every trace of the landlady's +belongings. + +The child was Meg. She went by no other name. When Mrs. Browne answered +her lodgers' queries concerning her, she replied vaguely that the child +had been left in her charge. Meg went to an over-crowded school in the +morning, and did odd jobs of household work in the afternoon. In the +intervals she sat on the topmost stair, watching the social eddies of +the shabby miniature world breaking down below. She was a silent child, +with a mop of dark brown hair and gray eyes, the gaze of which was so +sustained as not to be always pleasant to meet. The gravity of her look +was apt to make those upon whom it was directed feel foolish. She +repelled the patronizing advances of lodgers, and, when compelled to +answer, chilled conversation by the appalling straightforwardness of her +monosyllabic replies. + +Two events had influenced her childhood. One day, when she was about +seven years of age, she had suddenly asked the old servant, who from +time immemorial had been the sole assistant of Mrs. Browne in +discharging her duties toward her lodgers: + +"Tilly, had you a mammy?" + +"Lor' bless the child!" answered Tilly, almost losing hold of the plate +she was washing. "Of course I had." + +"Has every child got a mammy?" persisted Meg, with deliberate plainness +of speech. + +"Of course they have," answered the old woman, utterly bewildered. + +"Is madam my mammy?" asked the child, a slight tremor perceptible in the +slower and deeper intonation of her voice. + +"Madam" was the name by which she had been taught to call Mrs. Browne. + +"No!" answered Tilly sharply; "and if you ask any more questions ye'll +be put into the dark closet." + +The threat, that brought to the child's mind associations of terror, +wrought the desired effect of silence. She stood, with her glance +unflinchingly directed on Tilly's face, and with a question trembling on +her lips, until the old servant turned away and left the kitchen. + +Hitherto Meg had never asked a question concerning herself. She had +accepted a childhood without kissings and pettings--a snubbed, ignored +childhood--with a child's sainted powers of patience and resignation. + +That night, as the old woman was composing herself to sleep in the attic +that she shared with the child, she was startled by Meg's voice sounding +close to her ear, and, turning, she saw the diminutive figure standing +near her bed in the moonlight. + +"Tilly," she said, "I don't mind your locking me up in the dark closet, +if you'll just tell me--is my mammy dead?" + +"Yes," said Tilly, taken off her guard. + +There was a moment's pause, and an audible sigh. + +"I'll never be naughty again, Tilly--never," resumed the child's voice, +"if you'll just tell me--what was she like?" + +"You'll not ask another question if I tell ye?" replied Tilly after a +moment of silent self-debate. + +"No, Tilly." + +"Never another? Do ye hear?" + +"Never, Tilly," repeated the child solemnly. + +"And you'll never let madam know as I told you?" said Tilly excitedly, +sitting up in her bed. + +"Never." + +"Then, I don't mind saying, for I thinks as you ought to know, as she +was as pretty as a picture as I ever saw, and the gentlest, sweetest, +ladiest lady," said Tilly, nodding, as a sharp sob sounded in her +throat. + +"Lady?" said Meg. + +"A lady she was in all her ways, every bit of her; and the man as let +her die here all alone was a brute--that he was!" said Tilly, with +vehemence. + +"What man?" asked the child, in a low voice. + +"Go to bed," said Tilly severely, through her sobs. + +"Was it my pappy?" said the child, who had seen and heard strange things +during her seven-years' life. + +"Go to bed," repeated Tilly. "You promised as you'd never ask another +question." + +"I will not, Tilly," said Meg, turning away, and returning through the +moonlight to bed. + +The child kept her word, and never alluded to the subject again to +Tilly. + +A few days later, when she was helping the old servant to tidy the rooms +after the departure of some lodgers from the drawing-room floor, Tilly +was surprised by the eagerness with which she craved permission to keep +a crumpled fashion-plate that she had found among the litter. It +represented a simpering young woman in a white ball dress, decked with +roses. Permission having been granted her to appropriate the work of +art, Meg carried it up to her attic, and hid it away in a box. Had any +one cared to observe the child, it would have been remarked that she, +who kissed nobody, lavished kisses upon this meaningless creation of a +dressmakers' brain; gazed at it, murmured to it, hid it away, and slept +with it under her pillow. + +The next great event marking Meg's childhood had been the arrival of Mr. +William Standish to the lodging-house. It had occurred nearly two years +after the talk with Tilly concerning her mother. Meanwhile the old +servant had died. + +Meg had watched with interest the arrival of the new lodger's +properties; and she had listened, fascinated, to his lusty voice, +singing to the accompaniment of hammering, and rising above the flurry +of settling down. + +On the third evening Mr. Standish, who had observed the little figure +cowering in the dusk, and had once or twice given to it a friendly nod, +invited her to enter. Meg held back a moment, then shyly walked in. + +She had a general impression of books and writing materials, pipes, and +prints on all sides, and of an atmosphere impregnated with the perfume +of tobacco. + +After another pause of smileless hesitation, she took the footstool her +host drew for her by the fire. At his invitation she told him her name, +and gave a succinct account of her general mode of life. She admitted, +with monosyllabic brevity, that she liked to hear him sing, and that it +would please her if he would sing for her now. She sat entranced and +forgetful of her surroundings as he warbled: + + "Nellie was a lady-- + Last night she died," + +and followed the negro ballad with a spirited rendering of the "Erl +King." + +At his invitation she renewed her visits. She was tremendously impressed +when he told her that he wrote for the papers; and was dumb with +amazement when he showed her, in a newspaper, the printed columns of +which he was the author. + +They had been acquainted about a week, when Meg broke the silence set +upon her lips, and spoke to her new friend as she had never spoken to +human being before. + +Mr. Standish had recited for her the ballad of the ghostly mother who +nightly comes to visit the children she has left on earth, and till +cock-crow rocks the cradle of her sleeping baby. The young man was +astonished at the expression of the child. Her cheeks were pale; she +breathed hard; her round opened eyes were fixed upon him. + +"I wish mother would come just like that to me," she said abruptly. + +"Your mother--is she dead?" he asked gently. + +She nodded. "She's dead. I never saw her--never. I'd love to see her +just a-coming and standing by my bed. I'd not be a bit frightened." + +"But if you have never seen her you would not know she was your mother," +he replied, impressed by the passionate assertion of her manner. + +"Oh, I'd know her! I'd know her!" said the child, with vivid assurance. +"Soon as she'd come in I'd know her. She was a lady." + +"A lady!" he repeated. "How do you know? What do you mean?" + +"Tilly told me. Tilly's dead," answered Meg with ardor. "She told it to +me once before; and I went to see her at the hospital, and she said it +again. She said, 'Meg, your mother was a lady--the sweetest, prettiest, +ladiest lady'--that's what she said; 'and, Meg, be good for her sake.'" +She paused, her eyes continuing to hold his with excited conviction. +"That's how I know she was a lady," Meg resumed; "and I know what a lady +is. The Misses Grantums down there"--infusing scorn into her voice as +she pointed to the floor to indicate she meant lodgers who lived +below--"they're not ladies though they've fine dresses; but they have +loud voices, and they scold. I go to the corners of the streets. I watch +the carriages. I see the ladies in them; and when I see one gentle and +a-smiling like an angel, I say mother was like one of these. That's how +I'd know what she'd be like. And," she added more slowly, lowering her +voice to a confidential whisper and advancing a step, "I have a picture +of her. Would you like to see it?" + +"I would," he answered, thinking that at last he was approaching a clew +to the mystery. + +She dashed off, and in a moment returned with something carefully +wrapped up in tissue paper, and gently drew out a limp picture, that she +held out at arm's length before the young man, keeping it out of his +reach. + +"There, I'm sure she'd be like that--all smiling, you see. And those +beautiful curls, are they not lovely? and those large eyes and those +roses? I'm sure she'd be just like that." + +"But let me hold it--just with my finger tips," he pleaded, as the child +jealously held the print away from him. + +She slowly relinquished it to him and stood at his elbow. + +"That's a picture taken out of a book--not a portrait," he said. + +"I picked it up. Some lodgers had gone away. I found it in a corner. +Isn't it lovely? I'm sure she'd be just like that," reiterated Meg. + +Mr. Standish was silent a moment. He was moved, yet he felt impelled to +speak words of wisdom to the child. Mooning about corners of streets +watching ladies drive past, and nursing those queer, foolish, ambitious +ideas about her mother was not likely to lead to any good. He thought +the whole story was probably without a grain of truth, the absurd +fabrication of some old woman's brain, and likely to prove hurtful to +Meg in giving her false notions concerning her duties in life. + +He paused, revolving his words, anxious not to hurt, yet deeming it +incumbent upon him to expel this foolish fancy. + +"My dear child," he said at last, "why do you imagine your mother was +like that picture, or like one of those ladies in the carriages? For all +you know they may be lazy, vain, and selfish. It is not the pretty dress +that makes the lady, or the face either. Is it not far better and more +reasonable to think of that dear mother, whom you never saw, as one of +God's own ladies? These ladies are found in all sorts of conditions, +sometimes in caps and aprons, sometimes in beautiful bonnets, very often +with brave, rough hands. What is wanted to make a lady is a kind, honest +heart." + +"No, that's not being a lady," interrupted the child, with a flash and a +toss of her head. She spoke with decision; but her voice faltered as if +she had received a shock. Taking the picture from the young man's hand, +she began carefully, and with a trembling elaborateness, to replace it +in its coverings. "Jessie's good, and so was Tilly. They work hard, and +scrub, and run about on errands. They're not ladies. A lady's quite +different," continued Meg, suddenly facing him and speaking with +vehemence and clearness. "She's rich, and never scolds or cheats. She +does not work at all--not a bit; people work for her and drive her +about, but she does nothing herself. She has never dirty hands, or her +cap all untidy, or looking all in a fuss. She does nothing but smile and +look beautiful, like an angel," concluded Meg triumphantly, reiterating +her favorite simile. + +"Meg," said the young fellow, seeing more clearly the necessity to root +out this absurd ideal from the child's mind, "you are talking very +foolishly. A lady is, indeed, not necessarily an angel. You say a lady +must be rich. Now, if your mother was rich, why are you poor? Would she +not have left you her money in dying, and you would have been rich like +her?" + +"I don't know anything about that," said the child, growing a little +pale, and beginning once more to fidget with the fashion-plate. + +"It is for your good, Meg, that I speak," resumed the young man. "You +must wish to be like your mother; and you cannot grow up good and +hard-working and honest if you think your mother was rich and left you +poor, with no one to look after you or care for you." + +"It was not her fault," said the child faintly. + +"It would have been her fault," he answered severely, shaking his head. +"My dear Meg, put away this foolish idea. Call up your mother to your +mind as a good, toiling woman; one of God's ladies, as I called her +before. Try to be like her. Lay aside the thought that she was one of +those carriage ladies." + +"I won't!" interrupted the child, standing pale and upright, clutching +the fashion-plate close up against her chest. "It's a lie! She was a +lady!" + +A smothered exclamation rose to Mr. Standish's lips. It was the first +offensive word he had heard the child use. + +"Meg," he cried, following the fluttering little figure up the stairs. + +He saw her enter an attic; he heard the door slam and the bolt drawn. + +"Meg," he called again gently. + +There came no answer; but Mr. Standish thought he heard the sound of +passionate sobbing. He waited, called a third time, and receiving no +response he shrugged his shoulders and turned away. + +The exigencies of the press absorbed Mr. Standish so completely that for +the next few days he had no time to think of Meg. He noticed that the +corner on the top lobby was empty, and a vague feeling of regret crossed +his mind. + +On the third day he was disturbed by a great clatter in the kitchen and +the noise of many voices, above which that of Meg rose shrill and angry. +Jessie, the hard-worked slavey of the establishment, admitted when she +came up with the coal-scuttle, in answer to Mr. Standish's inquiries +concerning the cause of the trouble, that it was Meg's fault. She was +not like the same child. She was like beside herself--she was--these +last three days. + +Mr. Standish was perplexed, and resolved, after completing the weekly +budget he was writing for the _Melbourne Banner_, to seek out the child, +and get the clew to this sudden demoralization. + +He was confirmed in this resolution when, in returning from the post, he +came upon Meg in fierce encounter with some boys. She was fighting +valiantly, but numbers proved too much. Mr. Standish stepped up to the +rescue. He caught one boy by the ear, rolled another in the dust, and +generally dispersed the assailants on all sides. Meg waited, watching, +on the outskirts of the fray; but as soon as Mr. Standish had disposed +of her enemies she turned and fled, disheveled, homeward. The account +her rescuer received left little doubt on his mind that Meg had been the +aggressive party. + +Mr. Standish sought Mrs. Browne. The landlady was lachrymose and +muddled. To his inquiries concerning the queer notion Meg had concerning +her mother, she gave a rambling account of a mysterious lady who had +come to the lodgings accompanied by an older lady. Meg had been born +here, and the mother had died in giving her birth. No father had ever +come to visit the mother or child. + +Mrs. Browne admitted that some money was sent regular through a +lawyer--just enough to pay for Meg's clothing and schooling; but who the +lawyer was, Mrs. Browne refused to tell. + +Mr. Standish left Mrs. Browne drying her eyes, and went up, meditating +how to address Meg. There had come to him an indistinct realization of +what the thought of a lady-mother had been to the child in her sordid +surroundings. After a few moments' deliberation he took out pen, ink, +and paper, and wrote in Roman characters: + + "DEAR MEG: I write to ask you to forgive me. You were right, and I + was wrong. Your mother was a lady, just as you thought she was. I + have heard all about her. Won't you forgive me, and come and see + me? I feel lonely without my little friend. + + "W. S." + +Having folded the letter, he slipped it under the child's door; then he +returned to his room and waited, leaving his own door ajar. After awhile +he began to sing some of Meg's favorite melodies--"Sally in the Alley" +and "Margery Allen." He thought he heard a furtive step. He turned his +head away, so as not to frighten by so much as a glance the shy advance, +and began softly to sing Meg's favorite ballad: + + "Nellie was a lady-- + Last night she died." + +He fancied he distinguished the reluctant drawing near of tardy feet. +When the song was ended he looked round. Meg was on the threshold. A +glance revealed the change those four days had wrought. Her hair was +unkempt, her dress untidy, her cheeks pale; but it was not so much those +signs of neglect, the pallor of her cheeks, the drawn lines about her +mouth that startled him, as a certain expression of childish +recklessness. It was the Meg he had seen wrangling with boys in the +street, flying past him lawless and fierce. In her hand she held his +letter, and she kept her eyes fixed upon him with a bold stare. + +"Is it true what you have written here, or is it a pack of stories?" she +asked abruptly. + +"It is all true, Meg," said Mr. Standish gently. "She was a lady." + +"A real lady, like those that drive about in the carriages?" asked the +child with stern cross-examination. + +"She was a real lady, Meg; just as you have always pictured her--with +soft hands that had never done rough work, and a gentle voice. All about +her was beautiful," replied Mr. Standish in slow and convinced tones. + +At this assurance Meg gave a little sigh; the tension about her lips +relaxed; the fierce brilliancy of her interrogative glance was subdued. + +"How do you know?" she asked more softly. + +"Mrs. Browne told me. I will take you to her, and she will tell it to +you." + +"I don't want her to tell me, you tell me," said Meg quickly. + +Mr. Standish hesitated; under the child's innocent gaze he found it +difficult to speak. He told her in simple words some of the story Mrs. +Browne had related. It was a mercy Meg evinced no curiosity concerning +her father. Mr. Standish dwelt upon the beauty, the youth, the suffering +of the mother; he spoke of the love she had lavished in anticipation +upon the babe she was never to see. + +As he spoke, the thought of that early and lonely death thrust itself +before him with a new and piteous force. The thought of the forsaken +child moved him, and his voice faltered. + +Meg was by his side in a moment; her hand touched his. "You asked me in +your letter to forgive you," she whispered. "I forgive you." + +He took the little hand. "You must forget also, Meg, that I said your +mother had left you poor and uncared for." + +"But she did. She left me poor, and with strangers; that's what you +said," replied Meg, with a return of the old fierceness, quoting his +words. + +"She died," he answered with emphasis, bending forward. "Listen, Meg," +he continued, as the child remained apparently unsoftened, "will you +believe me, even if you do not understand me--will you believe me?" + +For a moment Meg remained dogged and silent, then, as she met his +troubled glance, the doubt passed from hers, the confiding light came +back. + +"I believe you; I believe you very much," she said. + +"Then, when you think of her, Meg, think that some one had done her +great injury--had made her suffer, more than you can know. That is why +she came here and died. She left you poor because everything had been +taken from her." + +He paused a moment. Meg was pale, and seemed a little dazed; but the +excitement had left her manner. + +"Everything," he repeated with emphasis. + +The child's bosom heaved. + +"Now that she is dead," resumed the young man, "I believe that dear +mother watches over her little daughter." + +"You believe it," said Meg slowly. + +"I believe it," said Mr. Standish. "But, come; where is that picture? +Let me look at it again." + +Meg was off and back again in a moment. The print was torn and +besmeared, as if it had gone through rough usage since he had seen it +last. + +"Halloo! it is falling to bits. It was not so crumpled and torn the +other day," he remarked. + +"No," Meg confessed; "I hated it the other night, when you said mother +was hard-working, like a charwoman. I wanted to tear it up--I did; but I +could not." She stopped; for the first time there came a choking in her +throat, and a sob, quickly repressed. + +Mr. Standish pretended absorption in his occupation, spread out the +tattered print, and announced his intention of bestowing to the painting +a new lease of life by pasting it upon a pasteboard back. He gathered +the necessary implements for the task. Meg, usually so active, watched +in silence; but he knew, by the trembling of the little hand resting on +the table, by the stiff uprightness of the small figure beside him, the +fierce battle the child was waging with herself to suppress all show of +emotion. + +He took no apparent heed of her, but proceeded with the task of +renovation. Perhaps he had intended still to lead the child's mind to a +truer conception of a lady than she could get from worship of this +simpering fetish, with a mouth like a cherry, and curled eyelashes; but +as he handled the old fashion-plate, the pathos of its smeared and +battered condition touched him with a sense of sacredness, and he found +himself declaring that her mother might have been like that picture. +There was no doubt about it; it represented a lovely creature, and her +mother was a lovely lady. + +When the task was completed he was rewarded by the sight of Meg's +radiant countenance. In perfect peace she carried off the restored +picture. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +TWO YEARS LATER. + + +Two years had elapsed, and to superficial observers Meg might have +appeared to have changed only by some inches added to her length of +limb. She still haunted the corner overlooking the stairs on the topmost +lobby, but it was not to watch the come and go of the shabby social +eddies breaking down below. She read much to herself. Her choice of +literature was a queer _mélange_ of odds and ends. She was up to all the +fires, the accidents, the pageants of a world into which she had never +set foot. She knew to what corner of a London daily paper and provincial +weekly she was to look to find descriptions of these sensational +incidents, and the style in which they were recorded stirred in her an +admiration worthy of being lavished on Homeric epics. She knew also a +number of ballads by heart that she would recite with an amount of +native dramatic vividness. + +If the shifting scenes going on downstairs no longer attracted her as +in the past, she was intent and absorbed in watching one life. The +friendship between her and Mr. Standish had become a tie that drew out +peculiarities of the child's nature. There had been quarrels, +coolnesses, reconciliations, but Meg's usual attitude toward the +journalist was one of mingled proprietorship and watchfulness. It was a +mixture of motherly solicitude and dog-like faithfulness. She +cross-questioned, admonished, and kept vigilant guard over his +interests. + +Once, having discovered that Mrs. Browne had cheated him of sixpence in +the weekly bill, she drew the landlady's notice to the overcharge; but +Mrs. Browne refused to acknowledge or set it right, and Meg cried +herself to sleep. Loyalty to the landlady was discarded, and with +brimming eyes and quivering lips she told Mr. Standish next day of that +fraudulent sixpence. To her dismay he laughed, and vowed that Mrs. +Browne's name ought to be handed down to posterity as an honest landlady +if sixpence covered the amount of a week's cheating. Meg would not be +comforted; to her the landlady seemed remorseless. + +A mother could not have detected with quicker apprehension a shade of +weariness or pallor on the young man's face. Her invariable question on +such an occasion would be, "What have you had for dinner?" Sometimes he +tried to deceive her. He would roll out a dazzling _menu_--turtle soup, +turbot, plum-pudding. + +She would stop him at once with pathetic and angry remonstrance. "It is +not true; you know it is not true. Why do you say it?" + +Her earnestness always moved him; he was ashamed of deceiving her. + +Their last quarrel had been caused by Mr. Standish's confession that he +had dined off fish. + +"Fish!" cried Meg with scorn, tossing her head. "Can you work after a +bit of fish? What fish--turbot, salmon, fried soles?" The ladies who +occupied the drawing-room floor gave occasional dinner-parties, where +such delicacies figured. + +As Mr. Standish kept shaking his head, the smile in his eyes growing +more amused and tender, a terrible idea dawned upon Meg. She grew pale. + +"Herring!" she faltered. + +"Herrings," he repeated in a voice of rich appreciation. "Two herrings, +fat as lord mayors!" + +Meg walked about the room, her eyes bright with angry misery, her lips +trembling. "It's downright wicked! You want to kill yourself, that's +what you want to do." She flicked a tear away. "A workman in the street +down there has a better dinner than that." + +"Now, Meg, be reasonable," the young man pleaded in a voice of protest. +"Don't you see," he went on, striking his left palm with two fingers of +the right hand, "there is a day called 'pay-day' that rules my bill of +fare, as I explained to you the other day the moon rules the tides. On +pay-day and its immediate followers I live in abundance. Then come days +of lesser luxuries, then abstinence. I have reached this period. Soon +plenty will reign again." + +"It is a foolish way of managing money," said Meg, abrupt in her +trouble, and only half-comforted. + +"Can you tell me, Meg, how to manage money without reference to +pay-day?" he asked. + +"Will you do as I tell you?" she said, stopping short in her restless +peregrinations. + +He nodded. + +"Take your money, all your money, and divide it into little parcels, as +many parcels as there are days it must last, and every day spend just +what is inside one of the little parcels, and not a bit more," said Meg +with elucidating gestures. + +Mr. Standish vowed she spoke like a chancellor of the exchequer; that +the more he heard her the more he was determined on coming into the +colossal fortune he was to enjoy some day, to appoint her his almoner, +housekeeper, the dispenser of his bounties, the orderer of his dinners. +This project to be his housekeeper was one dear to Meg's heart, the +pacifier of her wrath. By what means Mr. Standish was to come into +possession of this fabulous wealth remained vague. Sometimes he would +announce his intention of getting it by marrying an heiress, a project +always chillingly received by Meg. Sometimes she would suggest +spitefully that the heiress would not marry him; but Mr. Standish +overrode all objections, and would depict days of indolent delight for +himself and his bride, while Meg managed the household. When the +daydream reached this point it generally abruptly terminated by Meg +plunging out of the room, and banging the door after her with an +emphatic "Shan't!" + +On the evening of the fish dinner Mr. Standish left the heiress out of +the question, and Meg was softened. + +The next day the young man supped at home. His tray, as usual on these +occasions, was brought in by Meg. A burly German sausage and a pot of +Scotch marmalade graced the board. Meg's answers were evasive concerning +the source from which these dainties came. It struck Mr. Standish that +Meg had bought them with the store of half-pence he had taught her to +put away in a moneybox he had himself presented to her, with a view to +inculcating economical instincts. Her fierce refusal to answer convinced +him that he had guessed right. + +The refusal to touch these dainties died on his lips. He could not hurt +the child. He ate the supper she had provided with loud laudations of +its excellence. Before it was finished an arrangement had been entered +into between them. On pay-day Meg would henceforth receive a sum to be +kept for him against the days of privation. The contract had been +fulfilled. Meg had proved a stern treasurer, resisting the young man's +entreaties to dole out portions of the money before the appointed time. + +If the child had gained much by intercourse with an educated mind, if +her English had grown by it more refined and correct, her mind stored +with more definite and varied knowledge; if, above all, there had come +to her by this affection a precocious womanliness, taming and sweetening +her lonely life, Mr. Standish had gained as much by the tie between +them. A sort of wonder, half-amused, half-tender, sometimes awoke in his +heart at the thought of the child's devotion. His occupation led him to +see rough sides of life, and as he became familiar with degradation, the +goodness, the innocence of the child was ever before him. He felt it was +touching to be loved by a child of ten. Her advanced wisdom struck him. +If it stirred his sense of humor and inclined him to laugh, still it +made him thoughtful. + +During those two years he had enlarged his connections. He was earning +more money. Individuals, somewhat of unkempt appearance, whom Meg +disapproved of thoroughly, often made their way up the stairs to the +young man's rooms. The peals of laughter, the loud talk emerging from +the sanctum, confirmed Meg in judging these visitors foolish company for +her hero. The child grew hot with angry apprehension when the bell rang +shortly after their coming, and Jessie would answer it with tumblers of +whisky and lemons. On letting out these friends Meg thought that Mr. +Standish usually looked excited, his eyes brighter, his manner more +expansive. The child grew restless, alert, suspicious. She did not +disguise her feelings to Mr. Standish. Why did these rough men come +drinking his whisky? She would break into fierce denunciations against +drink. + +"Madam"--Mrs. Browne--"always said she was poor. Why was she poor? +Because she was always a-sipping and drinking. He'd keep being poor +too." + +Often Meg's tones, staccato with prophetic denunciation, would falter at +the picture she evoked. + +Mr. Standish listened sometimes with an amused and indulgent good humor +that exasperated Meg; sometimes an uneasy qualm was perceptible in his +voice as he admitted that Meg was wise; sometimes he assumed a superior +tone of disapproval that silenced her for the time, but left her more +than ever under the shadow of a vague and sorrowful apprehension. + +One Sunday afternoon Mr. Standish emerged from his room ready to sally +forth. Meg appeared out of her shadowy corner. + +"Going out?" she asked shortly. + +He nodded, smiling down with benign amusement. He seemed enveloped in a +holiday brightness. + +"Going with those horrid men?" she resumed, throwing her words out with +sorrowful brevity. + +He nodded, and drew out his watch. He was apparently in a mood to be +entertained. + +"Come, Meg, there are five minutes for a sermon. I will listen to it +respectfully, as if it were the Archbishop of Canterbury preaching." + +But Meg was too much absorbed to mind a joke. She followed him into his +sitting-room, and began restlessly walking about. + +Mr. Standish sat down, and as he stroked his hat with his sleeve he +watched the little figure's perambulations. Meg wore her Sunday gown, a +rusty black velveteen, foldless and clinging, buttoned from throat to +hem. She had outgrown its scanty proportions. Her feet, incased in black +felt slippers, looked large under the trim ankles. + +"Well, Meg, I am waiting," said Mr. Standish. + +"Don't go," said the child, stopping short and facing him abruptly. The +quaint austerity of the skimpy garment brought out the lines of the +childish figure as she stood erect and animated before him. + +"Why not, Meg?" + +"Because they're bad; because I hate them; because they'll bring you to +misery," said the child, with an upward flash of one little brown +well-formed hand, and with a piteous emphasis on the last word. + +"Nonsense, Meg!" said Mr. Standish, impatient because more impressed +than he cared to be. "You keep comparing my friends with Mrs. Browne--I +don't mean any disrespect--an uneducated tippling old woman. My friends, +my dear Meg, are gentlemen, educated men, who, I admit, are fond of a +joke, fond of a glass or two glasses of grog, but who respect +themselves." + +"Education has nothing to do with it," snapped Meg, with concise energy. +"There was a man downstairs, he was educated. I think he was the devil. +He'd leave his wife and little child for days, and come back drunk." Meg +gave a fierce little shudder. "There'd be scenes. One day he went and +never came back--never, and the wife and baby boy went off one snowy day +to the workhouse." + +"Poor child, you should not see those things!" said Mr. Standish with a +troubled look. + +"Why not? You would not let these men up there take your money if you +saw them." + +There was a grotesque sweetness in Meg's appearance as she stood there +in her skimpy dress, her short dusky hair falling in masses about her +neck and over her forehead. There came to the young journalist a +remembrance of those wingless angels that the pre-Raphaelite masters +painted, gracious, grave, workaday beings, with unearthly wise faces. +But it was not as a picture that he contemplated Meg; the thought of the +goodness, the purity, the holiness of the child, who knew so much and +understood so little of life, overcame him. Her innocence almost +frightened him. He felt the sacredness of a vow taken to her; it would +be more binding than one taken before a court of justice. + +"What is it that you want me to promise, Meg?" he asked. + +"Not to let them take your money from you, not to let them give you +drink," she replied with her accustomed unhesitancy, but her voice +faltering with harbored longing. + +"Not drink at all?" he asked. + +"I wish not at all; I wish not at all," she replied with unconscious +repetition. + +"Look here, Meg; I'll promise you this--I'll not waste my money, and +I'll not tipple like Mrs. Browne downstairs. Will that satisfy you?" + +"You promise!" said Meg vehemently, with another upward flash of the +well-formed little brown hand, and holding him with her eyes. + +"I promise," said Mr. Standish gravely, disguising an inclination to +laugh. + +The young man was busy in the intervals of journalistic work composing a +political squib. He had not so much time to devote to Meg as in the +less-employed days, but he allowed her to sit near him when he wrote, +reading the story-books and ballads he gave her. In his leisure, as he +smoked his pipe, he watched with half-closed eyes the quaint little +figure, and drew the child out to talk. He explained the difficult +passages in the books she read, and gave her lessons in recitation. +Better than anything to Meg, he sometimes imparted to her the last _bon +mot_ he had put into the mouth of "Sultan Will" to his suffering +subjects--a confidence that invariably produced abnormal gravity in +Meg. + +The child had no reason to think the young man was not fulfilling the +promise he had given. His alert carriage and concentrated expression +contradicted any suspicion of faltering. Yet she was restless; his +friends came often to see him. + +"Why did they come, disturbing him at his work?" she asked spitefully. + +Mr. Standish called her a hard little taskmaster, and received his +friends cordially. A formless fear was at the child's heart. She haunted +the threshold of his door when they were in his room; she lay awake of +nights when she knew that he had gone out with them. She magnified to +herself the number of times that he had gone out earlier and come home +later than he used. If she dropped asleep her slumbers were broken until +she heard the sound of his footsteps on the stairs. + +One evening Mr. Standish went off in company with two journalistic +comrades to a public dinner, given to members of the press by the +directors of a new railway company. Meg would not retract the +unfavorable verdict she pronounced upon his appearance in the new dress +suit he had ordered specially for the occasion. She was not to be +mollified by the promise of an orange from the directors' table. "She +did not want an orange; she did not see what a dinner had to do with a +railway," she averred. + +That night she could not sleep. The formless fear at her heart lay heavy +upon it; it seemed to her that the fulfillment of that nameless dread +was approaching. As the hour came and passed Mr. Standish had fixed for +his return, visions began to group about her bed and pass before her +wide-open eyes. All the sorrowful stories of accidents Mr. Standish had +related to her enacted themselves before her, in which he appeared the +central figure. The night plodded slowly on; the clock in the hall +struck the hours at intervals. When the clock struck three Meg got up +and paced about the room, a wan little ghost. + +When another hour struck the four peals sounded like a hammer-stroke on +a coffin. Meg began to dress. She did not know why she did so, or what +she would do after, but a vague sense of being needed impelled her. She +fumbled her way to the staircase and sat on the topmost step. + +She waited in the darkness and silence. A faint whiteness began to steal +through the sides of the blinds drawn over the window on the lobby. The +banisters, the flight of stairs, showed shadowily, gradually growing +more distinct. + +Suddenly she sprang to her feet. There was the scrape of a key in the +latch. A step sounded in the hall, made its way up the stairs. It was +Mr. Standish. When he reached the topmost flight of steps he perceived +the little gray figure standing waiting in the gray dawn, erect, +immobile. He steadied himself against the banisters and began to laugh. +He looked pale, his eyes dark; his hat was thrown back, his hair +disordered. + +"Why, Meg, you little detective, are you there? Such a jolly night! +splendid dinner! No humbug this time, Meg--real turtle, tuns of +champagne!" He came up a few steps. "Tuns of champagne, Meg! Speeches, +Meg! Such nonsense! Everybody complimented everybody else. I did not +forget you, Meg. Look here, I stole an orange and sweetmeats!" He began +fumbling in his pockets. + +"You've broken your promise," said the child in a low and trembling +voice. + +"Not a bit of it, Meg. Now you think I am tipsy," he replied, speaking +huskily. "Not a bit of it. You'll see if I can't walk straight as a lamp +post to that door." + +As he went up he staggered--she had not seen him stumble before--caught +himself by the balustrade, then plunged forward with uneven steps. + +Instinctively Meg put out her hand, but he did not see it. Catching at +the wall he fell into a fit of laughing; then making his way to his room +he let the door slam behind him. + +Meg was petrified. All that she had dreaded seemed to have happened. She +sat down, her throat burning, her body cold, as if a shroud enfolded +her. She remained huddled and moveless until signs of life began to be +heard in the house. Then she got up and crept into her attic. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +MEG TO THE RESCUE. + + +Mr. Standish saw no more of Meg for some days. He made no attempt at +reconciliation. It amused him to think how Meg magnified his offense. It +seemed comical that the child should set him down as a drunkard. He +laughed out loud over it as he drank his single glass of lager beer at +dinner. In his workaday life he avoided taking his glass of grog. He +never indulged in it, for economical reasons. With his brothers of the +press he took a convivial glass, but as for squandering money, he had +none to spend. + +After a few days, as Meg remained sternly invisible, he began to miss +her, as a man might miss a favorite dog. To his inquiries concerning the +child, Mrs. Browne or Jessie replied, she was "that" cross there was no +biding her. + +If he caught a glimpse of Meg she would vanish at his approach, and no +call or song could entice her from her retreat. Then Mr. Standish made +up his mind the child was absurdly unjust, and that in time she would +come round; still he was more sorry than he allowed himself to +acknowledge at her desertion. His work had grown upon him, an old debt +harassed him, and he had lately received a sufficiently unpleasant +surprise to occupy his mind. + +Meanwhile, the passionate little figure, hidden in the shadow of the +half-open door, watched his coming and going with keener vigilance. From +her hiding-place the child scanned his countenance as he came and went; +and at night fell into broken slumbers, until the sound of his returning +footsteps brought peace to her unquiet heart. If Meg had known how to +pray, or had realized that she could effectively and without indecorum +pray out of church, she would have climbed in spirit to the throne of +the Most High, and with insistent appeal have interceded for the friend +she confusedly felt was passing through some dread peril. But Meg's +conception of the world beyond the grave was as of a great darkness, +against which outlined itself a simpering countenance wreathed with +roses, which was her mother's face. To that dear vision Meg was eloquent +concerning her grief--brokenly, and with impatient and angry misery, +murmured to it of Mr. Standish's breach of faith, of the certain ruin +that was waiting him, and of her own wretchedness. + +Mr. Standish's ways completely puzzled her, and the mystery added to +that desperate sense of estrangement between them. Some time before +their quarrel she had watched one day a shabby-genteel-looking man knock +at the journalist's door, and, on its being opened, hand to Mr. Standish +a paper which he received and glanced over, the child noticed, with an +expression of surprised consternation. He did not invite the visitor in. +Meg could not distinguish the purport of the talk that ensued between +them, but heard Mr. Standish's last words, in the anxiously confident +tones of which, she detected a ghost of displeasure: "There has been +some delay, but give me time to write again to him and I am sure it will +be all right." + +On her inquiries concerning this mysterious visitor, with a face she +described as a red plum-pudding, Mr. Standish had given evasive answers. +From that day she noted, however, that he changed his hours of going +out; he appeared anxious; he locked his door after him. Sometimes, as a +pledge of confidence, he had left his key with her, and he had told her +not to let anyone in during his absence. + +A week after their falling out, Meg, in looking over the superscription +of Mr. Standish's letter in the hall, recognized the delicate and +familiar handwriting of one of the young man's friends--who was also her +favorite antipathy. She had at one time often brought epistles in this +handwriting that she suspected were begging petitions. This letter bore +a foreign stamp. + +That afternoon Mr. Standish's voice, for the first time since his +quarrel, was uplifted in song. As he went out he paused, and softly +called "Meg." But Meg, in the shadow, straightened herself; an +aggressive light brightened her eyes; she hesitated. Had he called again +she might have come, but with a half-vexed laugh and a shrug he ran +downstairs. + +For the first time, also, he had left the key in his door. The child +stole toward the room, opened the door, and looked in. Her heart smote +her with remorse and pity as she beheld the disorder, the uncared-for +confusion that reigned within--slippers pitched at different corners of +the room; the tobacco-pouch half emptying its contents in a manuscript, +the dust lying heavy on papers and books, the boot-jack inside the +silver inkstand that had belonged to his father. + +In a moment Meg was at her old task of setting the room in order. +Flitting hither and thither, she zealously dusted, swept, put the books +back into their accustomed places. She knew exactly where every volume +was to stand. As she scrubbed and worked, the hard knot at her little +heart loosened. She had proceeded some way at her task when she came +upon a paper. She recognized the nature of the paper at a glance; she +had seen such a missive in Mrs. Browne's possession before. It was a +summons to appear before the county court. She read the words on the +paper. The summons was taken out by one Abraham Samuels, who held a bill +overdue for £25. The court was to sit on Wednesday, November 16th. +To-day was the 26th--ten days later. + +Meg stood stock-still with the paper in her hand. This was the paper the +strange man had brought. She thought of Mr. Standish's brightened mood; +what did it mean? Had he paid the debt? A tear dropped on the summons as +she dwelt upon that past anxiety. How could she atone for having kept +away so sternly? The only way that presented itself to her mind for +displaying the energy of her repentance was by rubbing the furniture +till it shone in the firelight. She put the last touch to her work by +filling the two vases with late autumn foliage and yellow +chrysanthemums, bought with her remaining pence. It was late that night +when the journalist returned, but she noticed that he bounded lightly +up the stairs, and she turned happily on her side and fell asleep. Mr. +Standish was not up next morning when Meg set off for school. + +He was out when she returned. As she was sallying forth on an errand for +Mrs. Browne she perceived Jessie in deep confabulation with a +smooth-voiced stranger in the hall, who was apparently making himself +agreeable to the slavey. At a glance she recognized him to be the +stranger with the face like a red plum-pudding, who had handed that +summons to Mr. Standish. + +In a flash she recollected the key was in the door of the journalist's +room. The next moment her bounding young feet had carried her up the +stairs, and she had locked the door, and dropped the key into her apron +pocket, before the representative of justice came panting up on the +scene. Meg's experience of life had included strange branches of +education. She had watched the maneuvers of debtors to keep bailiffs at +bay, and the strategy of the men in authority to get into possession. + +"What do you want?" she inquired, standing before the threshold she was +defending. + +"I want Mr. Standish--a writing gent. I've got news for him," replied +the stranger with an air of business. + +"Can't see him," said Meg briefly. "He's out, and the door's locked." + +"Now, that's awful unfortunate," replied the visitor, with an air of +perplexed consternation. "Those writing gents make their living by +getting news, and my news is so important that he ought to know it." + +"What news is it? I'll tell him when he comes in," said Meg curtly. + +"Can't do that, missy. Now, I take it," continued the stranger +insinuatingly, "you know where the key of that room is. If you let me +in, I'll give you the prettiest, shiniest sixpence you ever saw. Come, +now, let me in, and I'll write my news down for the gent. My time's +precious-like, you see." + +"Who are you? Where do you come from?" asked Meg. + +"I come from his newspaper office. I am what these writing gents call a +printer's devil, ha, ha, ha!"--and the stranger bubbled over with +enjoyment of his own joke. + +"You're telling an awful fib," said Meg, red to the roots of her hair. +"You are a bailiff. I've seen bailiffs," and she nodded, "and I know +their dodges. You want to get into Mr. Standish's room to take his +things--that's what you want to do." + +"Eh, now, you are clever--as clever as clever can be--the prettiest, +cleverest little girl!" rejoined the visitor admiringly. + +"Do you think," said Meg, evidently taking no notice of the compliment, +"that a man ought to be punished who is always very kind and good, and +who works--works so hard--I could not tell you how hard; who eats very +little, and who scarcely drinks ever at all--that is, very seldom." Meg +dashed away a tear, and went on with energy, advancing with restless +steps. "If this good man has friends who are bad, dishonest, lazy +drunkards, who take all his money and don't give it back, don't you +think it is they who ought to be punished, not the good man?" + +"Well, missy, there's a deal in what you say--a deal," said the stranger +ponderingly; then, as Meg approached, lost in her pleading, he made a +sudden flop forward, and almost clutched her skirt, gasping, "That's a +pretty apron, missy--a nice little apron." + +But Meg had whisked the apron out of his grasp; and, dancing back, shook +the hair out of her eyes. "You wickedest man! trying to get the key out +of my pocket! But I'll not let you have it. I'll throw it out of that +window into the gutter that runs down there sooner than let you have +it." Meg as she spoke opened the window in the lobby, and kept near it. + +"Then here I'll sit!" said the bailiff, depositing his burly form on the +stair. + +"How long will you sit there?" asked Meg. + +"That's none of your business. I'll sit till he comes up. I believe he's +a scamp. Those hauthors and hartists are. I know lots of 'em. I warrant +he's in the tavern spending his money." + +"I hate you!" cried Meg with a flash, her bosom heaving, her little red +lips drawn tight over her teeth. + +There was something pitiably droll in the attitude of the child, +standing at a safe distance, clutching her pocket, quivering with +helpless wrath, before the impassable persecutor. With a sudden spring +she turned and dashed away, pausing to open a little wider the window +that let in the draft upon the bailiff. + +"You'll get frightful rheumatism waiting there, and I'm glad of it," she +cried, as she disappeared. + +Mr. Standish, returning half an hour later, saw a small figure +promenading up and down before the house under a dripping umbrella. It +was Meg. She was by his side in a moment. + +"Come this minute," she said, putting her hand into his. + +"Why, Meg," he said cheerily, yet surprised at her manner; "so you have +forgiven me at last!" + +She did not answer; but as he was about to open the hall door with his +latchkey, she said laconically, "Not this way," and led him round by the +back way. + +Meg flitted up the narrow stairs before him, every now and then turning +back with forefinger on lips to enjoin silence. Up, up she went, until +she reached the attic that was her own room. She signed to him to enter, +and then shut the door. + +"Why, what is this for, Meg," said Mr. Standish, looking round. + +"He's here--the bailiff--waiting on the stairs, but he can't get in. I +locked the door and kept the key; here it is." With an expressive +twinkle of her eyes she whisked it out of her pocket, and put it into +his hand. + +Mr. Standish sat down, looked at Meg, scarce understanding. "Bailiff!" +he repeated. "Then Gilbert has not paid! I backed his bill because I +trusted his sacred promise that he would meet it in time!" + +"It was kind, but foolish," said Meg briefly. + +"He wrote the other day to say he would make it all right with Samuels, +when I told him of the writ. He assured me the money was going by the +next post," Mr. Standish went on blankly. + +"He's an old cheat," said Meg, with scornful directness of speech. + +"What is to be done? I have no money, Meg," said the young man, with a +wretched flicker of a smile. + +"Pawn your watch and chain--they're real gold; they're big and heavy; +they'll raise the money," said Meg, with her usual unhesitancy. + +The journalist flushed red. "I can't, Meg!" He drew the watch out of his +pocket. It was a large hunting watch, that had been presented to the +rector, his father. Inside the lid the names of the donors were +inscribed in minute characters. "I can't, Meg," he repeated, looking at +it and shaking his head. "A token of affectionate gratitude, a +testimonial to his faithful work--I can't place it where there are so +many associations that are disgraceful. It would be degradation----" + +"Not a bit of it!" said Meg with fearless rapidity, as he rose and +walked up and down the attic. "You'll get it back soon. You'll work hard +to get it out. If you don't pawn it you'll have to let that man in," +nodding in the direction of the staircase. "He'll sit in your room. +You'll be able to do no work with him there, smelling of gin, and his +red face looking at you. He'll take the silver ink-bottle--and the +books. Pawn your watch, and if you work hard you'll get it out soon." + +"Wise, practical Meg," said Mr. Standish, scarcely able to repress a +smile, moving irresolutely about the little room. + +"Give it to me! I'll pawn it for you," rejoined Meg, intent and +business-like. "I've been there before. Last time Mrs. Browne put the +silver teapot up the spout I went for her. She was tipsy; she could not +go. The man knows me. He'll give me the money." + +"I have not the heart to do it Meg--I have not the heart," said Mr. +Standish, hesitating as the child approached. + +"It's better than having the man inside your room, sitting on your green +velvet armchair or the chintz sofa, taking the silver ink-bottle and the +books, and preventing your working," continued Meg, pressing her +advantage; and as Mr. Standish began slowly to unloose the chain, her +deft fingers came to the rescue and helped him. + +He looked down at the eager, determined child-face. "How good you are to +me, Meg; how good!" he said, the words rushing almost unconsciously to +his lips. + +A quiver of the eyelids only showed the child felt the tones. "Give it +to me," she repeated imperatively. + +The next moment the watch and chain, wrapped in a clean +pocket-handkerchief, were in Meg's grasp, and she had departed. Mr. +Standish, stooping under the shelving ceiling on a level with the strip +of window, looked out and watched the wet umbrella making its way under +the flaring gas and over the muddy street. When it disappeared he turned +and looked about him. There was a sincerity, a poverty, a purity about +the tiny chamber that affected him with a wholesome shock. Over the +little white bed hung the fashionplate that he had mended, in the +pasteboard frame he had manufactured for it. A bit of scarlet ribbon +fastened it to a nail, with an elaborate bow. Above it, as a pious +Catholic might have crossed about some saint's image branches of blessed +palms, so Meg had placed sprigs of lavender, that delicately scented the +room. On the peg behind the door hung the little Sunday frock, turned +inside out. On a table, under a clean pocket-handkerchief, were placed +three books that he had given her--a volume of ballads, "Stories from +the History of England," a gaudily illustrated shilling copy of +"Cinderella." Also under the pocket-handkerchief was a bundle of paper, +tied with scarlet ribbon, that proved to be some of his articles neatly +cut out. A black clay pipe of his, which Meg had mended, was put up like +a little Indian idol over the table. The little room, so spotlessly +clean, and so characteristic in all its details, was distinctly Meg's +room, telling of that mystic love for her mother, and of her solitary +friendship. + +Mr. Standish was not tired of waiting when Meg appeared, her hand +clutching the bodice of her dress. + +"Here, I've got the money," she said, as carefully pulling out the +handkerchief and opening it she displayed a roll covered with paper; +"twenty-five pounds--count; and here's the ticket. Don't lose it on any +account. Perhaps I'd better keep it for you." + +"Twenty-five pounds, Meg!" said Mr. Standish. + +"He wanted to give me twenty. I said 'No, twenty-five.' He was smiling +when he said twenty. Those men always smile when they want to cheat +you," said Meg, with a nod of retrospective observation. "He gave me +twenty-five pounds at last, though. Count." + +The child cut short the words of thankfulness that rose to Mr. +Standish's lips. + +"Go," she said imperatively, taking him by the hand and leading him to +the door; "pay the man and get him off." + +A few minutes later, with great glee, Meg watched the departure of the +bailiff; she thought with pleasure as he made his way downstairs that he +seemed a little stiff, as if he had got rheumatism. After the hall door +had slammed behind the representative of the law she stood hesitating. +Soon her diffident feet slowly brought her to Mr. Standish's threshold. +She pushed the door softly open. He was sitting by the table, his face +covered with his hands. He looked up as she entered. + +"He's gone," said Meg, nodding. "Aren't you glad?" + +"You have done me a great service, Meg. How can I thank you for it?" +said the young man, rising and taking the child's two hands in his. + +"Don't thank me--not at all," said Meg with ardor, looking up into his +face. "Just promise never to lend your money again--never." + +"No--never again!" replied Mr. Standish, shaking his head. He led the +child in and sat down, still keeping her hand in his. "How did you guess +that man was a bailiff?" + +"Oh," said Meg, with the scornful brevity of wide experience in her +voice, "I knew him by his sleeky ways. I've watched them at their +dodges. They're up to almost anything." + +Mr. Standish laughed out loud; but the laugh suddenly fell as he +thought of all that knowledge implied. He said gently, after a pause: + +"I thought the little friend who used to sit by my fireside had left me. +I missed you, Meg." + +"You were tipsy that night," the child answered, with a quaver in her +voice that did not take from its severity. + +"You punished me hard, Meg. Don't you know I had to drink so many +healths. There was the queen's health to drink, and I should have been a +disloyal subject if I had not drunk that; and there was the lord mayor's +health, I should have been a bad citizen if I had not drunk that; then +there were the directors' healths, and there were one another's +healths." As Meg remained unmollified, he went on, "Meg, I will tell you +a secret. I was not so bad as I looked that night--I put it on a little +for your benefit." + +"That was wicked of you," said Meg with spirit. + +"It was," agreed Mr. Standish candidly. "Come, Meg, won't you forgive me +if I promise----" + +"You promised before," interrupted the child. + +A desire to rehabilitate himself in the child's eyes seized Mr. +Standish. He felt a touch of awe of that creature regarding him with +steady gravity, and he found himself pleading his cause before her as if +she were a little chief justice. + +"If he got himself into difficulties for his friends, they were often to +be pitied; so many in this world were born weak, like spiritual cripples +who needed a helping hand." + +"No use to them when they get it," said Meg. "They're always in a +muddle." + +Mr. Standish once more repressed an inclination to laugh at the child's +precocious wisdom. He admitted there was truth in what she said. Once, +three years ago, just before coming here, he had given all he had to a +friend, and it had been of no use. + +"Did you lend him much money?" asked Meg. + +"Yes; he was in the greatest distress. I loved him, Meg. I would do it +again if he came to me. If he was reckless, he was so handsome and so +jolly. He came and told me all about his trouble. His father was very +stern; he would not see him or help him. My friend wanted three hundred +pounds. It was all the money that I had." + +"And you gave it?" she said, and stopped. + +He nodded. + +"Did he never pay you back?" she faltered. + +"Never, Meg. It is a sad story. There was some disgrace, and he died." + +She did not speak; the fate of the stranger seemed to affect her but +little. + +"You gave him all your money?" she repeated, and again she paused; then +she put out her hand and stroked his head, with a look of tender and +ineffable admiration. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +FAREWELL. + + +There followed a time of perfect happiness for Meg, during which, for a +few weeks, she sat by her friend's fireside, watched him at his writing, +listened to his reading, ruled over the meals that he took at home, and +questioned him concerning those that he took abroad. + +On a memorable afternoon they celebrated together, with much pomp, over +a banquet of jam puffs and lemonade at a confectioner's shop in the +Tottenham Court Road, the redemption from pawn of his father's gold +watch and chain. Meg again played the part of _Deus ex machina_ in the +transaction, and personally paid the ransom of the precious pledge. In +honor of the event, Mr. Standish presented her with a copy of +Goldsmith's "Animated Nature," with "Meg" printed in gold letters on the +cover. The sight of her name thus honored overcame the child. He +explained to her, when she appeared inclined to rebuke him for +extravagance that the political squib, the jokes which used to have a +depressing effect upon her, had brought him the unlooked-for cash. + +Shortly after this festivity Mr. Standish's movements once more became +erratic. Meg could discover no signs, however, of the symptoms that she +feared. He seemed mysteriously elated and full of business, yet he wrote +less. He admitted when she questioned him that something was absorbing +his time, but his answers were evasive concerning the nature of this new +interest. He promised that she would know what it was shortly. + +One day Mr. Standish had a long talk with Mrs. Browne over a bottle of +sherry, after which he went out and returned late. The landlady was +maudlinly effusive over Meg that evening, puzzled the child with her +ramblingly affectionate talk, and filled her with vague apprehension. +Mr. Standish's answers to Meg's queries were also unsatisfactory. + +A few days later a dandified elderly gentleman wearing a frilled shirt +visited the journalist. As he was leaving Mr. Standish called Meg in, +and introduced her to the visitor as "the child I spoke to you about." +The elderly gentleman looked at her peeringly, with his head on one +side. He chuckled, patted her cheek, and told her if she were a good +girl something wonderful might happen to her. The announcement, far +from cheering Meg, deepened the foreboding in her heart. + +That evening she softly entered Mr. Standish's room. A confused dread +seized her when she saw the floor littered with books and papers lying +about in parcels. The journalist was sitting by the fire, abstractedly +poking the embers. + +Meg touched his elbow. "Are you not going to write to-night?" she asked +in a low voice. + +"Not to-night, Meg. I am going to talk to you instead." + +She remained motionless by his chair, questioning him with her glance +only. + +Still he did not speak. After a moment or two he said abruptly, "Meg +would you like to go to school?" + +"I go to school every day. What do you mean?" she asked, looking at him +with quick suspicion. + +"I mean quite another sort of school--one kept by ladies, and where your +schoolfellows would be ladies; where you would make lots of nice +friends; and where you will sleep at night instead of----" + +"You mean go away from here--quite?" interrupted Meg, growing pale to +the lips. + +"Yes," he answered. + +"What do you want me to go away for?" she demanded, a flash of anger in +her eyes. + +"Because I do not like to leave you with no one but Mrs. Browne to look +after you; and I am going away." + +"When?" she asked tremulously. + +"To-morrow." + +She gave an exclamation that sounded like a cry. + +He drew her to him. + +"Listen, Meg. It will make me very unhappy if I think you are fretting +when I am gone. I want my little friend to be brave; she must not fret." + +"Where are you going?" she faltered, mastering her emotion. + +"I am going to travel and write accounts of what I see, for a newspaper +that will pay me very well. It is a great lift for me, Meg, and I want +you to have your lift also." + +She did not speak, but kept her eyes fixed upon his face. He then gently +and guardedly told her that he had got from Mrs. Browne the name of the +family solicitor who paid for her keep. He had gone to see him to speak +of Meg. The elderly gentleman with the frilled shirt, who had patted her +on the head, was the solicitor in question. His name was Mr. Fullbloom. +The young man did not tell the child that he had found out how +shamefully misapplied by the landlady was the allowance she received, +nor did he tell her that he had made in writing a vivid statement of +her forlorn and neglected condition in the boarding-house. + +He laid as light stress as he could on the refusal of the solicitor to +give up the name of the child's mysterious patron. + +"Some one takes a great interest in you, Meg," he said in conclusion; +"and Mr. Fullbloom came to assure me from that person that you would now +be placed in a first-rate school, where you will have plenty of comrades +of your own age, teachers who will care for you; and you will grow up to +be a little lady, like your mother in the picture." + +Meg listened cold and silent to the end. + +"Won't you be glad to go to school to be educated?" + +"No," she answered, stiffening herself and jerking out her words, +relapsing in her excitement into her old pronunciation. "I will hate +going. I don't want to be edicated. What do I want to be edicated for? +And if you cared for me you would not wish me to go away, you would +not." + +Tears stood in her eyes, but anger kept them from falling. + +"Do you wish to remain here when I am gone Meg?" he asked. + +"No," she replied faintly, as if her heart failed her at the suggestion. +"Why can't I go where you go? Who'll light your fire for you, who'll +look after you? You want somebody to look after you." + +"I know it, Meg, and no one would look after me as you would." + +"I'd not want much to eat or drink," Meg went on, alive to the +economical side of the question; "and once you said you felt lonely +without me." + +"So I will, Meg," he answered, drawing her nearer and keeping his arm +about her. "And it is just because I care for you that I want you to go +to school, that I want you to learn all that can be taught you. I want +your little hands to grow soft, that now are hard with housework for +me." + +The child's face worked, but she controlled the rising sob. + +"Listen, Meg. It may be in five years, it may be in six years, it may be +when you are a tall, accomplished young girl of eighteen, I shall come +to the school where you are, and--" He paused. + +"Take me home to be your housekeeper?" said Meg. + +A laugh drifted to his face. + +"Better than that. We will be friends, close friends, such friends as +never were, if you go to this school," he said. + +"You promise?" said the child, holding him with her eyes. + +He nodded. "I promise, Meg." + +"Then I will go to that school," she said submissively, putting her hand +into his. + +Until eight o'clock, when she usually said good-night, Meg helped Mr. +Standish to pack up. She asked to be allowed to remain up a little +longer, but he refused the petition. + +"It is not good-by, Meg; it is good-night only," he said cheerily, +stroking her head; then stooping, he kissed the child's forehead. "God +bless you, little Meg!" + +Meg did not go to bed. She made no pretense to undress. She lay on the +floor of her attic all night, letting the solitude of the coming years +pass in anticipation over her heart. In the gray of the morning some +furtive sounds reached her ears, and she sprang up listening. A few +moments after, Mr. Standish, portmanteau in hand, emerged from his room. +A gray little figure stood waiting for him in the dim dawn, as it had +waited for him once before. It was Meg, pressing something to her heart. + +"My child, I had hoped, I had planned to avoid this for you," he said. +"I hoped you would be asleep." + +[Illustration: MEG PRESENTS THE OLD FASHION-PLATE TO HER FRIEND.--Page +61.] + +The child's lips moved, but she did not speak. Abruptly stretching out +the hand that she had held pressed against her bosom she put +something into his. It was the fashion-plate that had been to her as her +mother's portrait. + +"Is that for me, Meg?" he asked. + +She nodded. + +"I'll keep it safe. I'll give it back to you, Meg, when we meet again," +he replied, tenderly folding the battered print and laying it inside his +pocket-book. + +The child kept a stern silence. + +"We'll meet again, Meg; I promise you that. Poor little Meg!" he said +feelingly. "It is hard for you; but I will write to you--I will write. +No one will ever care for me as you have cared." + +He kissed her, and as still she preserved the stern silence of repressed +grief he turned quickly away. As he ran down he looked back and saw the +child watching him, with her face thrust through the banisters. + +He waved his hand to her and smiled. The next moment the hall door +clapped below, and from above there came the sound of sobbing in the +darkness. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +A MYSTERIOUS VISIT. + + +A few days after, in the early afternoon, as Meg was sitting on the +floor in her attic with the bundle of articles given her by Mr. Standish +spread out on her lap, the books he had given her on the floor around +her, the door opened and Mrs. Browne entered. + +Meg had been silent and repellent since her friend's departure. She had +lived alone, communing with her grief. + +The landlady sat down on the child's bed and began rocking herself +backward and forward, uttering faint moans. + +Meg looked at her gravely and apparently unmoved. + +"What are you crying for?" she asked at last, when Mrs. Browne's moans +became too emphatic to be passed over in silence. + +"I am going to lose you, Meg--after all these years--There's a +gentleman downstairs--waiting to take you away. Oh! oh! oh!" moaned Mrs. +Browne. + +"A gentleman--what gentleman?" asked Meg with trembling eagerness, a +light springing to her eyes, for her thoughts had flown to her only +friend. + +"A kind gentleman--Mr. Fullbloom--You must remember, Meg, as I always +said--Mr. Fullbloom--pays for you regular--regular as quarter-day comes, +he pays. Remember, as I always said it--And now he's come to take you +away from me--who loves you as a mother." + +"Is he coming to take me away to that school?" asked Meg, sitting up +straight, speaking in curt and business-like tones. + +"Yes, you're to go to a school--a grander school--a ladies' school--and +you'll forget me, who loved you like a mother." + +Meg did not answer. She began to prepare rapidly for her departure. She +was going to the school; and this was the first step toward rejoining +Mr. Standish in the future. + +She paid no heed to Mrs. Browne's feeble grieving over the shabbiness of +her wardrobe, her unmended boots, and to the landlady's repeated +injunctions to "speak up for me who has been good to you as a mother to +the gentleman." Every week, Mrs. Browne protested, she had meant to buy +Meg a pretty dress and hat. + +"What do I want with a fine dress at school for? I am going to +learn--that's what I am going to do. I am going to be a lady," said Meg +severely, locking the writing-case, a present from Mr. Standish, in +which she had deposited her bundle of articles, and wrapping her books +in brown paper. + +"The gentleman says you're to take nothing with you except just what +will go in a little bag," said Mrs. Browne; "and I've brought you my +best hand-bag." + +"I'll not go away without these things," said Meg ardently. "I'll not go +to school or nowhere without them." + +Mrs. Browne shook her head; but Meg was not to be moved. + +A few minutes' later, attired in her Sunday garments, her feet shod in +worn boots, Meg, carrying her parcel, went downstairs, followed by Mrs. +Browne. In the best parlor stood the gentleman she had once seen in Mr. +Standish's room, and to whom she had been introduced as the "little girl +I spoke to you of." + +He still wore a frilled shirt and tapped a silver snuffbox, and he +looked at Meg with his head very much on one side. + +"Ready to go--ready to go!" he said in a quick chirping voice. "Not +crying, eh? not crying?" + +Meg disengaged her hand to take the one proffered to her. + +"Can't take that parcel," said Mr. Fullbloom, shaking his head. "Can't +take it." + +"Then I won't go away--I won't go to the school without it," said Meg +with fierce decision. + +"Tut, tut, tut!" said the lawyer. "What's inside it? Lollipops, eh? +lollipops?" + +"No," said Meg, pale with eagerness; "it's books and things--keepsakes. +I'll never part with them--never!" + +"Oh, hoity-toity!" said Mr. Fullbloom, then impressed with the child's +resolute look. "Well, well," he added, jerking his head to the other +side, "perhaps we'll find a place for it in the carriage." + +Then once more Mrs. Browne lifted up her voice, and weeping embraced +Meg, who submitted to her caress with a certain stiff-backed +irresponsiveness. It is probable that if Meg had been called under other +circumstances to leave the gloomy old boarding-house and the boozy +landlady, about whom clustered all the associations of her childhood, +she would have felt the pang of the uprooting; but an absorbing +affection now filled her little heart, and with it had come new hopes +and ambition. + +A brougham was waiting at the door. Into it she stepped, and after her, +Mr. Fullbloom. The next moment she was driving swiftly and silently +along. It was all very strange; yet Meg did not feel surprised. Grief +had lifted her unconsciously to a higher level of expectation; all +unknowingly her attitude toward life was changed. + +She was vaguely aware that she was the object of her companion's amused +and attentive observation. For all his waggish ways and darting +movements Mr. Fullbloom had a shrewd and observant mind. He was a +lawyer, accustomed to note with discriminating eye external signs that +gave him the clew to the personality of those with whom he came in +contact. It had grown to be a second nature with him to take note of +appearances. This little maid's imperturbable demeanor before the tears +of Mrs. Browne, her quick, fearless trust in him, her determined +attitude toward the bundle covered with brown paper, piqued his +curiosity, and moved a deeper interest in her than that which he usually +accorded to children. The clear-cut little profile, he acknowledged, had +a character of its own. Meg's attitude, as she sat upright and somewhat +stiffly, partook of the same individuality. Mr. Fullbloom noted every +detail of the child's dress--the well-worn turban hat crowning the +brown crop of hair, the shabby velveteen dress, the weather-beaten +jacket with its border of mangy fur, the old boots, the darned worsted +gloves covering the hands that clasped the parcel. + +"I think I know a little girl who is not very sorry to leave the old +house--not sorry," he said at last, stooping forward and cocking his +head with that bird-like swiftness. + +"I want to go to that school. Are we going there now?" inquired Meg. + +"Perhaps we are--perhaps we are not--perhaps we are going to a fairy +palace," replied Mr. Fullbloom with a suggestive sidelong glance. + +Meg looked at him smilelessly. + +"There are no fairies," she said curtly. "Am I going to that school?" + +"Before I tell I want to know who gave you those keepsakes--who was it? +The clever young gentleman who took such an interest in little Miss Meg, +and who had set his heart so much upon her going to school--was it?" +said Mr. Fullbloom facetiously, laying his hand upon the bundle. + +"Mr. Standish," answered Meg softly; and the lawyer was astonished at +the emotion perceptible on the child's face. It seemed to quiver like +the chords of a harp upon which a hand is laid. + +The silence was broken, and the lawyer began to question. Meg was +guarded and reticent in her monosyllabic replies; but by a few leading +questions the lawyer got from her what he wished to know. + +He became satisfied that the picture Mr. Standish had drawn of her +isolation, neglect, and half-servile position in the boarding-house was +unexaggerated. His veiled cross-examination was scarcely concluded +before the brougham drew up before a large house overlooking a square, +in which tall trees cast their shade athwart the smoothly shaven turf. + +"Was this grand house the lady's school?" thought Meg. + +A solemn man in black opened the door; an imposing being in a +gold-buttoned coat, plush breeches, and silk stockings came forward, and +Meg by a dexterous move just rescued her parcel from his officious +clutches. + +Mr. Fullbloom led her into a side room, saying as he left her that he +would be back immediately. The firelight glowed upon frames and mirrors, +delicate porcelains, and blue satin hangings. For a few moments the +little Cinderella figure remained standing immobile amid these +surroundings, lost in wonder, then the lawyer returned, and taking her +by the hand conducted her upstairs. + +Who was she going to see now? Was she about to be brought before the +master or mistress of this fairy palace? + +Meg was aware of passing through a room larger and more splendid than +the one she had just left. Then Mr. Fullbloom pushed open a door and +ushered her into another room furnished with bookcases filled with +books, a long table, and dark leather chairs. + +An old gentleman was sitting there. His chair was against the window, so +that his face was in shadow, but his white hair shone. He was leaning +back; there was something rigid in his attitude; his long white hands +grasped the arms of the chair. + +"Here is the little girl," said Mr. Fullbloom. + +The white-haired gentleman made no sign of greeting, and did not speak +for a moment; but a close observer might have noticed, even in that +half-light, a slight twitch of the old hand. + +"You are the little girl who spent all your life in Mrs. Browne's +boarding-house?" he said at last, abruptly. + +"Yes, sir," said Meg with a quiver in her voice. + +In her heart she thought the elderly gentleman was not to be compared in +appearance with the glittering footman; but his chill stare seemed to +freeze her. + +"You remember no other place? You have never been to another?" he asked. + +"I remember other places, but I have never lived in another place," said +Meg with her usual accuracy. + +"What is your name?" + +"Meg." + +"Meg what?" + +"Browne," said Meg. + +"No, that is not your name. Beecham is your name. Don't +forget--Beecham." + +"Beecham?" repeated Meg, amazed. + +"Take off your hat!" said her interlocutor. + +Meg lifted her left hand to obey, but the elastic caught in her hair, +and she put her precious parcel down to free her right hand. + +"You were to take nothing out of that house," said the old gentleman +sternly. + +"I won't give them up--I won't!" cried Meg with kindling countenance, +and with hands outstretched to protect her parcel. + +"You won't!" repeated the old gentleman with frozen severity. Mr. +Fullbloom bent over his chair. There was a whispered colloquy. Then the +old gentleman said in a voice that might have been that of an audible +icicle: "You may keep those things if you do not ask for anything +else." + +"I do not want anything else," said Meg with energy. + +"Turn to the light." + +Meg, all rebellion smoothed from her countenance, turned, obedient as a +light-haunting flower, toward the gleam of sunshine filtering through +the heavy curtains. The light fell caressingly on the spirited little +face in its renewed quietude. + +"That will do," said the old gentleman; and he fell into a brooding +silence. + +"This little girl wants to grow up a learned little lady--a learned +little lady," put in Mr. Fullbloom cheerily after a pause. + +"Yes, that is what I want to be," answered Meg with an eager nod. + +"If you are sent to school," resumed the stranger sternly, bending on +the child a glance that seemed to her to be one of aversion, "you must +promise never to speak of that time spent in the boarding-house. You are +to forget everything that happened there, and everybody you met there." + +"I'll not forget every one. There is one person I will never +forget--never," replied Meg with energy. + +"Mr. Standish, the young man who was her friend. Can't ask her to forget +him yet--can't do that," put in Mr. Fullbloom in a tone of jaunty +conciliation, shaking his head. "I feel sure Meg will not speak about +him." + +"I don't want to talk about him," said Meg, her voice instinct with the +sacredness of her affection. + +"Do you know how to read?" asked the old gentleman. + +"Yes," replied Meg briefly. + +Her mysterious questioner opened a volume, turned rapidly over the pages +until he came to one where a chapter ended. He passed his forefinger +over the page with a heaviness that widened the delicate nail. + +"When a chapter is done, it is done--you turn the page." He suited the +action to the words and brought his palm down upon the book. "You +understand?" Meg nodded. "You begin another chapter--the first chapter +of your life is finished--you understand?" Again Meg nodded. "It was an +ugly chapter--it remains with you to make the next chapter a better and +a finer one." + +"I will not talk of anybody or of anything; but I will always think of +one person," persisted Meg, intent upon making the conditions of the +bargain clear between her and this stranger. + +"I cannot dictate to your thoughts," he replied. "I want you to promise +not to speak about the past. What will you say when you are questioned +concerning it by teachers, schoolfellows, or servants?" + +"I'll tell them it's none of their business, that's what I will tell +them," said Meg, with spirit and a relapse into a pronunciation that +savored more of Mrs. Browne's than of Mr. Standish's influence. + +Mr. Fullbloom chuckled, but the old man remained smileless. + +"I have nothing more to add; take the child away," he said. + +Mr. Fullbloom put out his hand to Meg. She hesitated, looking toward the +old gentleman to say good-by. + +Once more the child encountered a glance that seemed to freeze her with +its mysterious dislike and she went out in silence. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +MISS REEVES' ESTABLISHMENT FOR YOUNG LADIES. + + +Moorhouse was a red brick mansion of Elizabethan architecture, standing +on the outskirts of the old-fashioned town of Greyling, nestling under a +misty embattlement of distant downs. Tracts of ferny solitudes and +clumps of woodland lay beyond, cloven by the long straight road that led +Londonward. It was difficult to imagine that such rural peacefulness +could be found at thirty miles distance from the big metropolis. + +Moorhouse was a boarding-school for young ladies. It had gained a high +reputation under the direction of its present head-mistress, Miss +Reeves, a middle-aged lady of dignified appearance. + +It was to Moorhouse Mr. Fullbloom was taking Meg. The child had never +gone on a railway journey. The shriek and whistle of the engine as the +train dashed along startled her. She felt whirled forward as by a +demoniac force, and the pant of the engine seemed to her like the +audible heart-beat of some dread monster. She sat rigid and silent in +the corner by the window as she passed out of the station across the +bridge-spanned river, past squalid streets and roofs crowding below. At +last she emerged into more airy and peaceful surroundings. The speed and +pant still filled the limpid daylight with terror; but Meg fought +against her unstrung nerves and compelled herself to look out of the +window. She was passing through a pageantry of meadows lying in the mild +sunshine of the March afternoon; of cows grazing, of a pallid golden +light in the sky, veiled with fleecy purple clouds. She heard the +passing chirp of birds; she caught glimpses of leafless woods spreading +a tracery of boughs against the brightness of the sky. There were banks +flickering with suggestions of primroses under the hedges; undulating +greenswards losing themselves in blue distances. Through the terror of +that ride the influence of nature brought comfort to her heart. An +exhilarating sense that she was traveling to a better land overcame +fear. A house in the distance, perched on a height, with the sunlight on +its windows, appeared to her a type of that school to which she was +journeying; a sort of magic academy where she would grow worthy of +becoming Mr. Standish's friend. + +Mr. Fullbloom coughed and Meg turned her head. She caught the amused +glance of her traveling companion fixed upon her. The solicitor had been +dividing his attention between his paper and the child by his side. Meg +had been unconscious of his investigation. + +"Reach the school soon now," said the lawyer with his accustomed airy +nod. + +"I am glad of it," replied Meg. + +"Want to be a learned little lady, eh?" + +"Yes, that is just what I want to be," Meg answered in an eager tone; +"learned as a lady." + +"Well, so you will be--excellent school that of Miss Reeves--learn to +dance, play the piano, to speak French, German--any amount of +accomplishments. Bless me, there will be no talking to you in a year or +two. Have to study hard, though." + +Meg nodded in token of her readiness to face any amount of study. + +"Don't forget your name--Beecham--it is not Browne. Madam was not your +mother, or for the matter of that any relation," said the lawyer. + +"I knew she was not my mother," said Meg in a low voice. + +"No, indeed; light and darkness could not be more unlike." + +"You knew my mother?" cried Meg, a flush kindling her cheeks. + +"I knew her a little," replied the lawyer guardedly. "You are like her +about the mouth and eyes." + +"I am not a bit like her," Meg answered in a tone of offense. "She was +beautiful--like an angel." + +"Yes, she was beautiful," acquiesced Mr. Fullbloom. + +Meg looked at the lawyer with a new expression. A halo surrounded his +brow, for he had seen her mother. + +"Did the old gentleman I saw to-day know her too?" she asked softly. + +The lawyer put up his finger and wagged his head. + +"Little girls must not ask questions. They must be seen, not heard," he +replied, taking up his paper and growing absorbed in its contents. + +He did not speak again until the train shortly after stopped at Greyling +station. + +Before long they had reached Moorhouse, and the door had opened for Meg. +As she passed through the portal of the red brick mansion she felt as if +she stood upon the threshold of a sanctuary. This sense deepened when, a +few moments later, she was confronted by a majestic lady, whom the +lawyer introduced to her as Miss Reeves, who looked at her kindly and +scrutinizingly. After a low-voiced colloquy with Mr. Fullbloom at the +other end of the room, Miss Reeves took her by the hand, saying: + +"Your guardian has confided you to my care. I hope, my dear child, that +we may both learn soon to love and trust each other." + +Meg took with confidence the extended hand. Shortly after, Mr. Fullbloom +bade her an airy farewell, and she followed Miss Reeves into a room +where a meal was going on. + +"Miss Grantley and Madame Vallaria," said the head-mistress addressing +the two ladies sitting at either end of the table, "let me introduce to +you a new pupil, and to you, young ladies, a new school-fellow--Miss +Margaret Beecham. Ursula Grey, let her sit beside you; look after her, +she is a stranger." + +The room swam around Meg as she took her seat near a girl with a +pleasant rosy face and bright eyes shining behind a pair of +clever-looking spectacles. The child fancied she detected muffled +exclamations, and that on all sides a stare was turned upon her which +was not friendly. + +The young ladies appeared to her beautifully dressed. They wore pretty +brooches and necklaces of colored beads; their shining hair fell about +their necks, and they had delicate bits of lace round their throats and +wrists. One girl appeared to Meg so beautiful that she forgot everything +in the delight of looking at her. + +She was roused by a nudge of the elbow. + +"Miss Grantley is speaking to you," said her spectacled neighbor. The +young lady's lips were quivering with restrained smiles. + +"Miss Beecham, will you take a glass of milk or a cup of cocoa?" said +the lady at the head of the table. + +Meg looked blankly in the direction of the speaker. + +"Is not your name Beecham?" said this lady with a shade of annoyance in +her voice. + +Meg shook her head in the negative; then suddenly remembering the +warning she had received not to forget: + +"Yes--Beecham--that's my name," she said hurriedly, with the vivid nod +that usually accompanied her assertions. + +A titter went round the table. + +"Hush!" said Miss Grantley severely. + +Meg sat stiff and upright. + +"Will you have milk or cocoa?" repeated Miss Grantley. + +"Cocoa," blurted out Meg with monosyllabic brevity, in her confusion +forgetting her manners. + +She was intensely aware of the nudgings going on around her; of subdued +fits of laughter shaking some of the young ladies; of the surprised +stare of others. She caught Miss Grantley's cold glance. + +Meg seized with both hands the cup passed on to her and hurriedly gulped +down some of its contents. + +As she put it down she again encountered shocked and amazed glances. An +embarrassed misgiving fell upon her. Breaking her bread into small +morsels she slowly munched, gazing down into her plate. + +When she became aware of a general pushing back of chairs and of rising +about her, Meg stood up. She knew the teacher was saying grace. Her +spectacled neighbor then nodded. + +"Come along," she said, and Meg followed. + +The girls were pouring into another room. They at once surrounded Meg. +The whispers became audible. + +"Who is she?" + +"Who brought her?" + +"Where did she come from?" + +To Meg's surprise, one of the girls approached her and said with +familiar cordiality: + +"What is your name--your real name, I mean?" + +"My real name?" repeated Meg. She was standing inflexibly upright near a +table. + +"The name you were called by before to-day?" said her interrogator. + +"You did not recognize your name when you were called Beecham--what is +your real name?" said another. + +Meg did not answer for a moment. She remembered her promise to the +mysterious white-haired stranger. Then she said huskily: + +"What does it signify what name I had before?" + +Again she paused. + +"Then you had another name?" said the pretty girl in a thin, high voice. +"How very romantic!" + +"Don't tease her--what does it signify?" put in Ursula. + +"What does it signify?" was repeated all round in what Meg fancied a not +unkindly tone. She took courage. + +"What is in a name?" demanded one of the girls. + +"A rose by any other name would smell as sweet would it not?" said +another. + +"Yes," said Meg, bewildered. + +"Where did you live!" questioned one. + +Meg remained mute. Again her promise to the mysterious stranger sealed +her lips. + +"Up a tree," suggested one. + +"Second branch," said another with a laugh. + +"Letters to you came addressed 'Miss What's-her-name, second branch, +fourth tree, on the right side of the road,'" cried a third. + +This description of Meg's late abode was greeted by peals of laughter. + +"Visitors climbed up," suggested another. + +"Why do you say those things?" asked Meg, looking round on the laughing +faces. "I am come here to learn lessons--to grow up to be a lady. That's +what I come for." + +"A lady!" echoed all around her. + +"A lady is born a lady," said a tall girl who had not spoken hitherto. +She had a high nose and a voice of ice. + +"My mother was a lady," said Meg. + +"Your mother!" was echoed all around. + +Meg did not answer; words seemed to tremble on her lips as she gazed on +her tormentors. + +"Is your dress her taste?" asked one. + +"Did she teach you to say 'Cocoa' like that, without saying 'if you +please'?" asked another, mimicking Meg's answer to Miss Grantley. + +"My mother taught me nothing--she is dead," said Meg slowly. + +There was a pause. + +Then the tormentors began again. + +"Are you sure you would know a lady if you saw one?" + +"Would you call the grocer's wife a lady because she wears a silk +dress?" demanded the Roman-nosed young lady in her chilly voice. + +"No," said Meg with concentration. + +"Does a lady go about playing the street-organ?" asked a fat, +stupid-faced girl. + +"No," again said Meg fiercely. Then addressing the assembly generally, +but looking especially at the high-nosed young lady, she went on: +"Why do you want to know all those things about me? It's idle +curiosity--that's what I call it. And if my dress is ugly, what is that +to you? I come here to learn lessons and to be a lady." + +"But do you know what it is to be a lady?" replied the girl. + +"One is born, not made a lady," said another. + +"If," said Meg, trembling with energy, looking round on her persecutors, +"to be a born lady makes one laugh at another because she's badly +dressed, and to mock her because she's not got fine manners, then to be +a born lady is to be vulgar and cruel--that's what I think." + +For a moment there was silence; then the stupid-looking girl, coming +close to Meg and thrusting her face near hers, said in a jeering drawl: + +"I saw you and your mother selling matches in Bond Street last Easter +holidays. Your mother had a red handkerchief round her head and a monkey +under her arm." + +"That is a falsehood!" said Meg. Up flashed the little brown hand and +came down with a slap on the dull, mocking face. + +There was a hubbub. + +Cries of "She's a savage!" "A gypsy!" + +"We will tell Miss Reeves," was vociferated on all sides. + +Above the tumult rose the voice of Ursula: + +"You deserved that slap, Laura Harris. Miss Beecham had told us her +mother was dead. She has been teased too much." + +A bell sounded and the head-mistress, followed by the other teachers and +the servants, entered the room. + +"Silence, young ladies," said Miss Reeves. + +Prayer-time had come at Moorhouse. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +AT SCHOOL. + + +Meg was going through the ordeal that her friend had set for her, and +she strung herself to endurance. She felt she was tabooed by these +fashionable young ladies, and she fiercely anticipated their neglect. +She avoided them; she rejected Ursula's advances with impatience. + +For awhile some of the girls felt a temptation to bait this little +badger, but at last either the freshness or the excitement of the sport +died away. Perhaps, too, a certain amount of fear restrained them. The +slap administered to Laura Harris had made an impression, and it was +considered advisable not to goad the "savage" beyond bounds. Meg after +awhile was very much left alone. + +She was an outcast, and she felt homesick for the London cage from which +she had flitted, and which the presence of a friend had cheered. For the +first time, also, she realized her ignorance, and with resolute heroism +she set herself to learn. She worked with astonishing zeal. At her +books and lessons Meg did not feel so lonely. At church and in her walks +through the pleasant country lanes the sense of her absolute isolation +was lifted. In recreation hours she sat apart from her schoolfellows. +There was a yew tree on the outskirts of the playground into which she +climbed to read Goldsmith's "Animated Nature." She began its perusal for +the sake of the donor; then, gradually, this book of wonder fascinated +her. The description it gave of strange, beautiful creatures, of birds +especially, enthralled her. She gathered from the pages hints of +far-away countries that called to her like a voice. This little +town-bred heart was seized with a passionate love of nature and a +foolish love of wild flowers. As she formed one of the regiment of girls +who tramped, two and two, through the country lanes, the beauty of +nature seemed to comfort Meg as if the touch of a reassuring hand were +laid upon her heart. She would almost forget, then, that she was an +object of mockery or patronage to her fellows. In the beautiful old +church she felt nearly happy. "I am out of school," she would say to +herself. The voice of the organ took her immensely. It seemed to be a +voice talking to God. She liked the clergyman also. He was an old +gentleman who appeared to her to be endowed with great benevolence. She +thought his sermons marvels of eloquence. When, in answer to her long +stare, his eye sometimes rested upon her, she felt immensely +distinguished and honored. + +The teachers of Moorhouse were as much puzzled concerning Meg as were +the girls. She knew so much of some subjects and so little of others. +Miss Reeves, after a careful examination of the new pupil's +acquirements, declared that Meg might beat the girls of the upper class +in knowledge of some parts of history, and in familiarity with some of +Shakespeare's plays; while the lower classes might overmaster her in the +elements of arithmetic, geography, and other subjects. + +Mr. Foster, the arithmetic master, a lank man with a large nose and a +long neck, who looked like an innocent vulture, and who had never been +known to give a bad mark, contenting himself with feebly rubbing out the +mistakes on the slates presented to him, was bewildered by Meg's +absolute ignorance of the rules of arithmetic, and by her dependence +upon her fingers for counters. + +"Miss Beecham is a _table-rase_, as was the great philosopher Descartes +before he began to observe for the sake of his method," said the +professor to Miss Reeves, with forefinger uplifted, for Mr. Foster was +proud of making little pedantic jokes. + +Madame Vallaria, the middle-aged lady who superintended the music of the +establishment, teaching piano and singing from morning till night, was +divided between admiration for Meg's correct ear and determination to +learn, and despair over the stiffness of her fingers and her ignorance +of the first elements of music. The signora was hot-tempered; her nerves +were jarred by listening to incessant practice. + +"No, no, it is impossible! I will not teach you--I will refuse--I will +say to Miss Reeves that I cannot!" She sometimes exclaimed, addressing +Meg: "Your fingers are like the chop sticks the Chinese do use for +eating. You thump--thump--thump! I hear it in my sleep. It ever gives me +the nightmare." Sometimes Mme. Vallaria relented and with voluble +heartiness would exclaim: "Oh, Povera! your leetle heart is set to +learn; you are so courageous; and your ear it is exact, like a machine +made to catch the sounds. Yes, I will teach you--you shall learn it +yet--the piano--never fear!" + +Mr. Eyre, the shy and eminent professor who came down twice a week from +London to take classes of history and English literature of younger and +elder pupils, would alternately pass from delight to annoyance at Meg's +answers. Her indifference to dates appeared to him a sort of moral +deficiency--it amounted to contempt. Her power of realizing historical +facts and characters in which she took an interest was vivid, as if she +had been a spectator of the events described, and had a personal +acquaintance with the actors therein. He vowed she spoke of Julius Cĉsar +as if she knew him, and of his murder as if it had happened yesterday +and was the subject of a leader in this morning's _Times_. He was +appalled and puzzled, he exhorted, he raged; but his eye rested +expectantly upon Meg when her companions floundered behind, and the +dullness of the class was relieved for him by the audacity of her +answers. + +"You ought to go up to London to see the coronation," he said to her one +day when the theme of the lesson was Queen Elizabeth's reign, and Meg +surpassed herself in the brilliancy of her descriptive replies and the +astounding incorrectness of her dates. + +"What coronation?" asked Meg. + +"That of Queen Elizabeth." + +"But she is dead and buried in Westminster Abbey," Meg rejoined blankly, +being dismally dense in apprehending a joke. + +"Is she?" replied Mr. Eyre with feigned astonishment, and as was his +wont when he bantered his pupils, he set about biting what remained of +his nails and scribbled the lessons to be learned in the following week. + +"Let her go on! She will go forever and ever backward till she is +stopped by the pyramid of Ghizeh!" he remarked another day as Meg placed +the date of Cromwell a century too early, and was sending it back +another hundred years when she found she was wrong. + +Miss Grantley, the English and geography teacher to the younger class, +was antagonistically chilly in her treatment of Meg. The child felt she +was disliked, and with that precise and unsympathetic teacher her +deficiencies came out flagrantly. Signora Vallaria's voluble wailings, +Dr. Grey's jokes, did not dispirit Meg as did Miss Grantley's frosty +censoriousness. + +Meg was solitary, and in her solitude she grew defiant and repellent. +Her heart suffered from the atmosphere of repression. As far as outward +appearances went she resembled her comrades; she was dressed like her +fellow-pupils, her wardrobe having been replenished under Miss Reeves' +direction; but inwardly she was not of them. She sat among them like an +owl among sparrows. + +She observed them. As she had watched the hubbub of the lodging-house, +so she now watched the routine of the school. The girls of the first +class, tall, elegantly dressed, appeared to her like young goddesses. + +Some of those nodded to her kindly as they passed, and she returned the +salute awkwardly without a smile. + +Among the girls who had tormented her on her first night, a group, +headed by Miss Rosamond Pinkett, the cold-eyed, straight-backed, +Roman-nosed young lady, kept up an aggressive attitude. It still +appeared to Miss Pinkett that a degradation had been inflicted on the +school by the introduction of the "savage," and she ignored Meg with +contemptuous coldness. This young lady's bosom friend, Gwendoline +Lister, the beauty of the school, had a nature addicted to romance. Her +mind was like a story-book in which every page contained a thrilling +incident of which she was usually the heroine. + +The sudden appearance of Meg, in a costume that suggested the dress of a +poor tradesman's child, her fierce refusal to betray anything concerning +her antecedents except the reiteration that her mother was a lady, fired +the beauty's fancy. Meg, she imagined, was the scion of a noble family, +stolen by gypsies, found at last, and sent here to be educated. + +"Daughter of a ballet-dancer, my dear, you mean," Miss Pinkett said with +an icy sniff. "That ridiculous drawing speaks volumes." + +The drawing to which Miss Pinkett alluded, and from which the Beauty had +evolved her romance, was an attempt made by Meg to repeat from memory +that dear fashion plate, which she had given away. + +She had rudely drawn a small-mouthed, large-eyed face, the head wreathed +with roses, the dress covered with roses. Underneath she had written in +Roman characters, "My mother." This drawing had been found in +Goldsmith's "Animated Nature," taken out by prying fingers, and had been +passed from hand to hand. Where others had found food for mockery, Miss +Lister had found food for her imagination. + +Meg had come on the scene as Miss Pinkett was in the act of examining +the sketch. With a cry she had snatched it out of the enemy's grasp, +and, tearing it to bits, she had flung herself from the presence of the +girls. + +Ursula continued the defense of the stranger, and made advances to Meg, +which the child persistently refused. + +"Why won't you take my sweets?" Ursula asked once in a piqued tone. + +"I don't want them," said Meg with jerky abruptness. + +"Why? Is it because you have none to give in return?" demanded Ursula +bluntly. + +"I don't want them--that is all!" answered Meg. + +"It is pride--nothing but pride!" said Ursula, turning away with a +displeased gleam of her spectacles. + +A few days later an incident happened which showed that Meg was not all +indifferent to kindness. The spring had come and decked with lavish +waste of blossoms disgraced corners as well as more favored places. It +had rimmed with a fringe of velvet wallflower the top of the arid garden +wall. The orange and brown blooms spread in the sunlight, swayed in the +breeze, attracted the murmuring bees, and sang the praise of spring in +delicate wafts of perfume. + +"How delicious those wallflowers smell," said Ursula, sniffing the air +with head thrown back. "It is a shame they should be unpluckable. I wish +I had a handful." + +Meg heard the wish as she sat perched on the yew tree. When Ursula +turned away she abandoned her leafy throne, and swung herself from one +of the branches on to the trellis that covered the wall. It was a high +wall, but she climbed it with the precision of a woodland animal, here +grasping the trellis, there planting her foot on some bit of projecting +masonry. "You'll fall!" cried a chorus of voices. "To climb that wall is +absolutely forbidden, Miss Beecham," called out Miss Pinkett's voice. "I +will go and tell Miss Grantley," cried Laura Harris, setting off at a +run. Meg, undismayed by warnings and threats, pursued her quest. + +A moment later Ursula felt a gentle touch on the elbow, and a fragrant +bunch of brown blossoms was thrust into her hand. + +"Meg, you did not!" she cried with amazed spectacles, gazing at the +child, who bore marks of her recent encounter with the perils of the +wall. + +Meg nodded. + +Ursula buried her nose into the flowers with a hesitating expression as +Miss Grantley came up, followed by girls. + +"Miss Beecham, go indoors at once! You shall stay in this afternoon for +this unlady-like and disobedient conduct. Ursula, those flowers must be +given up!" + +[Illustration: MEG PULLS THE FORBIDDEN FLOWERS.--Page 94.] + +Meg went indoors without a murmur, and zealously devoted herself to the +task set her as expiation of her offense. She took pleasure in its +difficulty. She was glad the day was so beautiful, that the room was +full of sunshine, and the wandering puffs of wind brought in messages +from the odorous sweetness of the day. She was proud of being punished +for Ursula's sake. It seemed to put her on a more equal footing, as if +repaying her for past kindness. + +Another incident that followed shortly after the wall-climbing episode +proved that Meg's sense of loyalty survived amid the withering influence +of loveless criticisms around her. + +Miss Gwendoline Lister, because of her beauty, was a personality in the +school. She suffered the penalties of celebrity. Stories were current +concerning her. One averred that she had been found dissolved in tears +on the discovery of a freckle upon her nose. Another rumor was current +that the Beauty spent the afternoon of wet half-holidays locked up in +the room she and Miss Pinkett shared in common arranging and dressing +her hair in various fashions, enhancing her charms with rouge and +powder, and trying on her ball dress. + +Perhaps this report arose from the fact of a rouge pot having been found +in the school. Some averred it was the property of Miss Lister, others +declared its contents had been used by the young ladies who had taken +part in a theatrical entertainment given on the occasion of breaking up +for the holidays. + +Meg, in her isolation, took no interest in the "rouge pot controversy." +One afternoon, to her surprise, she was beckoned by Miss Pinkett into +the room shared by her and Gwendoline. + +The Beauty was standing near the dressing-table, a radiant vision +clothed in white, with hair unbound, wreathed with roses, and with roses +in the bodice of her dress. + +For a moment Meg remained struck dumb with admiration, then came a +sudden revolution. In her wide experience of life in the boarding-house +she had known an obscure member of the theatrical profession. This +little slip of the foot lights, who spent her life in alternate squalor +and fairy-like splendor, had on one or two occasions dressed herself up +for Meg's benefit. The child had grown to know cheeks bedabbled with +paint and eyes outlined with bismuth. The face of Miss Lister brought +back this acquaintance of bygone times. + +"Well, what do I look like?" said Gwendoline, with her head cocked on +one side and her finger-tips caressing the roses in her bodice. "You +know, little monkey, you are not to tell." + +Miss Pinkett watched the effect on Meg with cold curiosity. + +"You look much prettier as you are every day," said Meg. + +"Do I look like your mother?" + +"My mother!" repeated the child, and she began to tremble. + +"I copied the portrait you drew, roses and all," said the Beauty. + +"My mother never painted her cheeks; she never put black under her eyes. +You are like a Christy minstrel painted pink and white--that's what you +are like!" said Meg, with the concentration of fury in her voice. She +turned, unlocked the door, and slammed it behind her. + +As she emerged out of the room the dressing bell for tea rang, and she +encountered a group of girls waiting outside. They cried breathlessly: + +"What are they doing inside?" + +"Is not Gwendoline dressing up? Does she rouge her cheeks?" + +"I saw a bit of a white dress." + +"I did--I did! Tell us, Meg--Meg!" + +But Meg did not answer. She tore along the passage and up the stairs +till she came to a solitary attic. She flung herself down on the floor +and hammered the insensate boards with her fists. In her untamed heart +she would have wished to wipe the insult from her mother's memory by +thus maltreating the painted cheeks of Miss Lister. + +When the tea bell rang Meg went downstairs. + +"Where are Miss Pinkett and Miss Lister?" asked Miss Reeves, after she +had said grace, glancing down the table. + +"They have not come down yet from their room, madam," said the attending +parlor-maid. + +"Miss Lister is dressing up. Miss Beecham was there--she knows," said +Laura Harris, who might be relied upon for giving information on the +doings of the other girls. + +"Miss Beecham knows!" repeated some other voices. + +"Miss Lister puts paint on her cheeks," resumed Laura, growing more +explicit. + +"I hope not!" said Miss Reeves, with an anxious brow, and her eye rested +upon Meg. + +"I heard it said before by Miss Reeves' young laidees," put in Signora +Vallaria, rolling her dark eyes. "Tell, my leetle Meg, what they were +doing, the silly young laidees, when they call you in?" + +At this moment Miss Pinkett and Gwendoline entered. The Beauty's face +was shining with soap. + +"What were you doing in your room, young ladies?" asked Miss Reeves +gravely. + +"I suppose, madam, Miss Beecham has been telling," replied Miss Pinkett. + +"No, we are waiting for her answer to the question I have just put to +you." + +Meg was conscious of every eye being turned upon her--Miss Reeves +sternly questioning, Miss Pinkett coldly supercilious, Gwendoline, with +pursed lips, imploring. She stood up, her little red lips closed +tightly, her heart fiercely divided between a desire for vengeance and a +sense of loyalty. After a pause she said: + +"They called me into the room to make fun of a portrait of my mother +which I had drawn." + +A murmur of comical disappointment from the girls round the table, an +expression of relief on the faces of the two culprits, greeted this +answer. + +"It was such an absurd portrait, madam," said Miss Pinkett in an +explanatory tone; "a lady suffering from the mumps wearing a wreath of +roses." + +A titter went round the table. + +"Hush!" said Miss Reeves seriously. "It is unkind to laugh at the child. +Sit down, young ladies." + +"It was awfully good of you, Meg, not to tell about me," said Gwendoline +that evening, when she got Meg alone. "I am awfully obliged. I am sorry +I offended you. Will you forgive me?" + +"No!" said Meg emphatically, turning her back upon the Beauty and +walking stiffly away. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE SCHOOL ANNUAL. + + +Ursula had founded the "Moorhouse Annual." The volume appeared every +year just before the midsummer holidays. It consisted of poems and +stories by the young ladies, copied in Miss Clara Maxton's beautiful +copperplate writing, and edited by Ursula. + +Ursula was editress, illustrator, and chief contributor. The history of +the courtship, squabbles, friendships, and adventures of Mr. Gander and +Miss Chilblane, chiefly related in pen-and-ink drawings, with +commentaries appended beneath, by Ursula, was a leading feature of the +periodical. + +The would-be contributors to the annual usually assembled some Saturday +afternoon in May, to read aloud their MSS. and submit them to the +editorial judgment. + +The important Saturday had arrived, and Ursula and her staff were +assembled, with Miss Reeves' permission, in the smaller schoolroom. +Ursula sat at the head of the table in an impressive armchair; the +spectacles astride her _retroussé_ nose seemed critically brilliant. + +Meg slunk in, and sat at the window within earshot. + +Gwendoline had asked her on entering, MS. in hand, if she was going to +read a story. "I am sure you could write a most bewitching story about +that beautiful lady," the Beauty had averred. + +"No, no, no!" said Meg, retreating into the veranda. + +She had crept back in time to hear Laura Harris read her tale. It +appeared to be the history of a confectioner, who owned a famous +west-end shop, which was in vogue with the fashionable and wealthy. +Ladies sat there and feasted. The description of its charms had +apparently such an overwhelming attraction for the authoress that she +could not prevail on her pen to quit it and pass on with her story. +There was a gigantic wedding-cake, with a sugar-almond top, fully a yard +high. The cream puffs, the jam tarts, the ices, the chocolates, the +sweets were piled on with profusion. + +The conclusion of this story was not arrived at. + +Ursula rapped the table with her paper-knife. + +"Story declined with thanks," she said briefly. + +"Why?" asked Laura indignantly. + +"Because, notwithstanding the delicious cakes, we consider it in bad +taste," replied Ursula, using the editorial "we" with fine effect. + +"Miss Grant, have you a story to submit to us for the forthcoming +annual?" + +Miss Grant had made a hit the year before by her story of "The Ghostly +Postman," who knocked in the ordinary way, and sent summons of death by +the letter box. + +An audible shiver ran through the audience as she now unrolled her MS., +and in a deep voice read the title--"The Midnight Yell." + +The story told of a beautiful country house, on a moor, in which there +was a haunted chamber. Whoever entered that room at night never came out +alive. At midnight a yell would ring through the mansion--unearthly, +blood curdling. When the chamber was broken into the guest was always +found dead, with arms outstretched and eyes starting out of their +sockets. Who uttered that midnight yell?--was it the living or the dead? +The visitor or the ghost? None could tell. Some said it was an old hag +who haunted the chamber, some said it was a beautiful white lady; but it +was generally reported to be a murdered queen. + +A sigh greeted this story. + +"Accepted," said Ursula, in a business-like tone. + +"Will it be illustrated?" inquired the authoress anxiously. + +"Yes; probably with a spectral donkey braying," said Ursula. + +"Oh, no, I cannot allow that!" said the authoress. + +"We decline to hold communications about the MSS., refused or accepted," +replied Ursula, bringing her paper-knife sharply down upon the table. + +"Miss Lister's story," she demanded. + +"It is entitled," said Gwendoline in a falsetto voice, "'The Lover's +Grave.'" The Beauty proceeded to read how a gypsy with weird, mystic, +somber eyes, and serpent-like, coiling, blue-black hair, had scanned the +shell-like palm of a lovely Venetian maiden with golden tresses, and +warned her with strange fatal mutterings that to her love and death +would come hand in hand. Careless of the muttered prophecy, the Venetian +damsel with hair like bullion, and clad in a rich violet velvet gown, +and with a necklace of pearls clasped about her lily-white throat, set +off every morning in her gondola to look for the gallant whom she could +love. One day the predicted lover came in another gondola; he was +beautiful as Apollo. His mustache was long and silky, his eyes liquid +and violet; he had an air of combined tenderness and strength. The +gondolas drifted toward each other, impelled by fate. The lady rose +impulsively; so did the gentleman. They endeavored to embrace. As they +did so, both fell into the water. For awhile they floated on the +blue-green flood, smiling seraphically at each other, then they subsided +gracefully, and were drowned, and ever after that spot was called "The +Lovers' Grave." + +"It will make a pretty picture," said Ursula. "I can see the two +drowning with that set seraphic smile, as if they liked it." + +"Yes," said Gwendoline, who never saw a joke, "it will make a lovely +picture." + +"I have written a poem," said Miss Blanche Hathers modestly, taking out +a roll of paper tied with bows of pink satin ribbon. + +A hum of approbation greeted this announcement. + +"Go on," said Ursula, with the freezing brevity of the editor. + +"The poem is called 'A Lament,' perhaps it might be more appropriately +called 'A Deserted Maiden's Prayer.'" + +Ursula nodded. Miss Hathers began effectively: + + "Oh! star of even + My heart is riven, + Come thou down and shine + In these eyes of mine; + 'Twill draw him back." + +Ursula, forgetting editorial dignity, completed the couplet, amid +giggles and laughter: + + "And his cheek I'll smack." + +The discomfited poetess folded up her effusion. The next line was: + + "On dreamy track," + +and it was only the first verse. + + "'Twill draw him back, + On dreamy track." + +she repeated in an injured voice. + +"Never mind on what track--we must shunt him," said Ursula with +decision. "Any more MSS.?" she inquired, scanning the assembled +contributors. + +There came a rustle of many pages. + +Miss Margaret Smith submitted the story of "The First Ball-dress," which +had a high moral; it was accepted, and was voted lovely. Miss Sarah +Robbins contributed "The Vampire Schoolmistress," an awful tale of a +teacher, whose pupils all died mysteriously--"sucked like oranges," +Ursula suggested. One young lady gave an account of her trip to Paris, +which contained vivid descriptions of bonnets and capes, and some +obscure allusions to the galleries. + +"My story is entitled 'The Noble Heiress,'" said Miss Pinkett. In a +lisping, fine voice the young lady read the story of a wealthy damsel, +who lived in a beautiful house, exquisitely furnished. + +As Portia was at Belmont, so was this heiress sought in marriage by many +suitors. It was said that besides her wealth she possessed +"love-powders;" for all who saw her loved her. But she was as sensible +as she was rich and beautiful, and she kept her heart in check. It was +only when the eldest son of a marquis came forward to woo her that she +allowed herself to love. Wealth and nobility, the sensible heiress felt, +was the true marriage sung of by poets from all ages. The wedding +presents were numerous--the author was lavish in descriptions of the +diamonds, the rubies, the emeralds. The wedding-dress was a charming +costume, which Miss Pinkett described with much fervor. + +Meg, who had sat still all the time with her chin in her hands, like a +surly little exile from the circle, looked as if the foolish tales +irritated her. Suddenly, in a clear, abrupt voice she said: + +"Shall I tell you my story?" + +"Your story?" echoed the girls, amazed. + +"Yes," said Ursula. + +"Do!" exclaimed Gwendoline. + +"It is the story of a toad," said Meg. + +"Of a toad!" repeated Gwendoline in dismay. + +"There was once upon a time a toad," Meg began, breathing +heavily--taking no notice of the interruption. + +"It was ugly, lonely, and always in danger of being kicked and crushed; +but it had splendid eyes, like jewels. At night it liked to crawl out +and look up at the beautiful stars. Every one who saw it," Meg went on +with more concentration, "looked at it with disgust. The toad used to +make its way to the edge of the still water and look at itself, and +think 'how they hate me.' It envied the frogs which croaked and could +jump, while it could only crawl. + +"Down in the water below the ground lived the great mother of all the +toads, and this little toad went down to find her, for it wished to ask +her why it had ever been born? The mother of all the toads was immensely +large. She had bigger and more beautiful eyes than any other toad. They +were like soft precious stones, and round each eye was a circle of +light like a ring of gold. The little toad sat before her and said: + +"'Why have I been born? Why should I be crushed and beaten, and looked +at with disgust? Why do the children put out their little red lips at +me? They hate and fear me. Sometimes when they see me they step back and +go headlong into the water. I have not even power to punish them.' + +"And the mother of all the toads did not answer, she only blinked. She +showed no sympathy at all, and never looked at the little toad. + +"Once the toad thought it would do a kind thing. It lived near a garden, +and in it there was a child who had a pet flower, and when the child +went away the toad took care of the flower, brought water to it, +scratched the earth, and took all the insects away. + +"When the child returned the flower was more beautiful than before. But +when it saw the toad, it stamped its little foot, crying 'Kill it! kill +it!' and the gardener gave the poor toad a kick with his nailed boot on +its tender side, and threw it, almost killed, into the water. So the +little toad said 'I will never like anybody again, and I will never do a +kind thing.' + +"Its heart grew wicked." Meg put emphasis on this last word. "It had +teeth to bite, it croaked its ugliest, and it had just one longing to +see something uglier than itself. One day it saw this thing. It was a +pug dog--petted, and fed, and caressed, and wearing a gold collar round +its neck. The toad was glad there was something uglier than itself; it +frightened the pug dog, and was comforted. + +"One day as the little toad was crawling along it heard steps. 'I shall +be killed it said,' and it tried to hurry away. But the steps came +nearer and nearer. Suddenly the toad felt itself taken up gently, and it +saw bending over it the face of a young man, and it was a kind face; and +the young man put the little toad down in a sheltered spot, saying +'Remain there, out of harm's way, till I come back.' He went away." Here +Meg's voice faltered. + +"He did not know that there were dreadful thorns in that spot; but the +little toad tried for the sake of that friend not to mind. It remained +there, and it was always listening for the young man's steps coming +back. That is all," said Meg in abrupt conclusion. + +There was a silence. + +Then Miss Pinkett said: "What a shocking story!" + +"Shocking!" circled round the table. + +"Were you the little toad?" asked Laura Harris. + +"Yes!" said Meg curtly. + +"I like that story," said Ursula, "and I shall draw such a toad." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +DRIFTING AWAY. + + +It was the eve of the midsummer holidays; the examinations were over. +Miss Pinkett had come out victorious in music and geography, Ursula in +drawing and artistic needlework. The Beauty had proved to be nowhere in +the competition. Meg had taken no prize, but she had been encouraged by +kind reports from Signora Vallaria and Mr. Eyre. She had worked +incessantly, and some of the teachers had recognized her zeal. + +The tension of the past few weeks was relaxed, and Miss Reeves was +giving the picnic that she usually organized for her pupils, in the +Surrey woods, watered by a branch of the Thames. It was a perfect summer +day, broadly golden, benignly calm. + +The repast under the trees was over; the girls, tired of their games, +sat about in groups discussing plans for the holidays. Meg sat apart. In +the midst of the surrounding gayety the loneliness of her heart +deepened. She was enduring the tantalizing pangs of picturing the happy +hours from which she was excluded. + +She heard of the dear little children who would come to the station to +welcome these home-comers; of the lawn-tennis parties, the rides, the +picnics which awaited them. One girl was going home for the wedding of +her sister; another was promised a pony to ride out with her brother +George. There were vivid descriptions going on all around her of the +charms of holidays. Oh, the delights of not hearing the school-bell of a +morning--of awaking at the appointed hour, and being able to turn round +cosily for another sleep! All were going home; even the teachers looked +forward to meeting relatives and friends. She alone was remaining--she +alone of all the school had no home to go to. She rose and wandered +away. Her desolate little heart could bear it no more: a bitter sense +was growing there that no one cared for her--that if Mr. Standish cared +for her he would have written. + +Meg walked away, not minding where she went, willing only to be out of +earshot of that joyous talk. She presently found herself by the river's +bank; and there, moored among the reeds, was the longboat hired for the +occasion, in which the girls had rowed each other in parties all the +morning. + +Ursula had pressed her to join the group of which she was a member, but +Meg had refused. It had seemed to the child enough to lie among the +ferns, inhaling the delicate, pungent perfumes, feeling the breath of +the summer day on her cheek, surrendering herself to the strength and +calm of nature's influence. + +Meg now stepped into the boat and sat down. It was like being in a +cradle, she thought, as the water softly rocked the craft. No one was +near. Presently she perceived that the boat was sliding off--softly, +softly the shore was receding; the banks and the long reeds were falling +back. + +Meg watched immobile. Bundles of oars lay at the bottom of the boat; +which was also strewn with bunches of meadow-sweet, elder-blossoms, +forget-me-nots, and other riverside trophies which the girls had plucked +on their travels. Meg sat upright like a startled rabbit, wondering when +the boat would stop. She wished that it would never stop--that it would +carry her away, away, she knew not whither! She had heard the girls +speak of the "weir." What was that? Was it some weird spot?--a strange +island, perhaps, inhabited by some of the water-fowl of which she had +read? + +Then she perceived that the boat had swung itself round; it was drifting +down with the current. The river was narrow, and there was not another +boat within sight. Without oars, without sails, without guidance, the +little craft was making its way, keeping right in the middle of the +stream. For a moment Meg could not believe; then joy seized her--she was +off on her travels! + +Past pale-green willows that hung their branches down into the water, +filling it with a twilight of green, sprinkling its surface with leaves +as with a goblin fleet; past sunny, silent stretches of woodland and +meadows where cows grazed and looked at her with horny heads sharply +outlined against the light; past banks full of flowers went Meg. The sun +shone for her, the breeze stirred for her, the trees seemed to look at +her. She felt like a little river-queen. + +As she drifted along, the misery and loneliness at her heart dropped, +like the leaves the breeze had shaken from the willows. She, the +despised Meg, was free; all nature was her playfellow. From the banks +the cuckoo cried like a friendly presence playing at "hide-and-seek" +with her. A kingfisher, with a breast like a jewel fashioned in the sky, +skimmed past her where the solitude was shadiest. From the forked +branches of a willow a water hen, sitting on its nest, peered at her +with trustful eyes; a water rat from under the leaf of a water lily +eyed her with pleasant sympathy, as if he understood the pleasures of a +skiff on a summer day. The fishes leaped and made rippled circles around +her. + +After awhile the river broadened. She passed boathouses that appeared to +stand in the water, their roofs bright with flowers; she drifted along a +bank where children were playing. They left their games to watch her. +They pointed at her, and Meg lifted herself up that she might be better +seen, feeling more than ever like a little river queen. She, the wild, +despised Meg, was envied and admired! + +Once more the river grew lonely. Presently she thought she heard a +distant, drowsy sound; it grew louder; the boat seemed to glide along +more quickly. After awhile the sound became a roar, and the boat skimmed +along as if it were flying; still the water remained smooth as glass. +She fancied she heard voices shouting, but the roar of the water filled +her ears till it became a boom. She sat up straight and rigid, and as +she flashed past she saw with dreadful clearness the word "Danger" +written up in great letters on a post by the riverside. For the first +time Meg's heart began to beat. She heard shouts; she turned her head, +and again she saw with terrible distinctness the word "Danger" written +above the place the boat was making for. The water-line ended there, +and she understood the booming was the roar of the river rushing down to +a lower level. Her boat would upset and she must drown! Meg shut her +eyes. Mr. Standish, the old boarding-house, seemed to rise before her as +she speeded along. + +Suddenly the boat jerked, struggling like a living creature arrested in +full flight. + +"Don't move!" shouted a voice; and Meg, quiet as an image, felt the +struggling boat slowly turned round; a head showed above the water; a +muscular arm, bare to the elbow, a figure clad in white flannels, +swimming low and strong, were beside her. + +It had been accomplished in one moment's time. The boat was being now +pushed in the direction of a bank, on which stood a watching group of +young men, clad, like her rescuer, in white flannels and loose, +bright-colored jackets. One of these got into the water, and catching +the prow of the boat, pulled it in with one vigorous sweep. The keel +grazed the bottom of the river; the young men lifted Meg and set her on +shore. + +"Well, if ever a little girl escaped drowning you have!" said her +rescuer, giving himself a shake. + +Meg was silent as she realized that she had been saved from drowning in +the whirl and foam of roaring water. The young men looked at her with +kind, smiling glances--she was surrounded with laughing eyes and +gleaming teeth. They plied her with questions of "Who was she?" "What +was her name?" "Where did she come from?" "Had she been frightened?" + +She explained how she had got into the boat and she had drifted away. +No, she had not been frightened--only when she saw the word "Danger" she +had begun to be afraid. + +Her rescuers voted that she was a heroine. + +The young men moved away a few steps and held a consultation; one, who +had an eyeglass stuck in his eye and a pipe in his mouth, came forward. + +"Get into the boat, Meg, and we will all row you back. You will point +out the place you came from when we approach it." + +He handed Meg in, and the young fellows vied with each other to pay her +attention. One put a cushion at her back, another a plank to her feet. +"Meg," they vowed, "must be rowed back in triumph." + +They stepped into the boat, four took oars. Another sat behind Meg, +ropes in hand. Presently they lit their pipes. Meg sat back in state. +How kind they were! They were not cross, as girls mostly were; they did +not mock or tease her; they did not say a word of what some of the +girls called chaff. She watched with amazement all their pipes going +puff, puff, puff. She liked them because they did not talk much. They +reminded her of Mr. Standish. When their eyes caught hers they gave her +a smile. How strong they were! She watched their muscular arms and hands +sweeping the water with their oars, the rhythmic movement of their +swaying bodies. + +No Greek maiden delivered from peril by a group of demi-gods ever felt +more lost in dreamy wonder and gratitude than did Meg, rowed up the +river by her rescuers. Her eyes rested oftenest on the one who had saved +her--he seemed to her the most magnificent member of this gallant crew. +He had laughing, twinkling eyes, thick, short, curly hair, silky +mustache no bigger than an eyebrow. It occurred to her that she had not +thanked him for saving her life. She turned over in her mind what was +the proper thing to say. She tried to recollect what persons in +story-books said to the saviours of their lives, but she could not +remember; she pondered, but the words of gratitude would not come. At +last she exclaimed abruptly: + +"You saved my life--and--and--I am very much obliged to you." + +A peal of laughter taken up by all the group greeted this speech. The +laughter was so jovial and good-natured that Meg felt at her ease. It +seemed to say: "What nonsense! Don't thank me. It was nothing." + +Then they began to question her again: "Was she afraid of meeting her +schoolmistress? Would she be scolded?" + +Meg admitted the possibility of being scolded. Her rescuers vowed that +they would plead for her. They would extract a promise from the +schoolmistress not to punish her. Meg must not be scolded; Meg must be +welcomed home like the prodigal returning. + +"There!" exclaimed Meg dejectedly, pointing to a group of girls and +teachers looking up and down the river. She enjoyed the amazement of the +spectators as from the bank they watched her triumphant return. With a +sweep of the oars the boat came alongside the shore. Miss Reeves stepped +forward. + +"You must have been frightened, madam, at this young lady's +disappearance," said Meg's rescuer, jumping on shore. + +Meg allowed herself to be helped out like a princess by the oarsmen. + +"We had not long missed the child," replied Miss Reeves. "We were +startled when we discovered that the boat was gone. She ought not to +have gone alone--it was very thoughtless." + +"The boat drifted away with her--it nearly carried her down the weir," +said the spokesman. "She was very courageous." + +Meg felt herself pleaded for, and listened, motionless. + +"You saved her life?" said Miss Reeves. + +"I was able, by swimming out in time, to turn the boat's head," replied +the young man lightly. "She behaved with great pluck." + +"I am most grateful, and I shall acquaint her guardians," said Miss +Reeves. + +"No, no--pray don't!" replied the young man; and his comrades echoed his +words. "Only," he added with a merry twinkle, "do not let Miss Meg be +scolded! She is so spirited, so courageous--she ought to have a medal +for steadiness of nerves." + +Miss Reeves hesitated, then she said smiling: "She will not be scolded." + +The announcement was received with approbation, the young men shook +hands with Meg, and lifting their white caps to Miss Reeves and the +schoolgirls, turned away. + +Meg watched their figures retreating through the trees; and when they +vanished she felt the loneliness creep over her again. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +REBELLION. + + +The second week of the holidays had come. For close upon a fortnight Meg +had been alone with Miss Grantley. The self-centered chilliness of the +English teacher deepened the solitary child's sense of isolation. Miss +Grantley affected her like the embodied quintessence of censure upon all +her moods and actions. + +This lady always made Meg feel in the wrong. An increased brusqueness of +gesture, a more rigid set of the defiant lips, expressed the protest of +the wild little soul. + +During the first week of her holidays she had a companion in her +solitude. It was a battered doll, with rough hair and faded cheeks. It +looked deserted. Rosamund Seely, a kind-hearted child, as a parting +gift, had offered it to Meg on receiving the present of a beautiful new +doll. "Poor Meg, you are going to be left alone. There's a dollie for +you," the child had said, in transferring the belated toy; and Meg's +desolate soul had been touched by the words. + +For a week she had loyally carried the plaything about with her; she had +perched it on a branch of the yew tree when she sat on her leafy throne; +she had got to feel so lonely that she sometimes talked to it, and felt +toward it as toward a companion, bidding her answer when she spoke. +After awhile that constant comrade, sitting opposite to her with its +grimy cheeks, its faded and ragged finery, became in its look of +abandonment an emblem to Meg of herself. She grew to hate the sight of +the doll; but still she would not part with it for the sake of the +donor, and she thrust it in a corner of the shelf assigned to her in the +dormitory. + +The loneliness chilled the marrow of the child's life. The object ever +in view, the repellent attitude toward her comrades, the consciousness +that her replies were waited for and sometimes admired, had kept up +Meg's spirit. It flagged in the length, the languor, the emptiness of +those July days. There was nothing to be done but to sit up in the tree, +to read, to think, and remember. As the hare seeks its form, so Meg's +thoughts returned to the home where she had spent her childhood. She was +always seeing that place on the stairs from which she had watched the +coming and going of her only friend during those neglected years. Why +did he not write to her? Why? Her lonely heart asked itself this +question with insistence. He had promised to write to her, he was true, +he never told a falsehood. Why did he not write? Then the conviction was +borne in upon her that a letter was waiting for her at Mrs. Browne's +house. Mr. Standish thought the landlady would forward it, but perhaps +the stern white-haired gentleman, who told her she must forget her +childhood and every one she had then met, would withhold her address +from Mrs. Browne. The conviction haunted Meg. If she could but get to +London she would make her way to Mrs. Browne and get that letter. Meg +would lie awake, thinking of this, "If she could but get to London." The +contemplation was still vague in her mind. It wanted something to +condense it into a resolution, and that something came. + +One late afternoon Meg sat at tea with Miss Grantley. She was always +awkward under this lady's censorious glance. Stretching her hand for the +bread and butter she upset her cup of milk on the teacher's dress. Miss +Grantley had on her best mauve silk. She was going out to supper with a +friend. As she wiped the stain from her draperies she looked icily at +Meg. + +"Your manners are deplorable, Miss Beecham. I do not wonder that your +companions shun you. It must be most painful for young ladies to be +associated with one who so richly deserves her nickname of the +'savage.'" + +"I am not a savage," said Meg shortly. + +"Do not answer me. Your untamed nature, which neither religion nor +culture has softened, does not possess the very rudiments of civilized +society. You shame this establishment. I had meant to take you out this +evening." + +"I would not have gone," retorted Meg, her eyes brilliant with +indignation. + +"Impudent little thing! Don't venture to talk to me like that!" and +forgetting herself, Miss Grantley rose and gave a slap with the back of +her hand on Meg's ear. + +A fit of fury seized the child. She was once more the old wild Meg. She +rushed into the garden, running blindly she knew not whither. A couple +of slugs were crawling across her path. With an impulse of revenge she +picked them up, and hurrying to Miss Grantley's room, hid them in the +bonnet that lay on the bed ready to be put on. + +From the dormitory Meg listened. She heard Miss Grantley go in, and when +two short shrieks reached her ear she shook with impish laughter The +next moment Miss Grantley appeared on the threshold. + +"I know you did this," she said. + +"I did," replied Meg. + +"You might have given me my death. I might have had a fit. Miss Reeves +comes home to-morrow, and the first thing I will do on her return is to +report you to her. Meanwhile, you shall not leave this room." + +Miss Grantley left, and Meg heard the key turn in the lock. + +She was locked in. + +A rush of passion swept over Meg as she realized that she was a captive. +For a moment she stood stock still, thinking of all the terrible things +Miss Grantley had said, realizing the bankruptcy of her little peace. +She saw herself brought up solemnly before Miss Reeves, who appeared to +her to live against a kind of ethereal background. A touch of fear +chilled her courageous spirit. The silence of the school, the empty +dormitory, deepened the impression of reprobation cast upon her. She +felt herself disowned by a law-abiding community. Suddenly an idea came +which held her breath in suspense--she would run away! She would go to +London. There was a finger post on the highroad they sometimes passed in +their walk which pointed to London. She would get out and follow that +road, and make her way to Mrs. Browne. The immensity of the resolve +overcame Meg for a moment. She walked restlessly up and down the room. +Then, with shaking hands, she began to pack up her treasures. A spasm of +excitement held her lips rigid as she set about collecting what she +would take with her. + +Goldsmith's "Animated Nature," the "Stories from the History of +England," and "Cinderella," would go into one parcel with the little +writing-case. She had still the brown paper and the bit of cord that had +held them at her coming. The silver pencil-case and the roll of articles +she resolved to carry inside the bodice of her dress. The single +threepenny-piece with a hole through it which she possessed, a present +from Mrs. Browne, she put into her pocket to serve in case of +emergencies. + +She would take nothing more with her. + +As Meg was tying up her books she caught sight of the doll, with its +demoralized, abandoned air, seeming to be watching her. With a movement +of sudden, unaccountable anger she took it up and threw it to the +furthest corner of the room. + +Her preparations made, Meg began to turn over in her mind means of +escape. She set about calculating the chances like a little general. +She looked out of the window. The door being locked, this was her +single means of exit. The porch stood right under the center dormitory +window, the wall stretched sheer and blank between. + +Meg was gazing down with neck craned to discover if the wall contained +any chinks or irregularities that might serve as stepping-stones, when +the door opened, and Rachel the housemaid entered, bringing Meg's supper +on a tray. + +Meg perceived that besides a liberal amount of bread and butter there +was a large slice of currant cake. + +Rachel was a conscientious and sullen young woman, who executed orders +and delivered messages with the exactitude of a sundial and the +surliness of a bulldog. She laid the tray sternly down. + +"Cook sends her duty, miss, and this bit of cake which she made for the +kitchen. She hopes you'll accept it." + +"Thank cook kindly, and say I am much obliged," replied Meg with +alacrity, recognizing the value of this contribution to her +commissariat. The offering appeared to her in the light of a good omen. + +Rachel received Meg's thanks in gruff silence, and departed, +deliberately locking the door behind her. + +Meg drank the tumbler of milk, but abstained from touching the +provisions. She took a page of newspaper lining one of the drawers and +carefully packed the cake and bread and butter, fastening this smaller +parcel to the larger one of books. + +Then again she returned to her meditations and calculations as to her +mode of escape. If she had but a stout rope with which to swing herself +down! + +Then suddenly she remembered stories of hairbreadth escapes from fires, +recounted to her by Mr. Standish, effected by the aid of a ladder made +of sheets and blankets knotted together. + +The materials were at hand with which to attain her freedom. Meg's mind +was made up. As soon as she was safe from interruption: when Miss +Grantley had returned and the household had retired to rest, she would +begin making a ladder of sheets. + +She determined not to go to bed, but to sit up till daybreak, and at the +first streak of dawn scale the wall and escape. + +Then she remembered that it would be probable that Miss Grantley would +conform to the habit of the school, and make her round over the various +rooms. At this thought Meg swiftly set about obliterating every trace of +disorder from the dormitory. She stowed her parcel out of sight, and +drew the curtains, and began to undress. + +She was not yet in bed when she heard steps coming up the garden path +and voices bidding each other good-night. + +A few moments later the key of her door was turned, a step entered, and +Meg heard the rustle of a silk dress. Miss Grantley was making her +rounds. Meg appeared to be profoundly asleep; she was conscious of +candle-light directed upon her face, but her eyelids did not quiver. + +Miss Grantley stole out of the dormitory. Meg listened for the click of +the key turned again upon her, but this time Miss Grantley contented +herself with closing the door. + +Meg could not believe her ears. She got out of bed, and by the moonlight +she examined the lock. No, the second bolt was not drawn; the key was +not turned. There was no necessity to make a ladder of bedclothes, no +need to have recourse to this perilous mode of escape. This difficulty +removed seemed like another good omen, an assurance of success to Meg. + +She felt as if some guardian angel child were directing her project. + +Before returning to bed, and when by the perfect silence she judged that +all the household was asleep, she softly drew back the curtains from +the windows. Then she lay down, determined to keep awake. + +She would not go to sleep; she struggled to keep slumber at bay. She sat +up when she felt drowsiness overtake her; unconsciously she slipped off +into a doze. She had a dream, rather the sketch of a dream. She had a +glimpse of a road--she was walking. She started up frightened, got out +of bed, rubbed her eyes, plunged her face into water; she was wide awake +now. Then she lay down again; unaware she dropped asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +AWAY. + + +The day had shot a golden arrow across the uncurtained window of the +dormitory when Meg awoke. The sense of something to be done confusedly +urged itself upon her mind, and she jumped out of bed. In a flash she +remembered everything, and with trembling trepidation she asked herself +was she late? Were the servants stirring? The profound silence in the +house reassured her. Outside she saw the sky saffron and rose behind the +trees, and she heard the birds singing their matins. Meg began to dress +rapidly. She was careful in her speed. She was going on a long journey +on foot, and she must not look like a little tramp. + +Having completed her toilette she took up her parcel and softly opened +the door. Her nerves were tense with excitement, and a restrained +trembling shook her from head to foot. How still it was! She had a +strange fancy; the silence seemed as though some unseen presence was +there listening and watching. The shutters were closed everywhere; only +a gleam of light flickered through the skylight on the lobby. If she +stumbled she would wake some of the inmates; she kept thinking as she +stole down. Once she nearly lost her footing. She fancied she had come +to the last step of a flight of stairs when two or three still remained +to descend. Had she not caught herself up in time she would have fallen, +and, weighted as she was, the clatter would have been heard through the +house. + +As she crossed the hall she knocked up against something which fell with +a muffled sound, that in the gulf of silence came like a boom. Meg +listened. She heard the furtive clicking of a door above. She waited +motionless. It was succeeded by no sound of footsteps, and she concluded +it was the creaking of an unclosed door. Then she resumed her progress. +She groped her way down to the kitchen--she knew there was no +possibility of letting herself out by the hall door--it was dark there, +and she knocked her foot against a chair and hurt herself. But she did +not mind the pain. All her capabilities of feeling were strained in +listening. Had she been heard? The silence still lay like a spell over +the house. She shut the door that isolated the downstairs premises and +she felt safer. + +All depended still upon the caution of her movements, as she turned the +key and unbarred the bolts of the door of the servants' exit. With +determined quiet the deft brown hands proceeded upon their task when +another danger met Meg. Pilot began to bark outside. His kennel was +close to the kitchen door, and the furtive sounds had caught his ear and +roused his suspicions. Every bark grew louder, and he growled savagely. +Meg controlled the trembling that seized her, and the next movement +opened the door and encountered the dog. Pilot was reputed dangerous by +the schoolgirls, but Meg had no fear. In her isolation she had made +friends with the mastiff. At sight of the little figure with hand +uplifted to enjoin silence, Pilot paused in the spring he was crouching +to make, and stopped barking. + +"Hush, Pilot," whispered Meg in a concentrated voice; "don't bark, not +on any account, Pilot! I am running away because I am miserable. +Good-by, old Pilot!" + +Pilot looked at Meg with questioning eyes, debating the reasonableness +of her speech. He apparently hesitated to commend the step she was +taking, for he did not return her greeting with any demonstration, but +remained with head erect and pricked ears surveying her, and let her go +in silence. + +Meg went round to the kitchen-garden. She had decided to escape that +way. The wall was covered with a trellis-work on which fruit was +trained. Meg threw her parcel lightly over and began to clamber. She +heard the unripe plums fall as she climbed with a sure-footedness that +was one of her claims to the title of "savage" bestowed upon her by her +schoolmates. With the agility of a squirrel she swung herself over and +dropped among the nettles that grew at the base of the wall. + +She sprang to her feet, picked up her parcel, conscious of one dominant +emotion only--she was out of Moorhouse; she was free! Like a bird +winging its way to more genial climes Meg dashed forward. + +Across two fields at the back of the house, the bright road lay before +her; her escape was made. Not a soul was up, and forgetting that she +should economize her strength she ran gladly along, when suddenly an +object arrested her eyes and riveted her to the spot. There, at the +stile, facing the field, the path through which issued on to the +highroad, stood a figure. The face was turned away, but Meg recognized +that straight back, that dark dress with austere folds, that severe +straw bonnet. It was Miss Grantley. + +Was it some waking nightmare, an illusion of frightened fancy? Meg +remembered the furtive click of the door. Could her escape have been +discovered, and the mistress be lying in wait for her? With desperate +resolve, after a moment, Meg determined to chance it. She would creep +beside the hedge that led round the stile, and once on the other side +she would trust to fortune and to her heels to escape pursuit. She began +softly to move; a spray of woodbine caught her skirt--she disentangled +it with trembling fingers; a puddle barred the way; she prepared to leap +over it, watching that figure with terror. Something in its stillness, +its stiffness, and its bent head frightened her. She thought she would +call out and speak to it. As she hesitated the figure turned round, and +Meg saw, not Miss Grantley, but a stranger whom she had seen at church +and admired for her young and peaceful countenance. The lady was holding +carefully something lying in her hollowed hand. Perceiving Meg she +beckoned. The coil of fear about Meg's heart loosened, and she breathed +again. + +"Look at this poor chick!" said the stranger. "It has dropped from the +nest. See how the mother is hovering round. Poor mother, we will not +hurt your little one. God takes care of the fallen nestlings." + +"Shall I put it back into the nest?" said Meg impulsively, feeling +generous under the impression of that great relief. + +"Can you climb?" said the stranger. + +For answer Meg deposited her parcel and climbed up into the tree, then +stretching out her hand she took the little bird tenderly, and in a +moment she had softly dropped it back into the nest. + +"That was a good action," said the lady, as she came down again, looking +kindly at her. "I thought I was the only one out of doors--it is not yet +five o'clock; but you have taken the conceit out of me. This is holiday +time. Is that the way you take your holidays, by going out to walk at +sunrise?" + +Meg nodded. She was eager to dismiss the stranger; but still the lady +dallied, looking kindly at her. + +"There is a little nosegay; I picked it as I went out. I give it to you. +Good-by!" + +She took some flowers from her belt. + +"Good-by," said Meg, with cordiality. + +The stranger nodded again, and turning round walked away with swift and +even steps. + +Meg loitered a moment watching her, then she clambered over the stile +and was off. + +She sped along until she reached the highroad. She turned Londonward, +not slackening her pace. Not a living soul was within sight or hearing. +She had the road to herself. The sun was behind her. Her shadow +stretched thin and long before her. It looked like her own ghost +gliding in front of her and leading her on. Meg did not look about her, +but she was conscious of a universal shining around her, of jocund +shadows about her feet, of birds twittering, and delicate perfumes +stirring through the breeze that blew so pure and fresh that it seemed +to come from heaven's gate. She ran until she could run no more, then +skirting the fields she walked quickly along. She thought it was another +good omen that the day of her flight should be so brave and gladsome. +Was nature rejoicing with her because she was hurrying to the place +where she would hear news of the only friend she had in the world? + +The hedges sparkled with dew; every bush and brake was hung with sheeny +fragments of hoary silver that turned to gold in the sunlight. For her +every blade of grass and little flower glistened with a limpid coronal. +A thrush sang aloft in a tree; Meg thought it sang for her. After awhile +she met a few laborers, but they took no notice of her. Their eyes were +fixed on the ground. + +As Meg walked along the assurance that a letter was awaiting her grew in +intensity. She had heard that by steady walking London could be reached +in six hours, seven at most. It was not five o'clock when she started. +She would be in London by noon. She saw herself already entering the +big city, asking her way to Queen Street; she would make straight for +number 22 and ring the bell. Perhaps a strange servant would answer it; +perhaps it would be Mrs. Browne herself. What a surprise, what +exclamations, if it were the landlady who answered the door! But she +would not reply to any questions until she had got her letter. "What +letter?" "The letter that came for me with a foreign stamp," she would +answer. "Ah, yes! it had come. How had she known it had come? There it +was;" and she would take it to her attic, and sitting by the window she +would read and read it till she knew every word of it by heart. + +Meg passed a village. The people were astir in the streets, the shops +were open. Everything sparkled in the sunshine and cast a blue shadow. A +baby was crawling on all-fours, its little blue shadow by its side. A +woman in the doorway with bare arms akimbo was chatting to a friend. +Some geese were waddling down, moving spots of incomparable whiteness. A +cart full of hay was standing in the glare of that morning sun. A +red-armed girl was milking a patient cow, and there came the pleasant +sound of the milk as it rushed into the pail. It was half-past eight by +the church clock, the face of which was a blob of brightness. Miss +Grantley and the servants had discovered her flight by this time. +Perhaps they guessed that she was going toward London; perhaps that +strange lady would tell! Meg at this thought left the road for the +fields, and walked on the other side of the hedge. She tried to walk +quicker to avoid pursuit; but all at once she began to feel as if she +could not take another step. She was so tired. She was weak also from +hunger. She must sit down and eat. + +She had entered a meadow bordered at the further end by a stream. She +crossed the grassy stretch, took off her shoes and stockings, and waded +ankle-deep into the water. On the other side a little wood cast its +shade. She would sit and take her pleasant rest there. The touch of the +cool running water was delightful to her burning feet. She knelt on the +opposite bank and bathed her hands and face. Then she sat down under a +tree. It was delicious to rest; it was enough for a moment to feel how +tired she was, to lean back and enjoy the support of that great trunk, +and the shade of those leafy branches. No queen ever sat on a throne +more restful, nor under a more dainty canopy. She took out the bread and +butter--she would not touch the cake yet--and began to eat. She ate +slowly. Her repast was a banquet. It tasted of all the penetrating +sweet perfumes about her; of the honey-laden breeze, of the fruity +sunshine. + +When it was over Meg thought it would be pleasant to lie down and sleep. +Then she rebuked herself. She had no time for sleep, she must get on to +London. She had no time to waste; still she dallied. Nature had spread a +couch of dried aromatic leaves for her, perfumed with sweet small +flowers, guarded by a green barrier of bushes, shaded with a curtain of +leaves. The soothing stillness of nature crooned to her a wordless +lullaby. Meg stretched herself under the tree, drowsiness overcame her. +She thought of the little bird that had fallen from its nest. Was she +like that little bird which had dropped from its home of twigs? But she +said to herself, "I put it back there." + +Meg had a dream. The black slug had grown to an immense size, with its +horns out. Its face seemed to grow like Miss Grantley's. Then it seemed +to her that hostile inimical presences were around her, muttering. She +woke; where was she? Who were around her? Brown eyes gazed down upon her +from every side, warm breathings passed across her face, wide pink +nostrils inquisitively moved up and down. + +A forest of light-tipped horns surrounded her. + +Meg started up. At the sudden movement the creatures jerked backward +and took flight. She heard the clatter of hoofs; then pausing and +huddling together, they turned and looked at her from a distance. Meg +gazed back at them. She laughed; these woodland gossips were +heifers--five heifers. She called to them, but they would not come. When +she got up to approach them they scampered off. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +AN ACQUAINTANCE BY THE WAY. + + +Meg decided that time for luncheon had come. The shadows lay long beside +the trees and marked afternoon. She felt so rested as she blithely ate +the piece of plum-cake saved from last night's supper that it seemed to +her that she could walk all the way. It was a generous slice, and she +threw crumbs for the birds, which flew down from the surrounding wood +and became her guests. + +Meg would have gladly dallied awhile, but time was pressing. She must +get to London to-night. Taking off her shoes and stockings once more she +crossed the stream, pausing a moment to enjoy the sense of the running +water against her bare ankles. Then she determinedly resumed shoes and +stockings, and after bathing her hands and face she turned to go on her +way. + +The road lay through hedges full of sweet-smelling eglantine and wild +rose which stirred with every gust. As Meg trudged along she looked at +the marks in the sand left by the feet which had come and gone across +it that day. They made a confused pattern, through which here and there +a footprint came out distinctly. There was one of a big nailed shoe that +recurred with a sort of plodding regularity, and there was another of a +dainty high-heeled boot that seemed to speed gayly along. There was a +clumsy sprawling mark of a woman's foot that suggested slatternly +shodding, and by its side that of a child's naked foot. Meg wondered if +these were a mother and child, beggars going up to London. Presently +another footmark attracted her attention. It was that of a single nailed +boot, attended by what looked like the mark of one toe resting on the +ground, surmounted by another mark. Together these two prints seemed to +make a sign of admiration in the sand. Meg puzzled over this strange +footmark till she forgot all the others. It fascinated her; preceding +her like a cheery mystery. After a while the trace vanished. Meg watched +for it; but it had gone, and with it the road seemed to her to have lost +some of its interest. Presently she was startled by a "thump, thump" +behind her. She felt a little startled, and she turned round to see who +was coming. It was a lad swinging himself actively along on a high +crutch. He soon overtook Meg, and as he passed he gave her a sidelong +glance and touched his hat. He had a pleasant plain face, and bright +brown eyes. She noticed that as he went along he left on the road that +double mark that had such a quaint resemblance to a point of admiration. + +Meg had returned his salute with a nod, which was not wanting in +cordiality although it was somewhat stiff. This cripple seemed to her an +acquaintance. + +"Nice day, miss!" said the boy. + +Meg nodded again. + +"Going this way, miss?" continued the cripple. + +"Yes," Meg replied, in a tone of embarrassed coolness, which was not, +however, discouraging to conversation. + +"Going far, miss?" + +"Going to London," said Meg. + +The cripple looked at her with evident admiration. + +"Are you going to London?" asked Meg. + +"No," replied the lad, "I'm going part of the way." + +Meg did not like to press the question further, and the resources of +conversation seemed exhausted. + +"You see," said the boy after a pause, "I'm going to earn my livin' and +the livin' of my mither and the little chap." + +Meg looked at her companion with some surprise. + +"I'm agoing to where I can earn thirteen pence a day; there's where I'm +going. What I want is, they may want for nothink off there," and the +boy, with a jerk of his chin, indicated a backward direction. + +Meg felt curious to know how this crippled boy earned a living, but she +did not like to inquire. So she said, with vague encouragement to +further confidence, "You love them very much?" + +"I love 'em," assented the cripple in a guarded tone. After a pause he +continued, with more frankness, "I'm uncommon fond of the little chap. +Mither can't earn enough, so he depends upon me, like. Now, how old do +you think I am?" He straightened himself for her inspection, and leaned +upon his crutch with the air of a soldier on parade. + +Meg hesitated. The boy had a quaint, plucky face, childlike in line, and +yet old by its expression of sagacity and caution. His arms and hands +were well developed; one shriveled leg hung helpless at some distance +from the ground. He seemed of no age and no distinct size. + +"I cannot guess," said Meg. "I am eleven and a half," she added, with a +generosity of confidence that invited a magnanimous return. + +"I am fourteen come next March," said the boy. "Now you think I can't do +nothink because of that ere leg." He glanced with some contempt down the +maimed limb. "You thinks because I can't put my foot on the ground I +can't do nothink. I can do everythink." The cripple turned with a +swagger, and the children resumed their walk. + +"I once punched a lad--he was older than me--who was worriting the +little chap." + +"You did?" said Meg admiringly. + +"I did. He was striking the little chap in the face; and I comes upon +him, and with my fist I gives him a blow, and before he can look up I +hits him another, and when he knocks my crutch down I fastens upon +him--I drags him down, that's what I does." + +"You did right!" cried Meg. + +"And I just gives it to him till he lies quiet as a lamb. And says I to +him, 'If ye do it again I'll serves ye the likes again,' that what I +says," concluded the cripple, marching along with a triumphant "thump, +thump," of his crutch. + +"I am glad you did it," said Meg, with a flush on her cheek and approval +in her eye. + +"That's what I does," repeated the cripple, with another swagger of his +pendant body. + +Meg began to feel a great respect for this cripple, who seemed to her +to have the spirit of a lion. + +"How are you going to earn money?" she asked, feeling an admiring +friendship now justified the question. + +The cripple, after a cautious moment, replied: + +"Blacking boots." + +"Oh!" said Meg, a little disconcerted. + +"Faither was a dustman. I'd raither be a dustman than anythink. Ye've a +cart, and there ye sits, and ye comes down only to clean away the +rubbish; and sometimes ye find an elegant teaspoon, and ye may find a +ring. Faither once found a gold ring with three red stones in it that +shine. There's nothink like being a dustman," said the boy, with an air +of one taking a survey of all the learned professions. "I'd be a +dustman, but because of that ere leg. To be a dustman you must be hale +in all yer limbs, ye must; so a lady comes round and says I'm to be a +bootblack. She gives me brushes and a board and a pot of blacking, and I +sets to; and I can make boots shine as will make your eyes blink. Now +your boots," with a downward glance at Meg's feet, "are uncommon +dusty--I'll black 'em for you." + +Meg hesitated; but the cripple had already unstrapped the parcel swung +on his back, taken from it a brush, a pot of blacking, and a board, and +was down on one knee before her. + +Meg could not refuse. She placed first one foot then the other on the +board, and brush, brush went the active hands. + +Meanwhile a big struggle was going on within Meg. She had no money but +that threepenny-piece. Ought she to give it to the lad for blacking her +boots? She put her hand into her pocket and turned the small silver +piece about. + +It was all that stood between her and penury. Still she could not accept +a service without paying for it from this cripple, who was earning money +for the "little chap." + +"There!" said the boy rising, putting up his traps with an air of fine +indifference to the effect produced by his action upon Meg's boots. + +"I am very much obliged," said Meg hesitatingly; "and here is +threepence." + +"I don't want yer money," replied the boy with an emphatic jerk of his +head. "Keep it; ye'll want it yerself." + +Meg's admiration for her companion increased. She gazed down on her +boots. "They're splendid," she said fervently; "I never thought boots +could shine like that!" + +"Well, I thinks as no one can beat me at blacking," said the cripple, +accepting the compliment. "It's my notions as when the sloppy weather +comes I'll make two shillings a day. But it's not a bootblack I'll +remain." + +"What will you become?" asked Meg. + +"I do not mind telling you," replied the cripple with cautious slowness. +"I'm going to be a joiner. Ye thinks as I can't. Ye thinks there's too +much agin me. Why, everythink was agin me earning money. First that +school-board, that was agin me. It wanted to set me all astray, spending +time learning figures and spellin'; but I conquered the school-board. I +gets too old for that after a bit. Then when I'm told by the lady of +this situation in Weybridge to black boots every morning, there's fifty +miles for me to get over; and here's the cripple boy agin, two miles +from Weybridge!" + +The lad gave a chuckle, a jerk of his head, and a thump of his crutch. + +"You've walked fifty miles!" said Meg, with the homage of round-eyed +surprise. + +"Fifty miles," repeated the boy. "Then a friend o' mine is a carpenter. +He would not trust me with a tool two years agone; and now I can plane +and drive nails with the best of them. I had no money to buy a box of +tools. I'm going to work for it with the boots. All I wants is the +sloppy weather, and a spell of it, and that's enough for me." + +Meg's admiration overflowed her pent-up heart, and moved her to confide +in this cripple and ask his advice. She had not spoken to him of her +schoolfellows, or of the object that had impelled her flight. + +"Suppose," she began, "some one had been very kind to you, very good, +would you not run away from people who were unkind to you, and laughed +at you, and despised you?" + +"No, I would stay to conquer them," said the cripple, stamping his +crutch. + +"How would you conquer them?" said Meg. + +"I'd wear 'em out," said the lad. "Spite can't stand pluck; that's what +I've found out. I'd give 'em a laugh, and if they pushed me hard I'd +give 'em a slip of my crutch." + +Meg was silent awhile with appreciation of such courage. Then she said: + +"But suppose you felt sure there was a letter waiting for you, would you +not go to get it?" + +"Depends upon that ere letter," replied the cripple with circumspection. +"If it was to tell me what to do to better myself I'd go and fetch it +were it at the other end of the country." + +"But," said Meg, with a quivering voice, letting out the secret fear at +her heart, "suppose there was no letter waiting for you when you got to +the place?" + +"I'd go and look for the one as should ha' written it everywhere. I'd +not give over till I found him," said the cripple. + +"You would!" said Meg. + +"I would!" repeated the boy. + +"I wish you were going all the way to London," said Meg. + +"To take care of you?" asked the lad. "Wish I could, but I can't, miss. +I have the kid and the mistress to think of. It's not so far; to-morrow +you'll get there." + +"To-morrow!" repeated Meg, aghast. + +"It's getting late," said the boy, "ye can't walk in the night. Now, +what I say is, if ye find a barn, creep in there and lie in the straw; +but if ye can get a hayrick and cover yerself all up to yer head, that's +fit for a king--better than a bed. I've slept in 'em, so I ought to +know." + +Meg could not speak from consternation; the prospect for a moment +overwhelmed her. + +"Perhaps ye'll meet a cart, and the driver will give ye a lift. My +faither once gave a lift in his cart to a little girl going toward +London," the cripple suggested. + +"I wish I could meet some one who would drive me," said Meg in faltering +accents. + +"If ye're frightened ye'll never find the person as was good to you," +the lad replied rousingly. + +"You were not frightened at night, all alone?" asked Meg. + +"I'm frightened of nothink," said the lad; "but ye're a little lady, so +that makes a difference." + +Meg asked herself if her companion's shriveled leg did not make up for +the disadvantages of sex, and she trudged along, resolved not to give +in, but she wished she did not begin to feel so hungry again. + +Presently they came to a fingerpost. + +"What's written up there?" said the cripple. + +"Can't you see?" asked Meg, astonished. + +"I can't read," said the boy. + +"Oh!" exclaimed Meg, whose admiration received a great shock. + +"I'm ignorant," replied the boy, no whit disconcerted. "I'll conquer +that, too. I conquered that school-board because I wanted to earn. I'll +conquer ignorance; it's as bad as the school-board." + +Meg's admiration revived. + +"Weybridge is written on that side," she said. + +"That's my way, then," said the cripple. "Good-by to ye, miss. I hope +ye'll get all right. Don't forget the barn, or the hayrick if ye can get +one." + +"Good-by," said Meg, wishing to shake hands, yet hesitating. + +The boy touched his hat and set off on his way. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +THE OLD GENTLEMAN AGAIN. + + +Meg listened to the thump, thump of the little crutch going off into the +dusk, and to the sound of merry whistling, and she turned to pursue her +way. The thought of that small lad with his crooked leg and his great +courage roused her spirit. No obstacle now appeared too great to +overcome, no road too long to walk in order to achieve her object; and +she trudged bravely along. + +She was very hungry. Her feet were beginning to ache again; but she was +not going to stop yet; nothing would induce her to do this; so long as +she could hold out she would walk. She would then look out for a proper +resting-place in which to spend the night, and set off on her journey in +the early morning. She tried to distract her mind by weighing the merits +of sleeping up in a tree, or down on the ground, or in a haystack; but +her thoughts would fix themselves upon nothing but upon something to eat +and drink. She passed a village where all the cottagers seemed to be at +their supper. Meg trudged valorously along, neither looking to right or +left. Still she debated whether the time had come for breaking into that +threepenny-piece. She looked at the matter all round. It stood between +her and starvation. Until she reached Mrs. Browne's house she had +nothing else to count upon. + +Was she hungry enough yet? Had supper-time come? A whiff of the perfume +of buns and hot loaves from a wayside shop decided the question. She +felt weak and limp from longing for food, and she went in. There were +tumblers of milk on the counter. A halfpennyworth of milk and a +pennyworth of bread must make up her meal. The remaining penny and +halfpenny must be left to pay for her breakfast to-morrow. She drank the +milk in the shop, and she ate the bread in the open air, sitting on a +common outside the village among great ferns. Meg thought she had never +tasted bread so delicious as this. She felt as if she would like to +sleep here among the crisp ferns; but she got up, resolved to walk all +the way to London if the daylight would but last. + +The fingerpost pointed down a road bordered on either side by pine +trees. It ran through a wood. The west glowed before her, and the trees +marshaled darkly against the light. The birds flew twittering across +the sky, and all the insects seemed to be singing good-night to the day. +The straight road seemed to stretch like a white ribbon before Meg. It +was very lonely. She did not like the solitude; but she would not admit +to herself that she was frightened. Yet an awe was creeping over her. +The trees seemed supremely dignified. She felt very small and +insignificant as she walked under their silence. + +After awhile she heard a sound. It was a distant rumble. She looked +round. A cart was coming along. It was filled with hay. Meg thought how +pleasant it would be to creep within, tuck herself inside the hay, and +sleep while the plodding horse bore her on to her destination. She +loitered and waited until the cart passed, and then went right out into +the road; but at the sight of the large, red-faced man, whose chin was +resting on his chest and whose eyes were closed, Meg went quickly back +into the path. The rumble of the cart died away, and again nothing was +heard but the twitter of birds and the drone of the insects. Presently +she heard a voice spreading in song through the dusk. It sang loud and +discordantly. In Meg's childish experiences songs sung in such tones had +a place; she gave a fierce little shiver, and hid behind the trees. She +was naturally fearless; but she remained quiet as a little ghost until +the figure, with unsteady gait, had passed. Then Meg resumed her way +determinedly. + +All at once she began to realize how tired she was. It seemed as if she +had lost all her strength. She must lie down. In the faint light and +silence, amid the calm trees, she must lie down and rest. + +How quiet and still it was, as if all nature were bidding Meg trust to +its protection and sleep till morning. + +She looked around. There were no hayricks, but there were clumps of fern +and soft sand covered thickly with the brown needles of pine. Then again +Meg thought she heard the rumble of wheels, distant like wheels heard in +a dream, not jolting wheels, but soft swift-rolling wheels. A carriage +drawn by two horses was driving down the road toward London. Meg +dreamily remembered how once she had driven in just such a beautiful +carriage by Mr. Fullbloom's side; how easily they had traveled. In her +weariness came a longing to be taken up into this carriage and to be +driven along. She stood looking in its direction. It came nearer. It was +an open carriage; a man was sitting inside it alone. She discerned the +gleam of white hair on which the western light fell. Then she became +aware of a stern face thrust forward, looking out at her. She had seen +that face before. Where had she seen it? She dreamily remembered. It was +that of the old gentleman who had bidden her never mention her +childhood. + +At a word from him the carriage stopped, and he beckoned to Meg. She +hesitated to come forward; she felt inclined to run away. There was a +vague motive in that impulse of flight. It partook of all the past alarm +and misery, and she felt very much as if she stood on the brink of a +precipice. The old gentleman beckoned again impatiently, and a grotesque +idea flitted through Meg's mind that she must have lain under that tree, +gone to sleep, and had a dream. The carriage, the horses, the servants, +the dreaded old gentleman, were all a vision that would pass if she made +an effort. She shut her eyes. When she opened them there was the figure +still bending forward. + +It beckoned to her. "Come here!" said a voice; but Meg did not move. + +"Drive on!" exclaimed the impatient voice, and the carriage moved off. + +A sudden revulsion of terror seized Meg as she watched it driving away. +She roused herself and began to run. + +Again the figure stooped forward--beckoned to her as the carriage +stopped. + +Meg approached. + +"Are you not Meg--Meg Beecham?" the old gentleman said in a voice of +stern surprise. + +"Yes, sir," Meg answered faintly. There was a pause; the cold blue eyes +rested heavily upon her as they had done that day, and their gaze +suggested dislike. + +"Come inside. I do not hear you," her interlocutor said, opening the +carriage door. He did not stretch his hand out to help her; and Meg +scrambled up, and at his bidding sat down on the seat opposite. + +"Why are you here at this hour and alone? Why is your dress and your +whole appearance so soiled and tattered? Have you strayed from your +teachers? Have you lost your way?" + +"No, sir," answered Meg. + +"No, what?" repeated the old gentleman. "I do not understand your +answer." + +"I have not lost my way," said Meg. + +"Then where are the persons in whose charge you are? Where are your +schoolfellows?" + +"They are not here. I did not go out with them," said Meg, and paused +again. + +Her dauntlessness was quelled by fatigue, and by the chill weight of +these eyes fixed upon her. + +"Will you answer me plainly? Why are you here, and why are you alone?" + +"I have run away," said Meg with a flicker of her old spirit. + +"Run away from school?" asked the old gentleman in an icy voice. + +Meg nodded. + +There was an awful pause. + +"Why have you run away?" + +"Because," said Meg, "they despise me--they say I shame the school. +That's why I've run away." + +"You say you have not lost your way," replied the old gentleman, taking +no heed of her answer. "Where were you going to?" + +"To London." + +"To London!" repeated her interlocutor. "What would you have done +there?" + +"I would have gone to Mrs. Browne. I would have asked my way until I +found her house." + +There came a pause, during which the old gentleman looked at her and +muttered himself. + +Meg thought she heard him say, "Like parent, like child. The same evil +disposition." Then lifting his voice, he called to the coachman, "Drive +to Greyling; when you get there ask the way to Moorhouse, Miss Reeves' +school for young ladies." + +"No, no! I will not go back!--I will not!" cried Meg, jumping to her +feet as the carriage began to turn round. + +"You shall go back," said the old gentleman, pushing her down in the +seat opposite and holding her there. + +The carriage moved swiftly, and so noiselessly that Meg heard every word +her companion said. + +"You shall go back this time; but if ever you seek to run away from that +school again, no one will take you back again. You shall be left to +achieve your own willful ruin. I will wash my hands of you forever. + +"Listen," he continued, with upraised finger, as Meg, awed by his +manner, did not reply. "Do you know what will happen if you try to +escape from that school again? You will become a pauper. You will have +to beg by the roadside. You will sink lower and lower, until you get +into the workhouse." + +"No!" cried Meg, with a flash of confidence. "Mrs. Browne will take me +in." + +"Mrs. Browne has left that house. It is occupied by strangers who do not +know you, who would shut its doors upon you." + +"Gone!" repeated Meg, aghast. "Where is she gone to?" + +"You will never know," said the stranger. Then after a moment he +resumed: "If I had not been driving down that road this evening you +would have begun your downward course already. Remember what I say to +you. If you try to escape again you will become a little casual. A +ruffianly porter will let you in and order you about, you will be put +into a dirty bath, obliged to wear clothes other beggars have worn +before you." + +"No, no! It can't be--it won't be!" cried Meg. + +"Who will prevent it?" said the old gentleman. + +"Mr. Standish. He is my friend--he shall prevent it! I will write to +him--he will fetch me away!" cried Meg incoherently, with a despairing +sense of the futility of her assertions. + +"Where will you write to him?" asked the stranger sharply. "Listen, +child. You do not deserve that I should trouble myself on your account, +and it seems as if you did not care to deserve that I should. There was +one whom I loved who proved base and ungrateful. I left him to his +fate." + +He paused. Meg had not understood this mysterious speech. Her blood grew +cold. After a moment the stranger resumed: "I do not doubt this Mr. +Standish showed you much kindness, and I will not blame you because you +are grateful to him; but from the moment you left your former life Mr. +Standish passed out of it. He does not know where you are. He never will +know. You do not know where he is. I do not know it; I could tell you +nothing about him. Dismiss him from your thoughts." He made a gesture as +if, with his uplifted hand, he were tearing the tie between her and that +friend of her childhood. "Remember you owe duty and gratitude to another +now. Be silent!" + +"Oh, I want to know where he is--I want to know!" cried Meg, breaking +again into incoherent appeal. + +The old gentleman did not reply. He sat there silent, his face growing +dimmer as the evening deepened. Suddenly Meg realized the desolation +that had overtaken her, and throwing herself forward with her face prone +down upon the cushions, she burst into weeping, with speechless sobs. + +The stranger made no effort to comfort her. When the paroxysm of weeping +had spent itself Meg turned her head, and saw that the night had come. +The stars were out in the sky. By their light she dimly discerned the +old gentleman's face. She thought that he was looking at her, then she +saw that he lay back with his eyes closed, as if asleep. + +She did not move. A hope and an assurance which had hitherto filled her +heart had gone out of her life, and she lay there an atom of despair +lost in a void of desolation. The carriage drove noiselessly on. She was +vaguely aware of the still freshness of the night spreading about her. +She knew when the carriage stopped, and when lights flashed, and +familiar voices, speaking excitedly, sounded near. Still she did not +stir. + +She confusedly heard the old gentleman ask for Miss Reeves, and this +lady reply. She recognized Miss Grantley's accents angrily asserting she +ought not to be taken back. Then again she knew the stranger requested +that she should be put to bed and given some food, while he had a +private talk with the head-mistress. + +Meg felt herself taken out; she recognized that she was in Rachel's +arms. She was carried upstairs and undressed. She made no resistance, +except to refuse the food Rachel pressed upon her. + +At last she lay in bed and in the dark, communing and wrestling with +her soul--living the troublous day over again. Sometimes thinking +that she was once more struggling up that dusty highway; that she was +falling and stumbling along; drifting away and then coming back to +half-consciousness; and then dreamily hearing the thump, thump of +crutches coming toward her, and catching a glimpse of a bright, bold +face looking at her. + +As she lay there oppressed by the weariness and bewilderment of that +feverish time, a thirst for comfort rose in her little heart. She +vaguely heard the rumble of carriage-wheels driving away, and she knew +the old gentleman was gone. + +In her sadness and longing for solace Meg was dropping off to sleep, +when suddenly and softly she felt a kiss alight upon her forehead. She +did not stir or question; she was too exhausted to wonder or to fear. +After the day's fever and alarm she could not quail or wonder any more. + +She fancied she heard light steps leave the room; but that kiss had +brought the solace she yearned for, and she fell asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +WHO GAVE THAT KISS. + + +A year and a half had elapsed since that wild outburst of rebellion +against discipline had sent Meg flying Londonward. She had settled down +into the routine of the school. Nothing now existed for her outside its +boundaries. She had parted company with her childhood. The goblin past +lay behind her, and as she looked back upon it the child who watched +over the staircase almost appeared to have been a visionary creature. + +She concentrated all her attention upon her studies. If still Miss +Grantley was prejudiced against her she won the approbation of her other +teachers. Signora Vallaria rolled her dark eyes as Meg's fingers still +lagged behind in execution; but there was an energy, an intelligence in +her apprehension that made the signora, while wringing her hands, yet +consider Meg's lesson a treat to give. If Meg's answers occasionally +still lacked exactitude in the historical class they were always roughly +brilliant and intelligent. She was still apt to pass beyond her own +depth, but her fellow-pupils felt the impetus of a rashness that was the +outcome of energy. Meg had an unconscious ascendency over her +schoolmates. A vigorous nature will always sway more languid spirits; +but her influence over them was due rather to the fact that since she +was eight years of age she had begun to think, and, like all suffering +creatures, to observe. This power of observation, of drawing her own +conclusions, and of acting upon them, was the secret of her ascendency +over her schoolfellows. It was the ascendency of character. + +Some called her repellent; for there was a childlike bluntness, a +certain defiant awkwardness about her still. Others, like Miss Pinkett, +treated her with contempt as a nameless waif. Others again, like +Gwendoline Lister, wove a web of romance about her; nothing short of Meg +being the deserted child of a duchess satisfied the Beauty. Meg knew she +continued to be the object of this speculation, and these castles in the +air made about her future wounded her, and she repelled curiosity. She +still remained solitary in that busy republic of girls. Still her +sensitive pride impelled her to refuse sweets when offered to her, +because she had none to give in return; still she refused invitations, +because she could not ask others to be guests at her home. + +The day of her attempted flight had proved memorable; that day of +feverish adventures had brought her an experience over which, in her +loveless life, she often pondered. That spectral kiss placed on her +forehead, which had brought such solace to her as she lay in misery and +loneliness, haunted her. Who had given her that kiss? At first she had +thought it might be Miss Reeves to assure her of pardon; but why should +the schoolmistress have made a mystery of her kindness? The balanced +composure and impartiality of the lady's manner dispelled this +conjecture. The more Meg saw Miss Reeves the more she felt sure the lady +would not yield to any emotional demonstration, and, if she yielded, she +would not conceal it. Miss Grantley could not have taken this fit of +pity. Her frosty behavior precluded its possibility. Then Meg thought it +might be the cook who was kind to her. + +"Did you come up to my room that night when I was going to sleep?" she +asked the old servant; but the surprised denial she received was +conclusive. Who then could have given her that kiss? It could not be the +old gentleman. She had heard the wheels of his carriage driving down the +garden, and nothing could well be more unlikely or unlike his stern, +unsympathetic nature. There was no one else in the house that day except +the servants, and no servant could have approached with that gliding +footfall. Meg sometimes fancied it might be her dead mother attracted to +her grieving child's bedside; but Meg asked herself, "If it were, why +had she not come to kiss or comfort her before?" and then she added, +"there are no such things as ghosts." But still this solution seemed to +rest upon her mind as a notion more akin to her feelings, if it were the +least probable explanation of the mystery. + +Meg, during the year and a half that had elapsed, had given way to no +more bursts of impish rage; she had become a reticent, grave, and silent +girl. She was rather stern-looking, but this expression of sternness, if +to a superficial observer it might have seemed an outcome of her nature, +was in truth but that of a habit acquired by its enforced repression. +Her sympathies bid fair to languish and die from want of soil, when an +event happened which gave a force and a color to her school-life. + +One afternoon after class, Meg, entering the schoolroom, perceived the +girls gathered in a knot at the further end. She pushed her way through +to discover what was attracting them. A golden-haired child was the +center of the group. She was a new pupil come from India, and the girls +were lavishing caresses upon the little stranger. The child was pretty +and frail-looking enough to justify their enthusiastic effusiveness. +She submitted to the kisses and hugs and general petting with a +half-resigned air that suggested endurance of what she was already +over-satiated with, rather than gratitude for the accorded welcome. Meg +looked on, unsympathizing with these cheap caresses, but still attracted +by the prettiness of the child as one might be by a strange bird of +great beauty. The wistful gaze of large blue eyes encircled with lilac +shadows met hers; but still Meg took no notice, repelled by that excess +of demonstration lavished upon the little stranger by the other girls. +"They don't see how they worry the poor little thing," she muttered as, +taking up what she had come for, she went upstairs. + +Some time after, as she knelt before her trunk, putting its contents in +order, a slight touch on her elbow caused her to look round. + +"What pretty things!" said a little voice. It was the child. With tiny +fingers she pointed to the gayly-bound volume Meg was restoring to the +box. + +"There are pictures inside," Meg replied, turning the pages. The child +looked coldly at the prints. She apparently did not care for the +illustrations. It was the gold-edged leaves and the gold pattern on the +cover which attracted her. + +"How it _sines_!" she said with her baby lisp, and she passed her rosy +fingertips over the gilding. + +Meg looked at the bright hair falling in soft abundance over the tiny +shoulders, at the dark lashes that shaded the eyes, surrounded by pearly +shadows, at the sculptured lips, the upper lip lying softly curled over +the lower. She thought she had never seen anything so dainty and +delicate as this child. She seemed to be like a feather blown out of +heaven across her path. + +"What is your name?" asked Meg. + +"Elsie," said the child; "and what is yours?" + +"My name is Meg." + +"Did your mamma give you those books?" asked the child. + +"I have no mamma," Meg replied curtly. + +"I have no mamma either; she is dead," said Elsie. + +Meg was moved by one of those sudden emotions which come with a rush. +She lifted her box with violence and carried it some paces off. + +"How strong you are!" said the child. "Can you lift me?" + +Meg felt inclined to be impatient. Then, meeting the glance of eyes the +appeal of which was irresistible, she took the child in her arms and +tossed her up. + +That night, through the silence of the dormitory, Meg heard subdued +sobbing. All the other girls were asleep. Elsie's bed had been placed on +the other side of the room. Meg listened for a moment. Her heart was +wrung by that low sound of weeping. She thought of her own anguish of +loneliness, and of that haunting kiss which had brought such solace to +her in her night of sorrow. After awhile she stole out of bed, and +bending over the child, she kissed her forehead. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +MISS PINKETT'S DIAMOND. + + +Elsie had taken a fancy to the stern, silent girl. She put out all her +little arts to please Meg. Indifferent and inclined to be fitful to the +girls who petted her and offered to carry her in their arms, she +followed Meg about with pathetic persistence. Meg felt the delight of a +devoted nature, thankful for opportunities given to it of sacrificing +itself, and mingled gratitude with the feeling she returned. She devoted +herself to Elsie. She played with her, she taught her lessons, she spent +time and ingenuity in making learning easy to her; and Elsie accepted +this devotion. There was pity for Elsie mingled in Meg's solicitude. She +was so strong, and the child looked so frail. She was so fearless, and +the child was as easily frightened as a little bird. A severe word made +Elsie tremble; and it was pitiful to see the little hands, with their +network of veins, trembling at any harshness. + +The girls were astonished to see a return of the terrible Meg one day +when Laura was teasing Elsie, mimicking her nervous ways, her frightened +starts and turns of the head. Meg suddenly leaped forward and pushed +Laura with such force that this damsel found herself sitting on the +ground at some yards' distance. + +"How dare you be so cruel to a little child!" Meg said, standing between +Elsie and her tormentor. + +"I shall have you punished, you gypsy!" Miss Laura replied. + +"Have me punished if you like," said Meg; "but if you dare hurt this +child I will give it to you again." + +A peculiarity of the child which perplexed Meg, besides an almost +abnormal timidity, was the singular fascination exercised over her by +bright objects. Like a little grayling that rises to the light, every +shining object attracted Elsie. It seemed almost uncanny to Meg, whose +ĉsthetic sense was yet in its elementary stage, and who was +unconsciously stirred by the moral suggestiveness of beauty, rather than +by its physical appeal. Flowers, birds, Elsie herself, came to her as +vague yet tangible revelations of a greater calm, a higher goodness and +sweetness than earth holds. Elsie's delight in brilliancy was purely +sensuous, and its influence over her nervous little frame puzzled Meg. +A Salviati glass that stood in Miss Reeves' sanctum fascinated the +child. She seized every opportunity to catch a sight of the wonderful +vase; the shifting opal tints seemed to throw her into an excited dream. +She would go and peep at it through the open door. Meg missed her one +day from the playground, and found her perched on a chair in the room no +one was allowed to enter without the mistress' permission, touching the +vase, cooing and kissing the cold and glittering glass. + +"Come down, Elsie! You must not come in here, you know, without Miss +Reeves' permission," she said, alarmed, gently taking the child up in +her arms. Then as Elsie struggled she went on: "Everything in this room +is a present from an old pupil or a friend. Everything is very dear to +Miss Reeves in it. She would be very angry if an accident happened to +the vase. You would be punished for disobedience." + +Elsie at this prospect let Meg carry her away, but she began to cry: + +"I want it--I want it. I want to take it to bed with me! I want to have +it all to myself!" + +Meg soothed her. She endeavored to divert her attention by telling her +the story of a mine of diamonds, more wonderful than that of the field +of diamonds in "Sindbad the Sailor." For Elsie's sake Meg had developed +the gift of telling stories. Her inventive powers were as the wand of a +magician over the child. Her tales were distinguished by a touch of the +grotesque and grewsome, a spice of humor and adventure. Meg's voice, +which was of a peculiar quality, helped the effect. It was low and +feeling at times, and again it had a spirited emphasis kept under gentle +restraint. A child was the heroine of these stories, inspired by +incidents enlarged upon and drawn from her childish recollections. + +The stories that attracted Elsie most were those of splendor and of +perfume. She would listen enthralled to the adventures in the bowels of +the earth of a little girl, who met there the giant who took care of the +fire, the sparks of which formed the diamonds, rubies, and topaz. + +One day Elsie crept like a lizard to Meg's side. Miss Pinkett, who was a +parlor-boarder now, had certain privileges, and was going to a party. +She had called Elsie in to see her dressed, and she had shown the child +a diamond star her father had sent from India on her last birthday. + +"She put it here"--Elsie's little hand touched her forehead. "It looked +all alive, twinkling--twinkling! It was more beautiful than the glass +vase. It shot out now a lovely red ray, then a yellow light or a bit of +shiny blue. Miss Pinkett said her mother had more beautiful diamonds," +Elsie concluded, with a sigh of exhausted happiness. + +"It is only a bit of coal--black coal that has been buried a long time +in the earth," Meg replied with practical coldness. + +"I don't believe it. It shines--shines--shines!" said the child. "Do you +think Miss Pinkett would let me touch it, put it on, and play with it?" + +"No," said Meg bluntly. "I would not ask her. You might lose it, and she +would never forgive you." + +But the diamond star had taken possession of Elsie's mind, and the fear +of punishment did not lift the spell it exercised. + +"Do you see that little red-morocco box?--it is in there. I saw her put +it in there," she whispered to Meg next morning, dragging her by the +skirt into the room Miss Pinkett still shared with Miss Lister alone. + +"Do leave that diamond alone," said Meg brusquely. "Don't think of it so +much, Elsie. It will get you into trouble and you will get punished. Did +you ever see a drop of water through a microscope? That is ever so much +more wonderful. Dr. Flite showed us this at the chemistry class this +morning." + +"I don't care for drops of water," said Elsie pettishly. + +"There are monsters in it that fight each other and eat each other up. +I'll tell you a story about a drop of water," said Meg suggestively, +still trying to divert Elsie's attention. + +One morning Meg was running down the corridor that led out of the +dormitories. + +"Meg, Meg!" called a little voice in a whisper. Meg looked round; it was +Elsie standing at Miss Pinkett's door. She was holding something in the +palm of her small, shaking hand. Meg, approaching, saw it was the +diamond star. + +"Elsie, put it back at once," she said peremptorily. + +"The box was open. I saw it shining and I took it out. I could not help +it. Is it not lovely?" + +The tiny fingers caressed the stone, and the baby voice gurgled and +laughed to it. + +"You will get into trouble, and I shall not be able to save you from +being punished," said Meg. "Put it back." + +As she spoke Elsie gave a sudden start, dropped the diamond, and took to +flight. + +Meg picked up the gem and went inside the room to place it in its box. +She encountered Miss Pinkett and Miss Lister coming in by another door. + +"What are you doing in my room?" asked Miss Pinkett coldly. + +Meg, without answering, put down the diamond. + +Miss Pinkett flushed. "What right have you to touch anything of +mine--this diamond especially?" + +Meg remained silent, as if pondering what she would say. + +"If I find you fingering anything that belongs to me I will report you, +Miss Beecham," resumed Miss Pinkett in her most chilly tones. + +"You ought to lock up your diamond," said Meg, at last, with an effort. +"It it not right to leave it about--not right to others. It might bring +some one into temptation." + +"I understand," replied Miss Pinkett with cutting point. "I see there is +necessity to lock it up." She shut the box with a snap, and closed the +drawer with an elaborate jingle of keys. + +The diamond was hidden, but Elsie still thought of it. One evening, as +Meg sat on the window sill absorbed in reading an account of the condor, +and following with tremendous interest the flight of the bird over +mountain and seas, Elsie suddenly interrupted her. + +She pointed to the evening star hanging in the suffused light of the +sunset. "I wonder if papa sees that star in India," she said. + +"Not just now, at any rate," answered Meg a little roughly. Any sign of +yearning in Elsie's voice affected her painfully. + +"Do you think Miss Pinkett's lovely jewel is like that star?" said +Elsie, after a pause. + +"No, it is not more like it than a lighted lucifer match is like a sun," +replied Meg. + +"She is gone out to a dinner-party to-night, and she did not wear it. I +wonder why," continued the child, undismayed by the blunt reply. + +"I do not care for that diamond more than if it were a pebble from the +gravel of the playground," answered Meg impatiently; then with abrupt +transition she asked, "Did you ever hear of the condor?" + +"The what?" asked Elsie. + +"The condor," repeated Meg, and she pointed to the picture of the bird. +But Elsie's mind was not to be so easily diverted. + +"If I had that diamond," she said in a subdued tone, "I would carry it +about wherever I went. I would talk to it, and kiss it." + +"I think," said Meg, "that if you had it you would want nothing but that +hard, glittering stone." + +"Nothing! At night I would put it under my pillow and it would come into +a dream," continued Elsie. + +"You dream of it already," said Meg impatiently. + +"I wish you would tell me a story about it," replied Elsie with a sigh. + +Meg shut her book. She drew her breath heavily + +"I don't like that diamond," she said. Then pausing, she began abruptly: + +"Once upon a time there was a little girl like you, who wanted a +diamond, and she cared for nothing because she could not get that +diamond; and a spirit put her into a small bare world all alone, to own +it and be its queen. And the spirit gave her a beautiful diamond, twenty +times as big and as beautiful as that one of Miss Pinkett's." + +"Oh!" said Elsie, with a pant. + +"The little girl," went on Meg, "jumped about for joy, and said she +would want nothing now that she had this diamond. + +"And the spirit said to her, 'There is something better and more +beautiful than this diamond. When you have got tired of that jewel you +will find this out, and then you will want that greater blessing.'" + +"Blessing!" repeated Elsie petulantly. "I am sure she never did want +anything more." + +"And so the little girl," continued Meg, "talked to her diamond, and +kissed it, and put it under her pillow at night and dreamed of it. But +the diamond did not answer her, did not kiss her back; if she were sad +or if she were glad it glittered the same. So the little girl at last +grew tired of the diamond. It was not a companion. She felt a great +want. There is something better, she thought; something that would be +good and pleasant to have in sorrow as well as in joy. She asked the +spirit to tell her what was that better thing. But the spirit did not +answer. So the little girl went wandering about her bare world to find +it. She walked till she was footsore, and still she could not find it; +for she did not know what it was. Only she yearned for it. One night she +was so weary and lonely that she felt as if she must die, and she prayed +to the spirit to have pity upon her and give her that better thing; and +at last it came to her." + +"What was it?" said Elsie eagerly. + +"She was dropping off to sleep, sobbing to herself in her weariness and +solitariness, when on her forehead there was laid a soft kiss." + +"A kiss!" repeated Elsie in a tone of disappointment. + +"It was a kiss of love, like this," said Meg, bending forward and gently +kissing Elsie's forehead. "And when she felt this kiss the fatigue, the +loneliness and sadness left her, and the next morning she awoke quite +happy." + +"Was it the spirit gave her the kiss?" asked Elsie, with cold interest. + +"She sometimes thought it was," said Meg. + +"And the diamond--what became of the diamond?" asked Elsie. + +"It had vanished," said Meg. + +"I do not like that story," said Elsie pettishly; but she remained +thoughtful by Meg's side. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +THE PARTY. + + +Meg thought that a change had come over Elsie. The child was attentive +at her lessons, and softly dependent upon the protection of her friend. +Elsie's mind had also become full of a school-party that was shortly to +be given. There were to be theatricals. Miss Pinkett, who was to leave +school after this term, was to play a grand piece on the pianoforte. The +evening was to close with dancing. Some of the girls' brothers were +asked to the party. Elsie was to take part in the theatricals--she was +to appear as a fairy, in a white dress ornamented with tinsel. + +Nothing else but the coming party was talked of. The girls discussed the +festivity between lessons, and it was the theme of their speculation as +they walked abroad. Meg alone was uninterested, and would have wished to +escape and remain in her room that night. On the appointed day there +were no lessons, and the schoolroom was decorated with flowers and +sketches; the pupils lending their aid and their taste to Signora +Vallaria, who supervised the arrangements. + +The evening was approaching. All the girls who were to take part in the +theatricals had dropped in one by one dressed for their parts. There was +to be a rehearsal before the guests arrived. Elsie alone was missing. +Meg sought her high and low. Once she thought she caught sight of the +little figure in Miss Pinkett's room, but when she entered she found the +room empty. As she was turning away she encountered Miss Pinkett, who +looked at her with surprised coldness. + +"I was looking for Elsie," Meg explained. + +"She is not in the habit of coming into my room uninvited," replied Miss +Pinkett. "Indeed no one is but yourself, Miss Beecham," and Miss Pinkett +shut the door without waiting for Meg's reply. + +The dress rehearsal had begun without Elsie, when suddenly the door flew +open and Miss Pinkett entered in great agitation. Her diamond star was +gone. Had any one seen it? The case was on the table where she had put +it, but it was empty. Blank astonishment greeted the announcement. There +was a rush to the young lady's room to help in the hunt for the missing +jewel. The servants were called and asked if any of them had seen it; +but all declared they had not entered that room. At last all adjourned +to the schoolroom, where the wild excitement resolved itself into a +solemn inquiry as to who had been last in Miss Pinkett's room. Whispers +grew around Meg. More than one glance of suspicion was turned upon her. +At last Miss Reeves asked quietly, "What were you doing, Miss Beecham, +in Miss Pinkett's room a little while ago?" + +"I?" replied Meg, amazed. + +"You cannot deny that you were there. I met you there!" Miss Pinkett +rejoined excitedly. + +"What do you mean?" said Meg. She looked round in a dazed manner, then a +sudden fury gripped her throat as she understood the drift of the +questions. + +"Do you mean to say that you accuse me of stealing?" + +"It does not amount to an accusation," said Miss Reeves. "I only ask you +what you were doing in Miss Pinkett's room?" + +"I never touched the diamond star," said Meg. + +"Never! Do you mean," cried Miss Pinkett, "that you did not touch it +that day I found you in my room with the diamond in your hand?" + +"I touched it that day," said Meg, and paused; she had caught sight of +Elsie, cowering pale and trembling against the wall. + +"Why did you touch it? Why did you say I ought not to leave it about?" +hotly questioned Miss Pinkett. + +"I had a reason for touching it that day." + +"What reason?" asked Miss Reeves. + +"One which I cannot tell. It was a good reason. Believe it or not, I +don't care. But I did not touch it to-day. I did not see it." + +"You were in my room," said Miss Pinkett, "and the diamond case was on +the table, and the diamond was in it, I know." + +"I was in your room," Meg began. + +"What for?" asked Miss Pinkett. + +"I was looking"--again Meg encountered that appealing look from Elsie, +cowering a white trembling little scrap against the wall. + +"Your explanations are lame," said Miss Reeves gravely. + +"I don't care if they are lame or not," Meg interrupted fiercely. "I +have not taken that diamond. That is all I have to say. I have not taken +it. I had it one day in my hand. Appearances may be so far against me; +but if you condemn me on that, you do it out of your hatred to me." + +"Hush, Miss Beecham!" said Miss Reeves severely. + +"You hate and despise me because I have no one who belongs to me in the +world," continued Meg. "You call me a gypsy girl and a tramp, that's +what you call me. I don't care if you hate and despise me. I can't help +what I was born, and I don't want to help it. What I know is that I have +not taken that diamond." + +A murmur ran round the room, but Meg did not pause to consider its +nature. She turned in her ungovernable indignation, and pushing through +her companions she flung open the door and slammed it after her. Again +she caught a glimpse of Elsie's terrorized face and figure as she rushed +past. + +She went out into the playground to breathe the fresh air, trembling +with fury. The old wild self had returned to her, taking with it seven +devils. Her heart felt too big for her breast. Tearless sobs shook her +as with all the vehemence of her spirit she repelled the charge brought +against her. + +Then again she seemed to see before her the wretched, cringing little +figure of Elsie, and the large eyes fixed wistfully upon her. A +suspicion fell cold and terrible on Meg's heart and checked her wrath. +She had vaguely interpreted that look as an entreaty not to reveal +Elsie's admiration for the gem. It seemed now to convey another +meaning. How could she see that child alone, get a few secret words +with her? + +She went indoors, and in the hall she met Elsie, like a little ghost, +furtively creeping out, holding something in her shaking hand. + +"What is it, Elsie?" + +"They are going to search our things, everybody's things," gasped Elsie. +"I am going to throw it away." + +"Throw what away?" asked Meg energetically. + +"The diamond," the convulsive voice of the child answered; and still she +held something tight hidden in the small shaking hand covered with a +network of blue veins. + +"Oh, Elsie, did you take the diamond?" asked Meg sadly. + +"Yes, I thought--I thought Miss Pinkett would not wear it. I wanted to +have it for one night. I--I thought she would not find it out. I heard +her say she was not going to wear it. Where shall I throw it away?" + +"You must not throw it away," said Meg. "Some one else would be +suspected. Come, Elsie, you must be brave. You must say that you took +it. Come with me, I'll say it for you." + +She put her arm about the child. But Elsie struggled like a little mad +animal from her grasp. + +"No, no; don't say it was I--don't say it was I!" + +An infinite compassion seized Meg when she saw the big tears welling in +Elsie's eyes, and she asked herself how she could save this little one. +Pity grew into the stronger motive and smothered fear. It was Meg's +nature that what she undertook to do she did thoroughly. + +"I will ask to be punished in your stead, Elsie," she said. + +"They won't punish you for me--they won't let you be punished for me!" + +Meg drew her breath. + +"They don't think it is I--they don't think it is I!" sobbed Elsie, +clinging to Meg. "Don't say it is I!" + +The child was cold with anguish. + +"Very well; I will not say it is you." + +"You'll not say it--you'll not say it?" repeated Elsie, clinging to +Meg's skirt. + +"No; I'll manage it," said Meg. + +"How will you manage it? Who will give the diamond up?" + +"I," said Meg. + +The child put her arms round Meg's neck, kissing her over and over +again, and reiterating her cry not to say she had taken it. + +Meg put her gently away, marched out and went straight into the room +where all were assembled. + +Miss Reeves with Signora Vallaria and two other teachers were preparing +for the search of the boxes. Meg walked up to the head-mistress. + +"There is the diamond!" she said, holding it out with outstretched hand. + +A dead pause greeted this speech. Then Miss Pinkett's laugh rippled up. + +"I thought so," she said. + +Miss Reeves took the jewel, lifting her hand to enjoin silence. + +"What does this mean?" she asked. + +"I return Miss Pinkett's diamond," Meg replied. + +"Do you mean to say that you took it notwithstanding your repudiation of +the accusation which shamed some of us into believing you innocent?" + +"I restore it now," said Meg huskily. + +"Had you heard that the boxes were to be searched?" demanded Miss +Reeves. + +"Yes," said Meg. + +Again there was a pause. + +"I will stake my word upon it, there is a mystery," said Signora +Vallaria, fixing her dark eyes upon Meg. + +"Miss Beecham," resumed Miss Reeves, "did you take this diamond?" + +Meg remained silent. + +"I repeat the question," said Miss Reeves. "Did you take this diamond?" + +"I restore it, and I am ready to submit to any punishment you may +decree. Is that not sufficient answer?" + +Again there was a murmur round the room. + +"I am afraid it is a sufficient answer," said Miss Reeves gravely. "The +punishment is expulsion from school. I give you till to-morrow morning, +Miss Beecham, to explain your strange conduct. You cannot attend the +party. You have turned an occasion of festivity into one of humiliation +and unhappiness for us all. Go upstairs. You can no longer occupy the +dormitory with your fellow-pupils. You will be taken to a room on the +other side of the corridor where you will sleep alone. Miss Grantley +will show you the way." + +Meg turned to follow her guide in silence. The stern girl seemed turned +to stone. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +POOR MEG. + + +Through the evening Meg heard the intolerable dance music going on and +on. Little by little there came to her in her isolation the realization +of the thankless load she had taken upon herself--a burden of guilt of +the meanest kind. What would Mr. Standish think of her now? He had for +some time past fallen into the background of her thoughts; but now there +returned to her the memory of this friend of her childhood. With anguish +she felt that when they met again, instead of appearing before him grown +into a lady, full of the grace of blossomed womanly ways, and with the +dignity which comes of loving protection to the weak, what would she +seem to him? For years, thought Meg, for all her life, she must seem a +miserable wretch and a thief. + +She walked up and down the little room contemplating this picture. She +could not face the prospect; and still, as there rose before her that +vision of a cringing, shrinking child, an atom of terror outlined there +against the darkness, appealing to her, Meg once more took up the load +of guilt. Up and down she wandered, unable to concentrate her thoughts, +sometimes contemplating how two hours ago she was a different being--all +the change that had happened in two little hours!--then feeling that one +comfort remained to her--the thought of Elsie's gratitude. In an alien +world this little blossom of love would sweeten her lot. She turned from +the realization of her own ruin to linger on this consolation that round +Elsie's heart would hang the rich perfume of thankfulness for the +sacrifice she had made. And then still, as she walked up and down, she +thought how downstairs as they danced they all knew it. She was worse to +them than a beggar in the streets. "If I were to go downstairs they +would all shrink from me," she muttered bitterly. There was a stain upon +her never to be wiped off. In two years would it be forgotten? she asked +herself drearily. No, it would not. In three years? No, it never will, +answered the thought; and then always, like the burden of her plaint, +that Mr. Standish would hear of it. + +The intolerable dance music stopped at last. She heard the rustle of +dresses, the rush of feet. The party was over. The girls were going to +bed. The gas was turned off and the house was plunged into darkness. + +Meg lay down upon her bed and from sheer fatigue of sorrow fell asleep. +She woke with the dawn, and for a moment she forgot what had happened. +Then the heavy misery shaped itself and pressed upon her soul again. The +calm morning held a promise of hope. What would the day bring her? Would +not Elsie tell? + +Just before the bell for prayers rang she heard a step outside. The +handle of the door turned and Miss Reeves entered. + +There was a moment of silence as the head mistress and the pupil faced +each other. + +"Meg, how did that diamond come into your possession?" Miss Reeves +asked, not unkindly. + +Meg did not answer. + +"Will you not explain? I have come here to win your confidence. Why did +you not return it before the order came for searching the boxes?" + +A passing moment of temptation came to Meg to explain, to admit that +certain reasons kept her silent, but she sternly repressed the impulse. + +She repeated what she had said before--she had restored the jewel, was +that not enough? She would say nothing more. + +"Then," said Miss Reeves sternly, "I can give but one interpretation to +your obstinate silence. You are guilty of an act which seems to me the +meanest that ever occurred in my school. There remains but one course +for me to take. I will write to your guardian. You must be removed at +once. The disgrace of your presence must be removed from your comrades. +You will join your schoolfellows at prayer-times only. Your meals will +be brought up and served to you here. I must forbid you to address any +of your schoolfellows; nor must you speak to any of your teachers except +to make the small reparation of a full confession." + +Miss Reeves turned and left the room with cold stateliness. Meg remained +standing where she was till the prayer-bell rang. The fury of the night +was over. Her mind seemed a void. She could think no more, scarcely +could she suffer. When the bell ceased, she left the room. A few laggard +girls were hurrying out of the dormitory. They passed her with averted +faces and in silence; and they whispered with each other. There came +upon Meg the first bitterness of the realization that she was an outcast +from the community. + +She entered the room where all were assembled, feeling dizzy. Then a +sort of courage of indignation came upon her, for she was innocent. She +looked in the direction of Elsie's place, eager to receive a glance +that would repay her for all that she was bearing; but Elsie's eyes were +carefully turned in another direction, and she appeared bent upon hiding +behind another girl, as if to avoid seeing Meg. A pang of anguish shot +through Meg's heart. Was that little hand lifted with the others against +her? Was Elsie also thrusting her out as did all those who refused her +fellowship in their lot? She felt so dazed that she remained for a +moment standing, unaware of the general kneeling around her as Miss +Reeves' voice was raised in prayer. Then her heart began to harden, and +she looked toward Elsie no more. + +When the girls were filing out she thought she would give Elsie another +chance. The child must pass her in going out. Meg was conscious of her +pet's approach, although she did not openly look her way. She felt if +she watched Elsie and the child made an advance it would not be +spontaneous. And yet, when there came no furtive touch on her hand, no +whispered word as Elsie passed, Meg could not withhold from glancing +toward her. Yes, Elsie had passed with eyes averted. That last link of +sympathy which had given her hope gave way and broke. + +Meg went up to her room, and the day passed. She sat with her chin +buried in her hands looking heavily out. She felt stunned; she no +longer protested or pondered over the future. At prayer-time that +evening she did not look toward Elsie. + +The next morning there was again a moment of forgetfulness when she +awoke. Then again the horror gradually shaped itself, but this morning +nature brought to her no reassurance. At the sound of the bell Meg rose +with a heart like lead. She dressed herself and went down slowly. A mood +of indignant bitterness had replaced the chilled misery of her +bewildered heart. After prayers Miss Reeves informed her that she had +received a letter from Mr. Fullbloom. He would fetch her away that +afternoon. She must be prepared to leave then. + +Meg received the news mutely, and went upstairs to begin her packing as +directed. + +She mechanically folded and put her belongings into her trunk. When she +took out the presents Mr. Standish had given her, and that bore the +marks of much handling, a movement of enraged despair seized her, and +she trembled. "He'll never care to see me again, and how could I see +him?" she muttered. + +The girls were out in the playground as she finished her task. "I'll be +glad to get away!" she said, as she sat on her box a moment and looked +round her. But even as she said this her mind called up before her the +departure. "Where am I going to?" she muttered. With compressed lips she +whispered to herself as she rose, "No matter! no matter!" + +It was two o'clock; in less than an hour she knew Mr. Fullbloom would be +here. Her trunk, locked and strapped, stood in a corner; her hat and +cloak lay upon it ready to be put on at his summons. No one had come +near her. All her preparations were made. The old restlessness had +returned; and she was walking up and down, thinking, thinking where was +she to go to. What would happen to her? + +"Meg! Meg!" said a little voice in a whisper. She turned; it was Elsie +standing on the threshold of the door. There was a pause, during which +Meg eyed the little figure, huddling up into a corner, its hands +convulsively working together with a pitiful resemblance to older grief. + +"Speak to me, Meg! won't you speak to me? I am so miserable," lisped the +child piteously. + +"You ought to be," replied Meg. + +"If they would only let me go away with you!" moaned the child. "Oh, +Meg, if they would only let me go away with you!" + +"How could they let you go with me? I am a thief; you are a white, +pure, innocent child," Meg said in bitter sarcasm. + +"It is I who am wicked, not you. Oh, Meg, I love you so much, I love you +so much!" reiterated the child, with that piteous quaver in her voice, +stealing into the room, still wringing her little hands. + +"Love me!" repeated Meg, her voice shrilly bitter; "and you do as the +others do. You turn your face away when I come into the room." + +"I am frightened, I am frightened. The girls say no one must look at +you, or talk to you. I am frightened." + +"Yes, I know you are frightened," Meg replied with softened gruffness. +Elsie looked changed, she seemed a little wasted. + +"I cannot sleep. Oh, Meg, I cannot sleep, I am so miserable!" sobbed +Elsie, touching Meg's dress. + +A pang of pity shot through Meg's heart. + +"Hush! Elsie. Never mind, never mind," she said, stroking the child's +hair. "Don't speak loud, some one may be listening." + +"I wish I could tell," said Elsie, with heaving bosom. "I try to make +myself tell. It stops here!" and the child put her hand to her throat. +"I try to say I took it; but I can't, I can't. And you won't tell, Meg, +you won't tell?" + +"No, I won't," said Meg. "I won't. Do not be afraid, my pet." + +She kept stroking Elsie's hair, grateful for that moment of solace. + +"I wish I were dead!" cried Elsie, with a sudden wail, flinging herself +into Meg's arms. + +"Come away this moment!" said a voice, and a hand took hold of Elsie and +dragged her away. + +Meg recognized Ursula. She stood stock-still for a moment. Then she +threw herself prone down upon the ground with a passionate cry. + +That touch of comfort so rudely taken from her; that word of love from +the child who had most right to give her love, silenced so abruptly! +Why? Because in their rude honesty her comrades had decreed to exile her +and abhor her like a thief. + +She remained with her face pressed down to the ground, as if she would +press herself into the heart of the cold floor. Vaguely she was aware of +the bell ringing as for classes, and she knew the time had come--in a +few moments more she would be gone on her way. But she did not move. + +She became aware of steps approaching. Some one touched her on the +shoulder. Ursula's voice said, "Meg, you must come down at once." + +Meg turned her head round. + +"You must come down at once," repeated Ursula, as Meg kept looking at +her stupidly. "You had better come down," continued Ursula gently, +putting her hand upon hers. Meg rose. + +"I am going, but I will go alone," she said with returning fierceness, +flinging Ursula's hand away. She pushed her hair roughly from her eyes +and went toward her trunk to put on her hat and cloak. + +"You need not put on your things," said Ursula. "It is in the schoolroom +you are wanted." + +"In the schoolroom? Very well," said Meg. She passed Ursula. She went +downstairs, and with a reckless bang she opened the schoolroom door. +What new ordeal or humiliation was awaiting her? + +The room was full. Miss Reeves advanced to meet her. + +"Miss Beecham," said the head-mistress, "Elsie has confessed everything. +Young ladies, I have sent for you all, for before you all Miss Beecham +was declared guilty and before you all she must be cleared of this +charge. She is entirely innocent." + +The ground seemed to sink under Meg's feet; the surroundings to fade +away as in a splendor. She was aware of a murmur all round her, of the +girls looking at her with a new expression of regret. + +"Has Elsie confessed?" she panted. + +"Not of her own free will," replied Miss Reeves gravely. "She was forced +to confess by the suddeness of Ursula's action. Ursula had crept up to +say good-by to you. She never thought you guilty. When she came into +your room she overheard enough to convince her of the truth. She dragged +Elsie before me, and forced her to tell. It was not a right thing, Meg, +to shield this action. But it was so generous I cannot blame you. You +were ready to sacrifice yourself for a child who would have let you go +forth disgraced." + +"It was splendid!" said Ursula. "Meg Beecham is a noble girl." + +"She is," circled round the room. + +Then Miss Pinkett stepped forth, elegant and straight-backed even in her +evident emotion. Tears stood in her eyes, yet her voice was high-pitched +and smooth. + +"I beg your pardon, Miss Beecham; I apologize with all my heart to you. +It was I who first accused you. Will you forgive me?" + +"I forgive you," said Meg automatically, taking Miss Pinkett's extended +hand. Then Ursula, with spectacles shining with tears, came forward and +kissed Meg, who received the embrace in the same dazed fashion. All the +girls trooped around, taking her listless hand. + +Suddenly Meg recognized Elsie standing alone, wringing her little hands +with that piteous gesture of older grieving. Sinking down on her knees, +she stretched out her arms. + +"Elsie, Elsie!" she cried, and in a moment the sobbing child was clasped +to her heart. + +"Oh, Miss Reeves, Miss Pinkett, young ladies!" said Meg, looking round, +holding Elsie tight, tears coursing down her cheeks, "do not punish her, +she is so little, so tender. She took the diamond as a child might take +a shining bit of glass, only because it was pretty. Do not punish her, +she is so delicate, so little! It was fright that kept her silent. +Forgive her!" + +There was a pause, broken by Elsie's sobs, repeated in various corners +of the room. + +"How can Elsie be forgiven?" said Miss Reeves gravely. "Worse than +taking the diamond was her willingness to let another be expelled." + +Then again Miss Pinkett stepped forward. + +"Madam," she said, "we owe Meg Beecham some reparation. I owe it to her +more than any one. For Meg's sake, pray let Elsie go unpunished!" + +"For Meg's sake!" said Ursula, seconding Miss Pinkett's petition. + +"For Meg's sake!" was repeated all round the room. + +Miss Reeves hesitated. Then laying her hand on Elsie's head: + +"Let it be so. For Meg's sake you shall be forgiven; for the sake of the +girl whom you would have injured beyond words to tell, you shall go +unpunished. This miserable incident will never be referred to again. +That is all that we can do to make it up to Meg--to forgive you, Elsie, +for her sake." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +PEACE. + + +Meg was courted now by her schoolfellows; but the attention lavished +upon her wounded her pride. She measured by it the contempt that had so +easily accused her of thieving. To her sensitive spirit this kindness +seemed insulting. It said, "We thought you a thief, and we find you are +not." She responded coldly to advances made to her by all but Ursula. + +The girls did not reproach Elsie; a sense of fair play kept them from +referring to the diamond episode, but they shunned her. They stuck to +the letter of the promised forgiveness, but they did not forget that she +was a little thief. Meg watched the small figure lying apart and +solitary in the play-hours--a white drift upon the bench. + +Her heart bled. The child had been so caressed before, and was now an +outcast. She remembered how she, too, had been neglected and shunned; +but she was strong, and had never known petting, and her anger was +stirred against the girls. + +She tried to make it up to Elsie; but a change had come over the child, +and she shrank from her friend. Meg knew Elsie felt ashamed, and she +busied herself about the child to prove that the sorrowful time was not +forgiven only, but forgotten also. She watched her opportunities to help +the little one at her lessons; to put away her books, pencils, and other +belongings. Elsie refused help, and avoided giving Meg those +opportunities. The old clinging ways were gone. The chattering voice was +hushed. A circle of ice seemed to surround the child. + +Meg felt lonely and blank; and pity mingled with her desolateness. All +the graceful radiance of childhood had gone from Elsie. Meg knew the +change was due to remorse; the shyness of guilt was upon Elsie's heart. +She longed to make the child smile and prattle again. As Elsie had +longed for that foolish diamond, so Meg longed for Elsie's smile and +prattle. + +April had come; there were violets and primroses in the woods about +Moorhouse, and Miss Reeves announced that the Saturday half-holiday +might be spent afield. Meg determined that to-day she would conquer her +pet's shrinking--that she would win that laugh. She went to look for +Elsie. She found her lying listlessly on a bench in the sunshine. As she +approached Elsie turned her face away. + +"We are going out into the country to pick flowers," said Meg, kneeling +beside her. + +Elsie did not answer, and made a little movement with her elbow as if to +wave Meg away. + +"We are not to walk two and two together like soldiers," Meg went on, +taking no notice. "When we get to the woods we are to break up our ranks +and run wild. You and I will hunt for violets together." + +"I don't want to go," said Elsie. + +"You are not well, my pet," said Meg, patting the little hand. + +"I am quite well," said Elsie harshly. "I do not want to go, that is +all." + +"Then I will not go either. I will stop with you," said Meg +determinedly. + +"No, no, no. I don't want you to stop with me! I don't want you!" +replied Elsie with hurried emphasis. "I want to be alone. Of all the +girls you are the one I want most to be left alone by." + +"Why do you hate me, Elsie?" asked Meg gently. + +"I don't hate you," replied Elsie, after a pause, in a faint, quavering +voice. Then she added with labored utterance: "I am ashamed. Every time +you look at me, every time you come near me, I am ashamed." Her voice +gathered energy, while her breast heaved with tearless sobs. "The other +girls look at me as if they were always thinking 'She is a thief,' and +I don't mind--their looks not half (sob, sob) so much--as--I mind--your +kind look. It makes me think--of--my dreadful wickedness." + +"I look at you like that because I love you so dearly," said Meg, +seeking to draw the child to her. + +Elsie struggled and sobbed, but at last she let Meg take her on her lap +and lean her cheek down on her head. It seemed to Meg as if the circle +of ice were broken. She did not know what to say that would soothe that +stricken little conscience, and yet guide it. All she could do was to +hold the sobbing child tight. + +It was one of those beautiful days in spring when everything seems +careless and fond. The trees rustled around them as if hushing the voice +of sorrow. The flowers looked up with bright faces; the indulgent +sunshine shed its broad light. Everything seemed so much in contrast +with the grieving child that Meg could think of nothing but to set +herself to make that little pale face smile again. The child used in her +happier moments to be fond of playing a game of shop. Meg excelled in +mimicking the various customers coming to buy. Taking her ribbon now +from her throat she set it up for sale, and became in turns the +querulous customer, the fat fussy customer, the French customer. As she +gesticulated, shaking her fingers up in the air, shrugging her +shoulders, and talking in French, bargaining, vowing it was _trop cher_, +she acted her part so vividly that Elsie forgot her sorrow, and at last +broke out into a laugh. + +From that day Elsie clung to Meg. The girls continued to abstain from +referring to the incident of the diamond, and Miss Pinkett was +elaborately kind; but Elsie was reminded of her sin by the emphasis of +absolution around her. She still shrank from the companionship of other +girls. With Meg alone she was forgetful of the past. The tie between +them was recognized, and during the constitutional walks of the +schoolgirls Elsie was allowed to leave her place among the younger ones +and walk with her friend. These walks now lay toward the country, away +from the village, where an outbreak of scarlatina was raging. In the +blue-rimmed land, with its misty embattlement of downs outlined against +the sky, through the shade and flicker of woods, through lanes sweet +with the bravery of floral walls, the girls walked; and to Elsie Meg +became the mouthpiece of nature. Those walks in the countryside were at +this time the happy hours of Meg's life. The sensitive little hand in +hers, that responded so quickly to her own delight, helped the +inspiration that came to her from the illusive cloudland overhead, from +wooded aisles, spread with wild flowers, voiced with notes of birds and +buzz of insects. + +This part of Meg's school-life came to an abrupt conclusion. One morning +Elsie did not come down to breakfast. That evening she had a little +fever, and the child's throat was sore. The doctor came, and the word +"scarlatina" was whispered. In a few days the school was empty of the +girls. Meg alone remained as usual. Every precaution to prevent +infection was taken by Miss Reeves, and Elsie was isolated. + +A new anxiety now sprang up in Meg's heart. Her thoughts were ever in +the room at the top of the house, with the heavy curtains drawn before +the door, from which distilled an acrid smell of disinfectants. Often +Meg crept upstairs and listened. She watched every day for the doctor, +to ask how Elsie was. The answers were always vague. In a few days the +crisis would come. There was a tantalizing mystery in these replies, +always followed by the injunction not to go near the child. + +"Does she ever ask for me?" asked Meg. + +"She is delirious, she would not know you," was the invariable answer. + +One morning the news came that the crisis was past--delirium was over. +The news was good; yet the doctor's face looked grave. Meg overheard +him say to Miss Reeves that Elsie might sink from weakness. The child's +feebleness baffled him. + +"When shall I see her?" asked Meg huskily. + +"Not just yet," the doctor replied, patting her head. + +That night a storm of wind raged outside. Meg listened to the howl of +the wind, to the lashing of the trees bending their backs to the +scourge. The doors creaked; Pilot was dragging at his chain. Meg's +thoughts were with Elsie. The contrast of her feebleness and the force +raging outside seemed to haunt her. She fell asleep, and she dreamed +that Elsie was dead. She saw her distinctly, a white, piteous figure +lying very still, beaten down by some pitiless assailant who had left +her there. Meg awoke with a start. The storm was over, but Elsie had +called her. + +"Meg, Meg, come!" + +Was that cry part of her dream? She sat up rigid, her ears strained, +every nerve on the alert, listening. Through the silence the call came +again: + +"Meg, Meg, come!" + +She could not have told if she heard it with her physical ears. Elsie +wanted her; that was all she knew. She was out of bed in a moment. A +determination strong as had been that former idea of flight impelled +her. She would see her pet. If she caught the infection and died, what +mattered it? She would go to Elsie, the child wanted her. + +A pale light flickered through the space of windows left uncovered by +the shutters. Meg made her way cautiously, yet swiftly. It seemed to her +that Elsie knew she was coming, and that there was no time to be lost. A +jet of gas was burning low in the passage at the end of which was the +curtained door. Meg lifted the heavy drapery. The scent of the carbolic +grew more acrid. She pushed her head through the door that stood +slightly ajar. The nurse, lying on a couch, was asleep. Meg at first +could not see Elsie, but when she made a few steps inside the room she +perceived the child. + +Elsie's eyes were turned toward the door, as if anxiously watching. As +Meg entered she made a little ghostly gesture, as if trying to get up. +Meg was by her bedside in a moment. She had an impression that it was +Elsie and yet not Elsie who was there. The beautiful hair was all cut +off. The face was shrunk, a distressed expression rumpled the brow. The +eyes were very bright and wide open. They seemed to Meg Elsie's eyes +looking at her from a distance. As she clasped the child in her arms she +realized with despair that it was like clasping a small gasping +phantom. + +"I thought you would never come, Meg," Elsie murmured through her +labored breathing. + +"Oh, Elsie, I have wanted to come," whispered Meg, bringing her face +close down to the pillow. + +"I wanted you," whispered Elsie. "I kept saying, 'Meg, Meg, come!'" + +"I heard you," said Meg. + +"Heard me?" repeated the muffled voice. "How could you hear me? I only +whispered it. 'Meg Meg, come!'" + +"But I heard you," said Meg, "and here I am, darling; here I am, and I +will never leave you." + +"I said," continued Elsie in that labored whisper, "if Meg comes the +dreadful diamond will go." + +"The dreadful diamond?" repeated Meg. + +"It was always there; and sometimes it grew big, big, like a shining +mountain, and put itself here." The spectral hand placed itself on the +tiny chest. "It was heavy and cold--it pressed me down." + +"It was a bad dream, my pet; not reality," said Meg soothingly. + +"I saw it always, shining red, blue, and green. It shone in the dark as +in the light, and sometimes it was like a great bright eye looking at +me--always looking at me. It moved when I moved, and seemed to say, 'You +nearly had Meg turned away like a thief.'" + +"No, no; it was not you, it was I--I who did it all of my own free +will," cried Meg, kissing the cold face that had become the emblem round +which gathered her tenderest emotions. + +"But it won't come again, because you have kissed me. The kiss that is +better than the diamond," said Elsie with a vague relief in her panting +voice. + +"It will never come again," repeated Meg, trying to still her sobs. + +Elsie lay back apparently at peace. Suddenly she turned, and there was a +flicker of the old trouble in her eyes. + +"Do you think God, too, forgives me?" + +"Yes," replied Meg with a bursting heart. + +"Are you sure he does?" insisted the piteous, laboring voice. + +"I am sure of it, I know it!" said Meg with a world of conviction. + +Elsie sighed, closed her eyes, and there was a silence. Meg thought she +was asleep, when she opened her eyes again and looked round with a +troubled movement. + +"It is very dark," she said. "Draw back the curtains and let in the +light." + +"It is not day yet," said Meg. + +"Stay with me, it is so dark," gasped Elsie, her hands restlessly moving +as if pushing back some weight. + +"I will not stir from your side, my pet," said Meg, stilling her sobs. + +The gray light was stealing in. The tired nurse still slept. Meg saw the +remote expression in the sick child's eyes growing more remote. + +Suddenly Elsie made another ghostly attempt to sit up. + +"How sweet the lilac smells!" she said. "Here is London-pride, and +there's thrift. I'll pluck these for Mamey." + +She struggled to get out of bed, while Meg held her tight. + +"Mamey calls to me--to--say--good-night--and say my prayers," she +panted, and then dropped back. + +The blue lips moved as if speaking; but Meg could not distinguish the +words. A realization that the child was slipping away, that phantoms +were about her as she stood on the threshold of the other world, came +upon Meg with an anguish of awe. + +"Our Father," she began softly, impelled to pray; but Elsie seemed to +pay no heed. The little hands still stirred uneasily. The lips still +moved. At last Meg distinguished some broken words: "Forgive us our +trespasses--as--as--Meg forgives." There came a sigh, the lips stopped +muttering, and only the waxen image of what had been Elsie lay on the +bed. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +WHO IS HE? + + +Five years had elapsed. Meg was eighteen; she had distanced all her +competitors, and she was the head-pupil of Miss Reeves' establishment. + +During those years she still remained somewhat of a solitary in the +school. The girls who had been her first schoolfellows had all left. By +the succeeding girls, Meg was still called repellent by some, attractive +by others. + +As time went on the mystery of her origin, about which her schoolmates +still busied themselves, pained and humiliated her with greater +poignancy. She longed to be allowed to know and love her benefactor. +When questioned as to who she thought she was--how she had come by the +name of Beecham--she felt inclined to answer bitterly: "Do not call me +by my name. It would be more convenient to call me by a number, as I am +told the prisoners are called. Let me say I am number 18 or 24." + +Mr. Standish still held an ever-present if somewhat dim place in the +background of Meg's consciousness. It was a quaint half-goblin +remembrance. The link between them seemed sundered forever. She had +never heard from him since their parting. To Ursula alone she had spoken +of that solitary time, of the friend who had been kind to her, and of +the fashion-plate which had been sacred to her as her mother's portrait. +To her alone she had shown her treasured presents. One day Ursula +suggested that her mysterious protector was Mr. Standish. That the stern +old gentleman was perhaps a guardian appointed by this friend in his +absence. Meg had disclaimed the possibility. Yet the thought that he +might be lingered in her mind. As a child loves wonderland, so she dwelt +upon Ursula's suggestion. She reasoned herself out of it. She laughed at +it, yet it remained. Was he not the only one who had cared for her in +her unsheltered childhood? + +"Describe him to me," Ursula had once asked. + +"I cannot," Meg answered. "It is strange. I can remember a tie he +wore--dark-blue, dotted over with tiny horseshoes; and I remember a pair +of slippers he had, with big red roses on the toes. I remember his +hands, and the color of his hair." + +"And you can't remember his face?" Ursula said in tones of +disappointment. + +"Perhaps if I saw him I might," answered Meg reflectively. "It is so +long ago, I have a very dim recollection of his features. They beamed +with kindness, and he was kind to me." And then she would tell again the +many kind things he had done, the memory of which she held sacred. "Ah," +she continued, "I used to be unable to think and speak of those things +without tears, but now you see my eyes are quite dry." + +Once Meg asked Mr. Fullbloom if Mr. Standish was her guardian. The +elderly lawyer she had once known was dead. His brother was now the +representative of her unknown benefactor. He alone visited her from the +outside world. The solicitor chuckled, as if he were amazingly tickled +by this question, but he answered it neither in the affirmative nor the +negative. + +Mr. Horace Fullbloom was cheery and gray-headed; his sparkling brown +eyes were surrounded by crinkles, suggestive of puckers made by laughter +rather than by age. His appearance suggested a mischievous humor. Like +his brother, he was a bit of a dandy. He also wore a frilled shirt, an +impressive bloodstone ring on his little finger, and he sported a silver +snuffbox. The solicitor was a favorite with the girls. His cynicism was +the sunshine of cynicism. He chaffed them with paternal familiarity, +watching them with amused benevolence. He seemed to regard them as +belonging to a species not deserving any serious thought or treatment. +Meg especially interested him. He always questioned her kindly about +herself, and apparently relished the little tiffs that marked their +intercourse. + +These tiffs were caused by Meg's endeavors to find out the name of her +mysterious benefactor, and by the humorous banter with which the +solicitor evaded her curiosity. She had dreams of that human providence +who stood between her and destitution. Every noble personality she heard +or read of became associated in Meg's mind with the thought of her +guardian hero. The banter with which Mr. Fullbloom met her inquiries did +not prevent Meg from waiting and watching for the feverish moment when +she would again question him. Was it the stern old gentleman she +remembered who twice had appeared to her? If it were, what was his name? +If it were not, who was it, then? + +To the teasing humor with which the solicitor asked her why she wanted +so much to know, she answered, "Because I am grateful." + +"But gratitude, my dear," said Mr. Fullbloom, tapping his snuffbox, +"wants an object. Suppose I were to tell you it was the big stone +figure on the gate, or some old parchment will and testament that is +your guardian. What then? Would you feel grateful to those bloodless +patrons?" + +"I would be grateful to one who remembered and thought of me were he +living or dead," said Meg. + +"Perhaps if he be alive he is a gruff, disagreeable old curmudgeon; you +might be afraid of him--you might not like him!" + +Meg was not to be baffled by such answers. She wanted to know who it was +she had a right to love and be grateful to. It was such pain to her also +to live among people who kept wondering who she was. + +More than once she put into the solicitor's hands a letter, that she +asked him to deliver to her unknown friend; but to these missives, that +he invariably took away with him, Mr. Fullbloom never brought an answer. +To her demand, had he delivered her letters, Mr. Fullbloom returned +tantalizing answers. One day he admitted that he had put them all, every +one, into the pillar post. + +"But not as they were, without an address?" Meg asked in consternation. + +"That was no concern of mine. I posted them," said Mr. Fullbloom. + +"But where did my letters go?" she cried. + +"Perhaps one went to Surrey; perhaps another found its way to York +Minster; perhaps a third was carried by fate to its rightful owner," the +solicitor replied with a chuckle, and eyes twinkling with the light of +mischief. With a little burst of anger, Meg told him that if he would +not tell her who her protector was she would rather not see him; it was +so painful not to know to whom she owed all this gratitude. + +After this scene a long interval elapsed, during which Mr. Fullbloom did +not appear; till inconsistently Meg began to long for him to come and +visit her again. + +It was the eve of the Easter holidays. The school was breaking up. Meg +had formed a resolution. This resolution helped her to bear the pain +that always accompanied the approach of the holidays. The eager plans +she heard her comrades discussing were ever an occasion of pain to her +sensitive nature, bringing her loneliness home more keenly. + +The gentle independence that now marked Meg's manner had grown upon her +of late; the stern necessity of self-support that, since her childhood, +had governed her thoughts and actions, had become the ruling instinct of +her life. She had determined to be no longer a burden to her protector, +and the resolve heightened her spirits. Dreaming is the employment of +the idle, and Meg's life was one of action. + +If something of the vividness that had distinguished her glance and +expression in childhood seemed to have passed away, it was rather +subdued or merged in a look, as of a habit of thought now usual to her. +Meg's appearance was a matter of discussion in the school; some called +her beautiful, others vowed she was plain. Her soft, silky "no color" +hair--"mousey hair" Ursula called it--went charmingly with her +complexion; it obtruded somewhat heavily over her forehead, for she was +inclined to be careless about her dress. Her beauty was of the sort that +you do not think of analyzing. It grew upon the beholder, who invariably +discovered that her features possessed beauty of form, and that the +whole physiognomy had the charm that is magnetic. + +Meg had been contemplating writing to Mr. Fullbloom to tell him the +resolve she had taken, when his presence was announced in the +drawing-room. + +"Well, my dear," said the solicitor, taking her two hands in his, "here +I am. I did not dare to show myself before I could communicate news. You +commanded me the last time I saw you not to appear in your presence +until I brought you tidings of your guardian." + +"I was sorry I said that," replied Meg. "I have missed you. I did not +think you would obey me so implicitly." + +"Not after such a definite command!" Eh? exclaimed the solicitor, +jerking his head on one side and surveying her with his superficially +smiling glance. "Well, now, what news of yourself, little lady?" he +continued, leading her to a chair and sitting down beside her. + +"I have passed my examination," said Meg. "I am now at the head of the +school." + +Mr. Fullbloom put his hand on his heart and bowed. + +"A modern Aspasia!" he replied as Meg paused, and seemed to hesitate. +"Come," he went on, "when is our tiff to begin? I must have my tiff +about the great Unknown." + +"No," said Meg gently, "we shall have no more tiffs. I have made up my +mind I will ask no more questions; and if possible, I shall cease +wondering concerning myself. Whoever my benefactor may be, I am grateful +to him--grateful from my heart. I wish I could prove my gratitude to +him. I wish it so much that I cannot but think it will be granted to me +to do so some day." + +"Perhaps it will--and sooner than you think," exclaimed Mr. Fullbloom. +"Ha! ha!" he went on tantalizingly, the flicker of mischief alight in +his eyes as Meg looked up inquiringly. "You have just been saying you +would not wonder any more. + +"You would not be curious. Ha! ha! Mrs. Blue Beard, you would pry into +any forbidden closet--you know you would--to find out that secret." + +"No," repeated Meg, "I will not be curious any more. There must be some +reason--some reason that I ought to respect. You will, I know, tell my +kind friend, who he or she may be, that I am grateful; also, that I have +taken a great resolve." + +"Indeed!" said Fullbloom with evident enjoyment. "May I ask what it is?" + +"I will not be dependent any longer. I am going to earn my own +livelihood," replied Meg. + +"How valorous we are, all of a sudden!" said Mr. Fullbloom, chuckling as +if immensely tickled by the idea of Meg earning her livelihood. + +"No, not all of a sudden!" said Meg with energy. "I have long thought of +it. My wishes, my dreams have long been to be independent; to be no +longer a pensioner on the bounty of one whose very name is unknown to +me. I am going to be a governess. Miss Reeves has heard of a situation, +the duties of which she thinks I am fitted to undertake--to teach three +little girls in the country. The salary is thirty pounds. I won't be +dependent any longer," repeated Meg with concentration. + +"Miss Reeves and the three little girls go to Jericho!" cried Mr. +Fullbloom. Then taking Meg's two hands in his paternal grasp, "My dear +child," he said, "you have long wished to know your benefactor's name. +To-morrow you will know it. You will not only know it, but you will be +on a visit to him. He sends me to invite you down to stay at his place +in the country." + +"To-morrow!" repeated Meg. "On a visit to him! Who, then, is he?" + +"Ha! ha!" cried Mr. Fullbloom gleefully. "All that fine assumption of +having laid curiosity aside, where is it? No, no, no; not till to-morrow +will you know anything about it." + +"But where am I to go? Who am I to ask for?" cried Meg. + +"Listen, my dear," explained Mr. Fullbloom, giving an occasional +emphasis to his words by a pressure of Meg's hands. "You are to go to +London first, then to the station of the North-Western Railway. Miss +Reeves will go with you thus far; she will take a first-class ticket for +you. You must take the train that leaves London at a quarter to three. I +will be at Greywolds Station to meet you at half-past five. It takes +over three hours to get to Greywolds." + +Meg felt a sudden recoil as she realized how near she was to the meeting +she had dreamed of so long. + +"Don't trouble your little head about money. All that is settled. Miss +Reeves will make the necessary preparations. You have nothing to do but +attend to the farewells. I must be off now. I am going to Greywolds +to-night. I have an appointment with your mysterious patron." + +Mr. Fullbloom's eyes were brimming over with elvish laughter, as with +another pressure of Meg's two hands he turned away. He left her standing +silent and chill, under the impression of that sudden revulsion of +feeling. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +ARRIVAL. + + +Past stretches of meadowland and woodland, past undulating fields +sleeping peacefully in the sunshine, past busy towns and reposeful +hamlets sped the train bearing Meg to her unknown guardian's home. The +solitude of the empty carriage oppressed her. The flurry of the +farewells and the pain of sundered associations increased the timidity +of her spirit, as she realized more vividly that she was hurrying she +knew not whither to meet she knew not whom. + +Meg had not yet recovered from the recoil she had experienced on hearing +that she was so soon to meet her mysterious benefactor. As every moment +lengthened the space that parted her from surroundings which, if not +altogether sympathetic, had yet the sweetness of familiarity, the +unknown future presented itself to her invested with a touch of fear. +She combated this mood. Was she not hastening toward the human being +who had shown solicitude toward her in her forlornness? + +She felt almost sure that her protector would prove to be the stern +stranger whom she had twice seen in her childhood, and yet there would +drift up to her mind the possibility that Mr. Standish might turn out to +be this unknown friend. + +"I hope not," Meg said to herself, sudden shame overcoming her at the +possibility of meeting so soon, and of owing so much to one upon whose +personality her thoughts had dwelt so long. "I was a foolish sprite of a +child when I cared for him. I am a young woman now," she murmured. + +When she stepped out on the platform of the wayside station of Greywolds +she looked about. Mr. Fullbloom was not there. No one appeared to be +waiting for her. A farmer's cart and a private carriage were drawn up on +the other side of the paling that separated the country station from the +roadside. The single passenger who had alighted besides herself from the +train got into the carriage and drove off; the cart after depositing a +load of metal casks jogged away. Meg felt bewildered. If Mr. Fullbloom +did not come for her, what was she to do? She had no money with which to +pay her fare back. She did not know the name of the place to which to +direct the porter to take her luggage after she had identified her +modest trunk. The old sense of isolation so familiar to her in her +schooldays paralyzed Meg, and her eyelids smarted, as if she were about +to cry. + +Suddenly a carriage drove up, the gate of the station was pushed open, +and the dandified figure of Mr. Fullbloom came gayly forward. + +"So, you have found your way," he said airily. + +"I was afraid you had forgotten your appointment," Meg answered with +dignity. + +"I always associate this train and ladies with unpunctuality," the +solicitor replied with unruffled equanimity. + +Offering Meg his arm he led her out. Nervousness conquered every other +feeling, even curiosity. She asked no questions as she perceived a +carriage with two horses and liveried servants awaiting her. She stepped +inside, sank back into the cushioned seat, with Mr. Fullbloom by her +side. As she felt herself bowled along she gave a little gasp. + +The solicitor was very chatty. He inquired after her journey. He asked +details of the parting with schoolfellows. He pointed out pretty bits in +the landscape. Meg could not follow what he said; a longing for silence +was upon her. She wished with all her heart her companion would hold his +tongue and let her think and realize. + +Presently the carriage drove through gates, thrown open to let it pass +in. The way lay under an avenue of trees. A park stretched to right and +left. As Meg looked round she felt sure this stately domain could not +belong to William Standish. + +"This is Greywolds Manor," said Mr. Fullbloom with a chuckle, pointing +to a solid gray pile flanked with turrets at either end. "What do you +think of your new home?" + +Meg did not answer. Now that she knew for certain it was not the friend +of her childhood who would welcome her when she alighted she was aware +of an inconsistent disappointment. There came a sudden chill in the air. +The owner of this lordly place would not understand her. Everything +seemed gigantic, repellent. The trees threw too much shadow, the +sunshine was too bright, the massive house too large for homeliness. + +"Sir Malcolm Loftdale is the proprietor of this place. Now the mystery +is out. You know the name of your benefactor," chuckled Mr. Fullbloom, +the signals of mischievous enjoyment alight in his eyes. + +The carriage had drawn up before the door of the mansion. Meg descended; +she was aware of a discreet-looking elderly man helping to gather +together her loose traps, of a respectable-looking dame in an +impressive black silk gown coming forward to meet her. + +"This is Mrs. Jarvis, Sir Malcolm's trusty housekeeper. I cannot leave +you in better hands. Good-by, my dear," said Mr. Fullbloom. Kissing his +finger tips and spreading them in the air, he disappeared through a side +door. + +Meg followed the housekeeper up a softly-carpeted staircase, fragrant +with the perfume of flowers. She was vaguely aware of statues in niches, +of limpid pictures dreaming on the walls. A knight of old entering an +enchanted castle could not have felt more strange and bewildered, or +could not have summoned more desperate courage than did Meg as she moved +up that grand staircase. + +She was ushered into a pretty bedroom, hexagon shaped. Through the +windows looking out on the park at different angles poured the mellow +light of the late afternoon. Meg, at the request of a trim maid in a +dark gown and dainty muslin cap and apron, gave up the key of her trunk, +painfully realizing as she did so the slenderness and shabbiness of the +wardrobe that would be exposed to this smart young woman's gaze. With +brusque shyness she answered the housekeeper's bland expressions of +hospitality and exhortations to rest. In a trice the deft-handed, +nimble-footed attendant had disposed of the modest stock of wearing +apparel in wardrobes and drawers, and arranged on the tables the books, +desk, and cheap knickknacks--parting presents from some of Meg's school +friends; after which she disappeared with the housekeeper, to return +after a few moments carrying a delicate porcelain and silver five +o'clock solitaire tea-service, which she deposited on a table by Meg's +side. Then the trim attendant, in tones as respectful as if Meg's +belongings had revealed her to be a duchess, asked if she could do +anything more for Miss Beecham. On receiving a timorous negative she +announced that dinner was served at seven-thirty; that the dressing bell +would sound at seven. Could she help Miss Beecham to dress? "No, thank +you," replied Meg hastily; "I am accustomed to dress myself." + +With a sense of relief Meg heard the door close, and reflected that +probably until dinner-time she would be left alone. + +She poured herself out a cup of tea and looked round the room. It was a +charming little chamber. Its shape showed that it was placed in a tower. +On all sides she was surrounded by sky and trees. After awhile she set +about making a journey of discovery. One of the windows was over the +mantelpiece; she tried to find how the flue of the chimney went to +allow of this quaint arrangement. A bookcase stood in a corner; its +shelves held a delightful selection of books. A water-color drawing +representing a stormy sea, another of a peaceful and Arcadian scene, +hung on the walls. Two miniatures--one of Queen Elizabeth in an immense +ruffle, another of Mary, Queen of Scots--adorned a recess. The bed was +large, with two pillows; the coverlid and hangings, of delicate sea-blue +damask, matched the curtains at the windows. An electric bell was placed +near the bed. Meg thought it was the prettiest, coziest little chamber +she had ever seen, and her spirits rose. + +She was still in a kind of half reverie when the gong sounded, and +looking at the clock, she perceived that the short hand pointed to +seven. + +Taking out her white muslin gown, Meg began to array herself with care. +She had never devoted much thought to her toilet before, but she was +eager to please her benefactor. She coiled her brown hair smoothly round +her head, and fastened a red rose in her bodice. Then she waited till +the gong sounded again. + +Timidity once more overcame her as she descended the grand staircase; +realizing at every step more keenly that the moment had come when she +would be ushered into the presence of her benefactor. Two footmen in +plush and gold lace stood on either side of an open door; this was the +room in which her host awaited her. + +Meg paused on the threshold. A somewhat short elderly man in evening +dress stood near the table. This was no familiar figure; but she +remained where she was, overwhelmed with emotion, looking dumbly at this +protector of her forlorn youth. She could not speak for her beating +heart. Her shyness was enhanced by the silence of her host. He did not +advance to greet her; he did not stretch out a hand of welcome. He stood +close to a chair in a somewhat deferential attitude. Then suddenly Meg +recognized him to be the butler who had received her in the hall on her +arrival. She had not identified him in her fright. + +With a painful sense of the absurdity of her mistake she took the seat +he placed for her and looked hurriedly round the table. The flower and +fruit-decked expanse, the white cloth, the plate and delicate glass, +glowed rosily under the crimson-shaded suspension lamp; no second cover +was laid, no other chairs near the board. She was to dine alone. + +Meg had scarcely realized this when a plateful of soup was placed before +her, and she felt the two magnificent lackeys standing on either side of +her chair, watching as she dipped the spoon and raised it to her lips. +The thought that she was to eat her dinner under the inspection of this +frigid and observant gaze struck her with palsied nervousness. She upset +a tumbler as she stretched her hand for the salt-cellar; she helped +herself to everything that was offered to her by her attendants; she +allowed the butler without protest to fill the glasses at her side with +claret, hock, and champagne, and let the beverages stand there untasted. +In the awful silence she started when the door opened. After awhile the +tension of her nervousness was relieved by a freakish fancy. What a good +story it would make to tell the girls in the dormitory! How she had sat +in a skimpy muslin dress in this splendid room, hung round with family +portraits which seemed to be watching her; of the sumptuous repast +served to her alone; of the obsequiousness of the servant men; how +terrified she had been; with what clumsiness she had behaved, and with +what attempts at dignity! + +There came a moment at last when, every trace of heavier diet having +been removed, the servants retired, after having placed the dessert and +three decanters of wine before Meg. She drew a breath of relief as she +made sure that she was alone. A girlish love of fruit came over her, and +she helped herself to a bunch of grapes. She remembered she had once +heard the story of a girl who for a day had been mistaken for a queen. +The people cheered her, the courtiers obeyed her slightest wish. Meg +smiled as she thought this girl must have felt as she felt to-night. + +She glanced around as she ate her grapes. The table made a patch of +brilliancy in the long room, the corners of which remained dusky. +Gleaming frames caught the light of the suspension lamp, and here and +there revealed the superb apparel of the dignified full-length men and +women gazing down upon her from the walls. As Meg's eyes traveled slowly +round this stately company she was vaguely revolving in her mind how she +would summon up courage to leave this room and make her way back to her +own. + +Presently her eyes rested on what looked like a blank framed space at +the furthest end of the apartment. She could not distinguish the cause +of this effect. It puzzled her, so she rose from her chair and drew +nearer. She found it was a picture with its face turned to the wall. + +The discovery affected her like the touch of a spectral hand. That +disgraced canvas riveted her attention. What did it mean? She looked +away; but the spell continued to work, and once more she drew near. The +sight of its disgrace brought a piteous feeling. It looked like an +outcast in the midst of this painted pageantry of splendid men and +women. + +Whose face was it thus turned away? Was it that of a man or of a woman? +Meg felt as if she would give anything to know. Everything else faded in +interest near the story of that picture. She tried vainly to discover a +trace of revealing outline. The fascination grew too strong. She got up +on a chair and tried with all her strength to turn the picture round and +get a glimpse. She had succeeded in moving it slightly when she heard +behind her the door open. + +Meg dropped her hold of the frame and turned round. + +The housekeeper was standing on the threshold looking at her aghast. + +"Miss Beecham, what are you doing?" + +"I was trying to get a peep at this picture," said Meg, jumping down. +"Why is its face turned to the wall?" + +Mrs. Jarvis shook her head. "Why, miss, it would be worth a servant's +place in this house to turn that picture round. Sir Malcolm Loftdale has +forbidden the name of the person whose portrait that is to be mentioned. +He never comes into this room. I am sure it is because of that +picture." + +"Indeed; I am sorry," said Meg in some confusion. + +"I could tell you all about that picture, Miss Beecham. I have been in +this house these thirty years, and I was there the day it was turned to +the wall. It was a day I'll never forget--not so long as I live; but +it's laid upon me not to tell," went on the housekeeper, who looked +packed with mystery. + +"Do not think I would wish you to tell me," exclaimed Meg hurriedly. "I +would not--not on any account." Then she asked with abrupt transition: +"Shall I see Sir Malcolm Loftdale to-night?" + +"No, Miss Beecham, not to-night. Sir Malcolm sent me down to ask you to +excuse him. He is old, miss, and not strong. He hopes that you will +forgive his not welcoming you himself, and that you will make yourself +at home." + +"Thank Sir Malcolm Loftdale for me, and say that I feel very grateful to +him for his hospitality," Meg replied, relieved yet vaguely nettled by +her host's neglect. + +"Coffee is served in the drawing-room, Miss Beecham." + +"Thank you; but I think I shall return to my room," said Meg. + +She hurried up the staircase. A confused pain seemed to haunt the +surrounding splendor. It oppressed her as might the scent of flowers in +a room of death. + +When she opened the door of her pretty room, the sea-green silk curtains +of which had been drawn, the daintiness and comfort contrasted +pleasantly with the alien magnificence outside, saddened as it was by a +jarring note of brooding grief. A black cat had found its way in, and +came forward to meet Meg with tail uplifted and a welcoming purr. The +homeliness of the scene revived her drooping spirits. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +SIR MALCOLM LOFTDALE. + + +Meg had more than once explored the house and the grounds. She had +performed the pilgrimage under the expansive wing of Mrs. Jarvis; she +had wandered alone over the mansion and rambled through the park, +feeling delight in the old-world charm of the place. The touch of tragic +mystery brought into the atmosphere by the picture on which a ban had +been laid now added to the spell of its fascination. The lofty rooms, +with somber gilt or painted ceilings; the faded tapestries and brocaded +hangings; the dusky tones of the furniture, upon which the sunbeams fell +with an antique glow, appeared to her steeped in the mystery of +associations. Every room seemed a chapter in an unknown story, the +thought of which kindled her fancy. The park, with its lengthening +vistas, its sylvan retreats, and patriarchal trees, a branch of the +silver river sweeping through its stately alleys; the stretches of +lawns, the flower-gardens, the glass structures in which bloomed a +tropical vegetation, enchanted her. + +It was like living in a picture, she thought, to live amid such +peaceful, beautiful, finely ordered surroundings, whose past haunted +them like a presence. After the crude and noisy bustle of immature +possibilities to which she was accustomed, the wearied splendors of this +domain came to her as a revelation of novel possibilities in the setting +of life. + +A week had elapsed, Meg had almost grown accustomed to the place, and +yet she had not seen its owner. She had at first begun every morning by +asking Mrs. Jarvis if there was a probability of her seeing Sir Malcolm +Loftdale during the course of the day, but the housekeeper on each +occasion had given an evasive answer, and Meg now asked no more. She +might have felt wounded at this breach of hospitality had not the +behavior of the servants precluded all idea of a slight being offered to +her. They paid her obsequious attention, they obeyed her slightest +expressed wish. She might have imagined herself the queen of the domain. +The solitude, the homage paid to her, the regard for her comfort, +reminded her of a fairy tale where the host remains unseen and the +heroine lives in splendor and isolation. She wondered often why her +benefactor kept himself thus sternly secluded. She began to think it +could not be the old gentleman she had seen in her childhood; why should +he avoid her? If it were a stranger was it because of some unsightly +physical affliction, some form of mental derangement? was it a brooding +melancholy that caused him morbidly to shrink from contact with +outsiders? A longing to be of comfort mingled with the curiosity she +felt concerning her mysterious host. + +One late afternoon as she rambled in the park she saw, framed in by +trees as in a picture, the figure of a tall, slender, white-haired +gentleman walking toward her. She recognized him at once. It was the +mysterious stranger, twice met in her childhood. He held his head high. +What a head it was! There was an eagle cast of physiognomy, a chill +expression in the eyes, a hardness on the lips. He wore a country suit +and carried a heavy gold-headed stick; a diamond stud on a jeweled seal +caught the light and shone. These little details curiously impressed +themselves upon Meg. She stopped, asking herself if this was the master +of the house? + +The stranger glanced toward her, lifted his hat, and with an old-world +salute passed on. Meg determined not to look after him; but she could +not resist the temptation, and turning round she saw him ascending the +steps of the house. On questioning the housekeeper, Meg found that the +picturesque old gentleman was Sir Malcolm Loftdale. + +Next morning Meg was standing arranging some flowers in the window of +the little room she had chosen for her morning retreat--it looked out on +a pleasant side alley of the grounds in the center of which stood a sun +dial--when the door suddenly opened, and the gentleman she had seen in +the park on the previous evening entered unannounced. He did not advance +beyond the threshold, but he closed the door after him and kept one hand +on the handle. He did not extend the other in greeting. + +At sight of him Meg's heart fluttered, and she acknowledged by a +flurried inclination of her head his stately bow. + +He was handsomer than she had imagined him to be; but the light of his +stern blue eye remained cold, and there was a remoteness in the steady +glance that he fixed upon her. + +"I beg you, Miss Beecham, to excuse me for not having welcomed you +before," he said in a voice of cold courtesy. "I trust you will forgive +me for exercising a privilege age is apt freely to indulge near +youth--that of following the usual routine of life. I am a solitary, my +life is organized for loneliness." + +"You have been most kind, sir," muttered Meg, in a tumult of timidity. + +"My servants have received strict orders to attend to your comfort. I +hope they have been attentive?" + +"They have been very attentive," replied Meg. + +"I fear the days may seem to drag heavily for you, Miss Beecham," the +old gentleman resumed, without a shadow of softening in the coldness of +his voice or the scrutiny of his glance. "I have thought--to relieve +their tedium--that you might like a horse. I will have one broken for +your use. There are pretty rides about." + +"I do not know how to ride, sir," said Meg, touched and bewildered by +the thoughtfulness and repellent manner of her host. + +"My old groom would teach you; he is a most trustworthy and respectable +man," said Sir Malcolm. + +"Thank you sir," said Meg. Then with desperate courage, as her +benefactor seemed about to retire, she added breathlessly: "I should not +feel lonely, sir--not--if you would let me be with you a little--if you +would let me read for you, or do something for you. You have been so +good to me all those years." + +The old gentleman bowed hastily; the expression of his cold glance +seemed to grow colder as he replied: "I assure you, Miss Beecham, you +need feel yourself under no obligation to me for what I have done. It is +very little." + +"Little! It was everything to me!" said Meg hurriedly, her voice +trembling with restrained emotion. "You twice saved me from a wretched +fate. But for you, sir, as you told me on that evening you took me back +to school, I would have been as uncared for as a workhouse child." + +"I wish, if you will allow me distinctly to state my wishes, that +allusion to the past be dropped between us. I can repeat only that you +are under no obligation," replied her host, his thin lips remaining +tense in their cruel firmness of line, his glance courteously repellent. +"When the case was pointed out to me it became my plain duty to do what +I did." + +"I do not understand; I only know that if you had not been good to me I +should have been ignorant and homeless," answered Meg with reckless +iteration. + +There was a pause, Sir Malcolm frowned, then he said with the same +impassible frigidity: + +"If you choose, Miss Beecham, to consider that you are under a debt of +gratitude to me, allow me to say that you will express it in the manner +most agreeable to me by never referring to the subject." + +Bowing once more with that impassible fineness of mien, the old +gentleman opened the door and disappeared. + +Meg felt crushed as by some physical blow. The gratitude that she had +harbored in her heart till it was filled to bursting all those years was +thrown back upon it, and the pain stifled her. She realized her +loneliness as she never had realized it before. She wandered blindly out +into the park, and for the first time, in the heart of nature, she felt +like an outcast. She rebelled against the isolation to which her +benefactor would condemn her. It felt like an insult. + +To be grateful to those who are good to us is a sacred right. He had no +authority to take from her this God-given privilege. After awhile she +grew calmer, but a melancholy fell over her such as she had never known. + +Day succeeded day, and the intercourse between Meg and her host remained +but little changed. She watched him curiously whenever she had the +opportunity. She came to know his habits. A young man was closeted with +him for some hours every morning. Mrs. Jarvis told Meg he was Sir +Malcolm's secretary, and read the papers to him, as the baronet's +eyesight was beginning to fail. He had lodgings in the village. + +Sir Malcolm rode out alone, walked alone, took his meals alone, spent +his evenings alone. Occasionally some elderly country squires called at +the house; but there was apparently no intimacy between the baronet and +his neighbors. Meg often watched her host wandering about the park; +there was an alley he haunted. As he paced backward and forward, his +hands behind his back, his tall figure, slender almost to gauntness, +clothed in the somewhat old-fashioned costume he affected, his white +hair shining like spun glass about his pale, high-featured face, she +thought he looked like a ghost which had stepped down out of one of the +pictures. Little by little she grew to feel an intense interest in that +stately specter. + +Whenever they met Sir Malcolm was courteous and cold. Sometimes he +passed her by with that old-world salute; oftener he stopped to inquire +after her comfort, to offer with distant interest suggestions for her +amusement. He recommended her books to read; he once pointed out to her +the parts of the house to which historical interest was attached. + +He attracted and repelled Meg. She was always in a fright when she was +near him. His glance withered every impulse to pass the distance he +imposed between them. A chill air seemed around him, as might be round +an iceberg. The look of power on his face, the suggestion his appearance +gave of a strong, self-contained personality, possessed for her the same +sort of fascination as the flash and iridescence of an iceberg that will +not melt. The interest Meg felt for her host kept pace with her fear. +She always connected that picture turned to the wall with his history +and his character. There it was always in presence, and yet under +apparently some black disgrace. + +Away from Sir Malcolm, she would indulge a zeal to win his regard, to +conquer it. Watching his solitary pacings to and fro, a pity would fill +her heart for the lonely man who had been so good to her. In his +presence came the chill, checking every expression of emotion. Sometimes +when she met his glance she fancied her benefactor disliked her. + +The sadness deepened upon Meg--the sadness of a sensitive nature +condemned to isolation. The inaction of her days wearied her. She looked +back with a touch of nostalgia on the busy schooldays, and mourned anew +for Elsie, who had allowed her to give love. Meg's pride also rebelled +against eating the bread of idleness under her benefactor's roof: that +gentle independence had grown a sort of second nature with her. + +One morning she was aware of a certain flurry through the house. Mrs. +Jarvis told her that Sir Malcolm's secretary had been called away +suddenly to London on important family business, and that the master was +left with his papers alone. + +Meg received the information in silence. For a few moments after the +housekeeper left she stood still, thinking. Once or twice she walked to +the room and came back irresolute. She at last went determinedly out of +the room and made her way to the library, where Sir Malcolm spent the +greater part of his time indoors. + +She knocked, but scarcely waited for permission to open the door. +Walking swiftly in before he could recognize her, she stood by Sir +Malcolm's chair. + +"I have come to ask if I may read to you, sir, in the absence of Mr. +Robinson?" she said in the smooth, quick voice of mastered timidity. + +He looked up surprised, and rose. + +"I could not accept it of you," he said with a bow. + +"Why not?" she asked with breathless gentleness. + +"Did Mrs. Jarvis suggest to you to come?" he said with a quick frown, +an evidence of irritation he suppressed at once. + +"No," said Meg. "I heard Mr. Robinson had left, and I hoped that you +would let me take his place." + +"That would be impossible. I would not lay such a tax upon any lady," he +said with courteous definiteness of accent and manner. + +"Why will you not let me read to you?" asked Meg pleadingly. + +"Because," he answered, with an attempt at lightness of tone that did +not yet take from its distance and firmness, "young ladies do not care +for politics, and politics alone interest me." + +"They would interest me if I read them for you," said Meg with timid +persistence. + +"Allow me to beg you to put into the balance against this plea the +argument that it would be disagreeable to me," Sir Malcolm replied, with +a directness the brutality of which was veiled by the stately tone of +dismissal in his voice and manner. "And the spirit that impelled you to +undertake the task would make it all the more painful." + +As Meg did not answer he continued: + +"Excuse the frankness of my refusal. I thank you, nevertheless, for the +offer." + +He glanced toward the door, and as she moved away he advanced to open +it for her; but Meg paused on her way. Her spirit was up; the fear that +hitherto had quelled her before him fell from her. She had grown +suddenly irritated at his invincible coldness. She would expose herself +to no more rebuffs. + +"May I ask you, sir, to be so kind as to spare me a moment? I have a +request to make." + +"Certainly," he replied, turning back; he sat down and pointed to a +chair near his. But Meg remained standing. + +Embarrassment, resolution kept her motionless with a touch of angular +rigidity in her pose. Her voice, unsteady at first, grew more controlled +as she went on: + +"Before leaving school I had an offer of a situation as governess to +three young children. You were kind enough, sir, to ask me on a visit. I +thank you for the hospitality you have shown me. I think my visit must +now come to an end. With your permission I shall inquire if the place is +still vacant, and take it if it be." + +"Why do you want to go, Miss Beecham?" said Sir Malcolm. "Are you not +comfortable here?" + +"Comfortable, yes," said Meg. She paused as if hesitating, then she +added brusquely, "I do not think I care much for comfort." + +There was something primitive, almost childish, in Meg's manner; but it +gave the impression of the strength rather than of the weakness of +childhood. It came with a freshness that was as the scent of the flower +rather than that of the toilet perfume. + +Meg's mood seemed to pique the old gentleman; he looked curiously at +her, almost as if for the first time he recognized in her an +individuality. + +"You do not care for comfort. That is a great source of independence," +he observed. + +"I wish to be independent," said Meg with gentle spirit. + +"You are proud. It is a spirit that should be repressed," he answered. + +"I do not know if I am proud," replied Meg, her low, feeling voice under +evident restraint. "I know it pains me to be here receiving everything, +giving nothing in return." + +"What could you give?" he asked with a slight contraction of his hard +lips. + +"I could give proofs of what I feel--gratitude," she said. + +"I have explained I do not want gratitude," he replied with chill +distinctness. "I do not either wish to receive it or to inspire it." + +"You cannot help my feeling it," Meg broke out with spirit and with a +vivid glance; "that is beyond your control. You may condemn me to +silence and to apparent apathy, but the gratitude is here all the same; +and because I cannot express it, it becomes a burden and hurts me." + +There was a pause, during which Sir Malcolm continued to look at Meg +with that new look of curiosity, as if for the first time he recognized +her as a personality. + +"Am I to understand," he said slowly, "that you wish to leave my house +because I do not care for any allusion to be made between us of the part +I have taken in defraying the cost of your education?" + +Meg made a quick gesture. "Because you will let me do nothing for you, +and also because I want to be independent. I would never wish to leave +you if I could be of service to you--never; but as you will not let me, +I ask you to let me go and earn my own living." + +Sir Malcolm bowed his head. "I understand; you do not wish to be +dependent upon me for your maintenance." + +"No, sir." + +"Suppose," resumed her host after a pause, "I were to feel disposed to +accept the offer you just now made to me, to replace Mr. Robinson during +his absence, would you allow me to do so?" + +Meg gave an exclamation of acceptance. + +[Illustration: MEG READS THE MORNING PAPERS TO SIR MALCOLM.--Page 255.] + +"Understand me," said the old man with deliberate distinctness, +looking full at Meg. "It is a business proposal. I still maintain my +point. I do not want gratitude. If I accept your services, it is on the +condition that you will accept a remuneration." + +Meg colored. For a moment she knit her brows, then she said with effort, +"I shall accept the chance of being of service to you under any +condition, sir, that you may name." + +"So be it, then," said the baronet. + +At a sign from him Meg sat down and took up the _Times_. "Where shall I +begin, sir?" she asked. + +"With the first leader, if you please," he replied with an inclination +of the head, crossing his knees, and composing himself to listen. + +Meg read, mastering her nervousness with a strong effort of will. Once +or twice she looked up and caught his eyes fixed upon her, with that new +curiosity in their glance that seemed to humanize their expression. + +After she had read the _Times_, the political leaders of the _Standard_, +and selections from its foreign correspondence under Sir Malcolm's +directions, a third paper remained--the local organ apparently--the +_Greywolds Mercury_. At the murmured injunction of her auditor, "The +leader, if you please," Meg once more set upon her task. + +The article handled a book upon the rights of property which had lately +appeared and was making a stir. As Meg read the opening paragraph her +voice faltered and hesitated. She was reading a fierce attack upon Sir +Malcolm Loftdale. + +She looked up distressed and flurried. The old man set his jaw. "Go on," +he said, and Meg continued. She could scarcely follow the drift of what +she read for sympathy with the pain she was inflicting upon her +benefactor. She confusedly gathered that Sir Malcolm had raised rents in +order to get rid of certain tenants on his estate; that the compensation +he gave his ejected cottagers might appear to justify the proceeding, +which nevertheless remained in the eyes of the writer of the article an +infamous cruelty. + +"I think this will suffice for to-day, Miss Beecham," said the baronet, +when she had read to the end. + +She rose as he spoke. She noticed he looked paler. "Is there no letter, +sir, that I can write for you?" asked Meg. + +"None this morning, I thank you," he replied with that fine air of +dismissal which awed Meg. He preceded her to the door, and held it open +for her to pass out. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +THE EDITOR OF THE "GREYWOLDS MERCURY." + + +Morning after morning Meg appeared at her post. She was punctual. As the +clock struck ten her knock sounded at the library door, and she glided +in. The greeting between her employer and herself was always the same--a +formal and courtly bow from him, an inclination of the head and low +"Good morning, sir," from her. Then she would begin to read. She knew +the order in which he liked to listen to the contents of the various +journals. Sometimes also Meg remained to write letters. She had rebelled +at first against the business contract her benefactor had proposed to +her; she liked it well enough now that she had entered upon it. The +touch of frigidity it brought into the more emotional relationship of +gratitude with which she regarded him imparted definiteness to their +intercourse. The somewhat elaborate courtesy with which he treated her +lent a charm to service. + +On Wednesday and Saturday the _Greywolds Mercury_ appeared among the +papers to be read. Its columns usually contained an attack, covert or +personal, against Sir Malcolm Loftdale. Sometimes he was mentioned by +name; sometimes he was alluded to in pointed and unmistakable terms as +"a large landed proprietor living in unsympathetic isolation." In his +dealings toward his tenants he was represented as a tyrant, not so much +actively as passively; and "passive injustice," the writer maintained, +"is worse than active, for it leaves no hope behind." + +Meg felt a flame of indignant protest rising against this persistent +abuse. She would have skipped the censure so relentlessly pursuing the +old man, who listened in silence with jaw set and lips compressed; but +he always detected the attempt, and bade her "go on" in a voice so stern +that its tone stopped the reluctant quaver in hers. Meg knew that her +auditor, who never offered a word of remonstrance or vouchsafed an +exclamation as she read, suffered from these scathing attacks. He looked +paler and feebler, she thought, during the day, and wandered with more +piteous aimlessness about the park. + +One hot Wednesday afternoon she came upon him asleep in a garden chair +in the sunshine. The feebleness of his aspect strangely appealed to +Meg. He looked so frail and pale. The pride of his appearance was +relaxed. The colorless features, the delicate hands loosely crossed, +might have been modeled in wax. In the immobility of sleep the face had +a tragic cast. Meg thought it looked like that of one dead, who in life +had suffered beyond the ordinary lot of man. Pity and indignation that +one so old and stricken should be made to suffer stirred Meg's heart. +For a moment she looked upon her benefactor, and then she turned away +with moistened eyes. + +Meg was no dreamer. She was of an active nature. As she walked +feverishly about the grounds she found herself remonstrating in +imagination with this venomous persecutor of one who had cast a spell of +interest over her, and to whom she owed so much. She sometimes stopped +in her walk to complete some angry appeal. Suddenly a daring thought +arose in her mind. She would call upon this man, and in the strength of +a just cause she would meet him face to face without anger, and tell him +the injury he was doing to an old man's life. Would she dare to do it? +She did not know the editor's name, but she had noticed that letters +published in the paper were simply addressed to him in his official +capacity. She knew where to find the office of the _Greywolds Mercury_. +She had seen it one day that she had had occasion to visit the market +town two miles distant. After the first flash of courage her spirit +failed as she approached the gate. She hesitated. She thought of that +newspaper in the library, and went back and read the article again. +Again her indignation blazed up. Holding the paper in her hand she set +out on her mission. As she walked she read over portions of the article +to keep her zeal warm. Thus she proceeded on her way, filled with her +theme, yet faltering. + +She reached the town, and turned into the High Street where the office +stood. She easily recognized it by the posters outside and the +advertisements in the windows. Meg entered the shabby interior with a +desperate effort, and while trembling, yet full of moral courage, +impelled to act by what seemed to be a duty. A clerk sat at a desk; a +small boy was posting and rolling up the papers. It was the dingiest +corner from which a thunderbolt could be launched. + +"I want to see the editor," she said brusquely. + +"He is busy, miss," answered the clerk, surveying her slowly over his +spectacles. + +"I want to see him on important business," said Meg determinedly, trying +to look unabashed. + +"What name shall I say?" asked the clerk. + +"Miss Beecham; but he will not know me," replied Meg. + +The clerk disappeared, and returned after a moment to say the editor +would be glad to see the lady. + +They climbed a narrow, dusty flight of stairs that led to a glass door. +It was opened by her guide, who ushered her into a room that impressed +her as a medley of papers and books. A man, who had been sitting before +a large table, rose at her entrance. She perceived that he was tall and +broad-shouldered, that his countenance was energetic and expressive, and +his glance brilliant. The lower part of his face was hidden by a reddish +beard; the closely-cropped hair was of a darker and less ruddy hue. He +bowed to her. + +"Are you the editor of the _Greywolds Mercury_?" she asked, making +another desperate effort to conquer her shyness. + +"I am," he answered. + +"If anything appears in the paper that is unjust it is to you one must +appeal?" + +"Certainly. I hope nothing of this kind has appeared," he answered. His +tone was curt, his voice deep and not inharmonious. + +"It is because something unjust has appeared, and has been repeated, +that I have called upon you," said Meg. + +"Indeed! Would you tell me the particulars? Pray, sit down," said the +editor. If his manner had a certain _brusquerie_ it was that of +self-possession; it was characteristic of a man accustomed to speak to +business men, and who could listen as well as talk. + +He was dressed with a certain negligence, but with great neatness. Meg +noticed, she knew not why, his large, well-shaped hand. + +"There have been a number of articles upon Sir Malcolm Loftdale," began +Meg. + +The editor acknowledged the truth of this statement by an inclination of +the head. + +"I know Sir Malcolm well. I am staying at Greywolds Manor. I am taking +the place of his secretary," said Meg, determinedly ignoring the shyness +that, without chilling her indignation, yet threatened to overcome her +under the scrutinizing glance of the editor. "I am under great +obligations to Sir Malcolm, I owe him everything." + +The editor bowed his head, but did not break the silence. He appeared to +be waiting for more cogent reasons to be advanced. Meg felt to a certain +degree baffled by his manner. + +"You do not know how good he is," she resumed with energy, "and you +represent him as unjust and tyrannical." + +"You must remember the criticisms are upon Sir Malcolm in his public +capacity of landlord and magistrate. They do not apply to him as a +private individual," said the editor. + +Meg made a movement as if repudiating this line of argument. + +"A man cannot be one thing in his public capacity and another in his +private relationship," she said quickly. + +"I am afraid he can," answered the editor, with a smile distantly +brightening his glance. + +"I cannot believe it," said Meg with energy. "He is old and feeble. It +is cruel to hurt him, and I know those attacks hurts him. He never says +a word. He has never mentioned the subject to me. I watch him as I read +aloud to him, and I think they will kill him." + +"I think you exaggerate their importance," said the editor, averting his +glance in which Meg thought she detected a sparkle of amusement. After a +moment he resumed with seriousness. "You must understand me. I do not +like to hurt your feelings, but this is a matter of principle with me. +To put it plainly, Sir Malcolm Loftdale is a bad landlord, and in a +public sense a bad man." + +Meg gave an exclamation. "I do not believe it; I do not accept this +statement. You misjudge him, You do not know him as I know him. He +leads a lonely life and perhaps does not know." + +"Exactly! That is one of the reasons that make him a bad landlord. He +ignores the needs of his tenants by indulging his selfish love of +loneliness, he becomes utterly unsympathetic. He cares nothing for the +laborers who look to him for securing them the commonest rights, more +decent dwellings, fair rents. And yet what wonder," continued the +editor, turning his head away and speaking as if to himself, "that he +should not care for them, when he did not care for his own son." + +Meg thought of the picture with its face turned to the wall. She felt +she touched a boundary that lay beyond her self-imposed task, and she +rose. + +"I see that I am making no way," she said in hurt accents. "I cannot +influence you to abandon the cruel course you seem determined to pursue. +Nothing remains for me to do but to apologize for having made the +attempt, and to go." + +"Indeed," said the editor, rising also, "I am sorry I should have given +this wrong impression of the interest with which I have listened to your +arguments in favor of Sir Malcolm Loftdale, and of your appeal against +the censure pronounced upon him in the _Greywolds Mercury_. But, believe +me, there are many upon his estate who daily talk of him more bitterly +than I do; many who have been compelled to leave and to face ruin in +already over-crowded cities after accepting his offer of compensation, +which was a hard bargain driven on his side alone. You do not know, +perhaps, the merits of the case against him. He turns his tenants out, +if they are not punctual with their rents as soon as the law allows. In +his selfish desire for isolation he allows no cottages to be built on +his extensive estates. He has checked innocent amusements; barred the +right of way. These sufferers represent the people. I shall not offend +you by stating what I could of the class to which Sir Malcolm belongs. +You see I have argued and discussed the matter fairly with you," +continued the editor, checking the warmth of his tone. + +"I cannot judge the case as you state it," said Meg with a pained frown. +"I am sure it is one-sided." Then with gathering energy she went on: +"Cannot you conceive that your continued persecution may drive him to +worse acts? It is enough to make him shun his neighbors to be thus +always held up to them as cruel and exacting. It is enough to make him +wish to remove them from his sight when he knows that they are taught to +revile him. I know that he is good. Take my case. I owe him everything; +yet I have no claim upon him. Doubtless mine is not an isolated case. +He may be helping many others in an obscure way. Noble natures shrink +from publicity. I know he shrinks from being thanked. He will not allow +me to thank him. It almost led to a misunderstanding between us when I +tried to express to him my gratitude. You talk of his getting rid of +tenants after giving them compensation. What is that suffering compared +to the one you inflict upon him by these words that may sting to death?" + +Meg's defense of her guardian was not logical, but it was of the heart, +and womanly. She ignored all her antagonist's arguments, and saw +everything colored by her emotions of the moment. The editor looked at +her with a sort of half-amused amazement. Her vehemence was not to be +answered by balanced sentences or editorial dignity. + +"You are so good an advocate," he said, smiling, "that you almost +incline me to be a convert." + +"I wish I could convert you to believe in his goodness--to me, and +perhaps to many others," said Meg, with the constraint of shy +awkwardness upon her, as she accepted the homage of his softened mood. + +"His kindness to you is all that I care for," said the editor, +gallantly. + +"Will you promise me not to write any more articles against him?" asked +Meg, with the childlike almost primitive directness that occasionally +distinguished her speech when greatly in earnest. + +"I promise to remember your advocacy whenever I begin to write, or to +think of Sir Malcolm Loftdale," answered the editor. + +"You promise it?" repeated Meg. + +"I promise it," said the editor. + +After a pause of awkward hesitation Meg bowed and turned away. The +editor held open the door for her, and she passed out of the dingy +office. + +As Meg walked home she was conscious of a certain light-heartedness. The +interview had been, on the whole, antagonistic; yet the impression it +left on her mind was pleasant. The editor was a stranger, and yet he +almost seemed to her a friend. She could not account for a sense of +trustfulness with which she felt inclined to regard him. There was +nothing to justify this confidence, yet the impression remained. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +FRIEND OR FOE. + + +The impression, for which she could give no reason, that this stranger +was a friend remained with Meg. When on the following Wednesday she +recognized the _Greywolds Mercury_ lying among the morning newspapers, +she looked at its pages with confidence. + +She read the _Times_ abstractedly, eager to get to the local organ. Her +voice lost its intelligent enunciation. Sir Malcolm, with courteous +apologies for what might be, he owned, his lack of attention, asked on +two occasions for a paragraph to be read over again, the sense of which +he had not gathered. Meg, the second time, recognized the implied +rebuke, and compelled herself to concentrate her mind upon her task. + +When the turn of the _Greywolds Mercury_ came she took it up +deliberately, and slowly unfolded its pages. She turned to the leader; +she glanced over it; the print swam before her eyes. The article was an +onslaught upon Sir Malcolm. Last week he had passed a hard sentence upon +a poacher caught red-handed in his preserves, and this severity had +roused the editor's ire. Meg dropped the paper with an exclamation, her +heart beat with indignation and with an exaggerated sense of +disappointment. + +"What is it, Miss Beecham?" asked Sir Malcolm. + +"I cannot read it!" replied Meg unsteadily. + +"I suppose it is one of those low-bred, personal attacks upon myself. +Pray do not let it discompose you, Miss Beecham," said Sir Malcolm with +formal coldness. "I assure you it affects me as little as would the +barking of an ill-bred puppy." + +As Meg still hesitated he added, after a moment's pause, with impassible +politeness, "I must beg you, Miss Beecham, to be so good as to read this +article aloud." + +The formality of the tone, into which Sir Malcolm had infused a touch of +command, reminded Meg that he was her employer, and she proceeded. She +went steadily on to the end. The article seemed to her to be marked by +increased virulence. She could not judge the merits of the case that +formed the subject of the editor's attack. She did not care to judge +them. These were outside the point. + +The concluding phrases ran: "There is a justice that keeps within the +letter of the law, and ignores every suggestion of compassion and +fellow-feeling for other human beings. But this justice fails in +severity before that which deals out punishment for breaking the edicts +contained in the code of so-called social honor. The modern Brutus would +immolate not the unhappy peasant only, to whom belong no human rights, +he would immolate his own son, if he conspired to rebel against the +sacred commandments contained in that code." + +Meg was startled by a low exclamation. She looked up. Sir Malcolm was +lying back in his chair, his eyes closed, his countenance ashen and +drawn. + +As she paused he opened his eyes and looked round; his expression was +one of mental anguish. + +"Thank you," he said, with a ghastly attempt to assume that fine air of +dismissal he knew so well how to put on, "that will suffice for to-day." + +"May I not do something more for you, sir?" asked Meg, affected by his +tone and manner. + +"Thank you, I am much obliged," he replied, turning away and taking up a +book. + +Meg noticed that his hand trembled. She remembered the editor's words. +"He was not good to his son." + +Was it for this that the reckless allusion to a father's condemnation of +a son to death in the name of justice had hit him so hard? + +She dared no longer intrude upon the presence of that sorrow or remorse, +and left the room. What did it all mean? She went to the great +dining-room and stood before the picture with its face turned to the +wall. The disgrace appealed to her with tragic piteousness; and the +father's unforgiveness acted upon her like a chill repulse. + +The house seemed full of an unforgiven pain; the sense of it oppressed +Meg, and she wandered out into the amity of the woodland roads. As she +walked down a narrow path she became aware of a man approaching toward +her from the opposite direction, with a long stride and an absorbed +mien. She recognized the editor. + +The indignation that had been thrust back by the thought of that unknown +sorrow blazed forth anew. It flamed on her cheek and burned in her eyes. +As the editor came near he met her glance and removed his hat; but Meg, +taking no notice of his salute, passed on, like a little goddess clothed +in the panoply of her wrath. + +As she returned home by another way she was surprised, and a little +offended, to see the editor loitering near the gates of the park. She +was preparing to cut him once more, when he advanced resolutely toward +her. + +"May I say a few words to you, Miss Beecham, with reference to the +article that appeared in this morning's _Mercury_?" + +"I would prefer not," replied Meg curtly. + +"I feel an explanation is due. I would like to justify myself," he said, +keeping pace with her as she walked on with her face turned from him. + +"I would rather not approach the subject. No explanation is possible," +replied Meg coldly. + +"I think you are mistaken in saying that. Will you give me the +opportunity I ask?" + +"I prefer not," repeated Meg, stopping short and now turning round full +upon him. "We approach this subject from such totally different +standpoints, I feel very seriously about it. You gave your promise +lightly, and as lightly broke it. I asked it after much hesitation and +reluctance. To address a stranger, to call upon him as I did upon you, +was a strong measure to take--a reckless one, some might say. I knew it, +I felt it. I put myself into a false position--I exposed myself to the +insult of being regarded as one to whom a promise means no bond." + +"Not so. That is unjust. Allow me to say you are harsh beyond my +deserts," replied the editor, unconsciously raising his voice. Checking +himself he resumed more gently: "You will admit that the case of the +poacher was entirely different. It was so strong, so startling." + +"It was not so much against the matter as against the manner of your +attack upon Sir Malcolm Loftdale that I appealed, and that you promised +to alter," said Meg, unsoftened. + +"I was strongly moved as I wrote," said the editor, who, somewhat to his +surprise, found himself pleading before this young girl with eager +self-justification. "The severity of the sentence passed upon the +unhappy man--I know him and his poor wife--seemed to me so out of all +proportion to the offense committed that I forgot everything else. It +was only when I looked over the article in print that I realized how the +tone of it might hurt you." + +"How it might hurt him! It did hurt him! If it is a satisfaction to you +to know it, the blow struck home. That allusion to the modern Brutus had +its full effect. It went to his heart!" said Meg passionately, with +flaming eyes. + +"I will not pretend to say, Miss Beecham, except for the apparent +neglect of my promise to you, that I would regret the effect of my words +upon Sir Malcolm. By his coldness and harshness he drove his son to a +piteous death." + +"I know nothing of the story to which you allude; and I do not wish to +know it. I will not hear it from the lips of an enemy of Sir Malcolm +Loftdale," said Meg almost fiercely. "What I do know is, that if it is +remorse or sorrow that darkens his old age, it is altogether too sacred +a theme to be dragged into print and made the subject of a newspaper +attack." + +The editor was silent a moment, then he said: "You are right." + +The gravity of his tone softened Meg; she hesitated a moment, then +inclining her head she moved away. + +"I wish you would retract what you said just now concerning your visit +to my office," the editor began somewhat blunderingly--"that it was a +reckless step--that you consider that it justified me in lightly +promising and lightly breaking my pledge." + +"You must acknowledge, then, that you forgot all that I said," replied +Meg with the childlike bluntness which characterized her. + +"Forgive me, and I will never forget again," he replied. "Will you not +let me discuss the case of the poacher with you--of the other wrongs +that exist--will you help me to advocate the rights of the tenants and +laborers without wounding the landlord?" + +"I will never discuss with you again," said Meg hastily; and with a +quick bow she left him and passed within the gates. + +As she went up the avenue she caught sight of Sir Malcolm wandering up +and down the yew-tree walk. He saw her and came forward to meet her. The +emotion of the morning still left its traces upon his features. He held +a letter. + +"I have heard from my late secretary," he said. "He writes from London. +He will be back in a few days." + +"Then, sir, I suppose I must resign my post," said Meg in a pained +voice. "I have been happy in serving you." + +"You seem to think that all the use you are to me is to serve me, read +to me, work for me. Can you conceive yourself of no other use?" said Sir +Malcolm in gentler tones than she had ever heard him speak. + +"Of what other use can I be, sir, to you?" + +"The use of bringing pleasure to me by your simple presence in my +house," he said, taking her hand. + +"I would be unhappy if I felt myself an idle dependant upon you, sir," +Meg said, shy pride giving a touch of awkwardness to her attitude and an +embarrassed tone to her voice. + +"Were you fond of your task?" he asked. + +"I liked it, sir," she replied. + +"Then I will write to Mr. Robinson that he may stay where he is. Do not +think that I shall be inconsiderate," he went on as she looked up +anxiously. "I know that his wish is to find a situation in London. I can +get him just the post he desires. Have an easy conscience about him. If +you will, indeed, stay to be an old man's eyesight and his right hand, I +will be grateful to you. I should be lonely now without you. Will you +stay with me, Meg?" + +"I will stay with you, sir, till you send me away," said Meg with zeal; +and to her surprise she found herself in tears, moved to the heart at +the old man's tone of unexpected tenderness. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +FRIEND! + + +From that day a subdued tone of affectionate confidence entered into the +relations between Meg and her guardian. Sir Malcolm did not emerge from +the seclusion in which he lived so much as from his cold and distant +manner. He still took his meals alone, he spent his evenings in +solitude, he still wandered alone in the park; but his taciturnity was +less marked. He often joined Meg in the grounds, and sometimes they +drove out together into the surrounding country. + +While continuing to treat her with that dignified courtesy that had a +charm for Meg, he assumed toward her a gentle familiarity which kept up +a reminder of that unexpected tenderness which had so profoundly moved +her on the day when he asked her to stay with him. It was the only time +she had seen him relax his stateliness of manner. Meg never knew him to +depart from a lofty composure of demeanor. He never gave way to +irritability; but if a servant was neglectful of orders, memorable +severity visited this breach of duty. Toward her Sir Malcolm assumed a +splendid deference. The flowers he plucked for her he presented with a +suggestion of the superb homage a regent might give to a child-queen. As +he walked and talked with her his conversation showed an appreciation of +rustic beauty, and gave evidence of intellectual culture. He told her +the names of the trees; he related anecdotes of country life and +manners, of illustrious statesmen and persons of note whom he had known; +he sometimes flavored his conversation with quotations from the works of +classic authors. Sir Malcolm acknowledged, with that fine air which was +not one of boasting, still less one of apology, that he knew nothing of +contemporary literature outside that of the newspapers--his literary +studies terminated with that of the wits of Queen Anne's reign. He spoke +with an easy choice of words that gave a balanced elevation to his +language. This gentler mood dispelled the fear Meg had felt in his +presence, and the fascination grew that he exercised over her. The +nobility, the dignity, the sternness of the old man's appearance--the +recognition that he was always at his best with her, who was a +dependant, added to the spell he exercised over her. The gentle and +subtle artificiality--perhaps it were better to say the art--of his +manners influenced those of Meg, and they acquired by contact with him +an added grace of reserve and composure. + +The attacks in the _Mercury_ had ceased. Meg attributed Sir Malcolm's +brighter mood to their cessation. Week after week elapsed, and the local +print, while advocating as forcibly as before the right of the laboring +classes to happier conditions brought into their lives, abstained from +all personal or covert allusions to Sir Malcolm Loftdale. Meg felt +grateful. The editor had done this for her, and the desire grew upon her +to thank him. + +One afternoon, as she walked about the grounds, she began timidly to +draw the baronet's attention to the softened tone of the _Greywolds +Mercury_. + +Sir Malcolm reared his head, and turning upon her a countenance the +features of which seemed to stand out with added definiteness, he said +with haughty distinctness: "I have noticed nothing. What an insolent +radical thinks fit to say or not to say, matters nothing to me. I +utterly ignore it. I regard it as I would regard the advocacy of +ruffianism by a member of the criminal classes." + +"The attacks pained me," began Meg with regretful hesitation, struggling +to master her timidity. + +"I know it," replied Sir Malcolm; "and I thank you for your kind +heartedness. It was unnecessary pain that you felt. Believe me, the +whole affair was unworthy of your consideration. Disdain is the only +attitude to assume toward such conduct. No means are too contemptible +for a low-born demagogue to adopt for the attainment of his aims." + +"But, do you not admit, sir," said Meg with a slight tremor in her deep +tones, "that liberalism, if mistaken, yet has its principles?" + +"Principles!" repeated Sir Malcolm with scornful clearness. "The +burglar, doubtless, has his principles when he picks my lock, and is +silent lest he might awake the house. Never mention this man or his +paper again." + +He left her; and Meg, with a shadow over her face, walked slowly away. +She thought there was a certain injustice in not recognizing the altered +tone of the newspaper, and the wish came to her more strongly to thank +the editor for the deference he had paid to her request. + +The next day she was driving out with Sir Malcolm. The way home lay +through the straggling market-town, down the High Street, in which stood +the office of the _Mercury_. The baronet seldom spoke during a drive, he +sat back with that cold and distant air which seemed to withdraw him +from his surroundings. The scene impressed itself and made a picture in +Meg's mental vision: the red-tiled roofs of the irregular houses coming +out against the lemon sky; the office on the southern side of the +thoroughfare, the ugly posters glaring in the late sunlight. As they +passed the office Meg glanced in its direction; her eyes met those of a +man emerging from the doorway. It was the editor. A chill force, that +seemed to emanate from the white-haired immobile presence by her side, +compelled her to withdraw her eyes and turn them coldly away. It was but +for a flash, then Meg looked round to bow and smile her thanks; but the +editor had already turned away and was walking with swift, long strides +up the street. + +Self-upbraidings kept Meg silent during the drive home. The opportunity +that she had wished for, of showing to this stranger that she thanked +him for his generous fulfillment of the promise he had given to her, had +presented itself, and she had used the opportunity to wound him. She sat +still and unhappy. In the loneliness of the evening, the pain of having +offered what might well be interpreted as an affront by one who had been +kind made her restless. A feverish longing came to her to remove the +hurt she had given. She thought she would write to this stranger who +seemed a friend; but when she endeavored to do so she found the task too +difficult. His very name was unknown to her. Allusion to the apparent +rudeness of her conduct seemed but to emphasize the incivility she had +offered and make explanation inadequate. She put down her pen, and set +about thinking once more. She would call upon him and explain! The +resolve brought a sense of flurry; but the more she thought over it the +more she grew reconciled to it. She owed it to him. She had been to him +in anger and to expostulate; she would go to him now in reconciliation +and to thank. + +The next morning her resolve had not grown the less, but the stronger, +for the night's sleep upon it. Meg felt impatient for the hour to come +when she could put it into execution. A fretful apprehension was upon +her that she would not be able to fulfill her intention. Sir Malcolm +proved that day in a mood for relishing her company. With reluctant feet +she accompanied him in a ramble through the park. She lent an +inattentive ear to his reminiscences in stately English of times long +past, of folk who had played their part and were now out of the world's +wrangles and reconciliations, its loves, its friendships and +estrangements. + +Meg was free at last, and with a sense of relief she quickly made her +way through the stretching country to the old market town. She did not +falter or slacken her pace until she came within sight of the office, +then a sudden shyness overcame her. She took some restless steps +backward and forward, debating with herself; then the sense that this +stranger had been kind to her, that she owed him a debt of gratitude, +and that she had inflicted a wound upon him, resumed its ascendency and +she went in. + +The clerk told her that his master was out. "But I expect him back in +five minutes," he added. "Will you walk upstairs, miss?" + +Meg was once more shown by her guide into the dingy sanctum. It was as +she had seen it before--littered with books, with strips of +proof-sheets, and dust. It was imbued with a smell of tobacco. The +masculine personality that permeated the room worked upon Meg, and +brought on a fit of shyness more overwhelming than the first. Shame at +being here came over her, and a longing to escape before the master of +the place appeared. She determined to scribble off a few words before he +returned. + +Writing implements surrounded her on every side. She took up a pen and a +sheet of paper. As she drew toward her an ink bottle she knocked +something down on the floor. She stooped to pick it up. As she did so a +picture hanging in an obscure corner caught her eye. It was in a rude +frame. It looked like a colored plate cut out of a fashion-book of some +years back. Meg started and drew her breath; a crowd of emotions passed +over her. She knew every cluster of roses on that white ball-dress; she +knew the affected grace of the simpering figure's posture; she +remembered that mended tear right across the page. As she looked at it +the room in which she sat became full of the hubbub of a London street. +It was a room similar to this one--littered with books and paper, imbued +with the smell of tobacco; in it sat a young man with kind bright eyes, +and a mane of blond hair; he was carefully pasting that inane +representation of a lady, and by his side a child, neglected and +forlorn, stood eagerly watching the strong hands as they repaired the +beloved print. + +A mist gathered before Meg's eyes. This child in the shabby frock was +herself; this battered and mended fashion-plate was the idolized +imaginary picture of her mother. That young man with the kind eyes and +the deft fingers, who was he? + +Meg was still gazing at the conventional figure in the ball-dress when +the door opened, and the editor walked in. + +She vaguely recognized that his demeanor was altered. He bowed +distantly. + +[Illustration: MEG RECOGNIZES THE OLD FASHION-PLATE.--Page 284.] + +"I came to thank you and to explain," began Meg, and paused. Memory had +touched her eyelids and she recognized him. The puzzling recollection +that had obtruded itself with vague pertinacity asserted itself +triumphantly. She knew now why she had thought of this stranger as a +friend. + +"To explain?" he repeated; and he, too, paused. + +"Yes; about yesterday. I saw you," she said abruptly, almost +mechanically, as if speaking by rote and eager to get done; "but I was +afraid to bow to you, because I was with Sir Malcolm Loftdale. It was +mean and weak of me when I owe you so much." + +"You owe me nothing. You convinced me, and I acted upon my new +conviction," he answered, still in a distant tone. + +"I have much to be thankful to you for," she repeated in a voice that +was hoarse with emotion. "Where did you get this?" she added brusquely, +interrupting herself and pointing to the fashion-plate. + +He looked surprised and said: + +"I have had it some years." + +"Who gave it to you?" she asked. + +He looked curiously at her. "A story is attached to that picture," he +answered evasively. + +"Is your name William Standish?" she asked. + +"Yes," he replied. "Did you not know my name was Standish?" he added, +puzzled by the expression of her face. + +She shook her head in denial. "Was it a child gave you this picture?" + +"Yes," he replied, monosyllabic in his surprise. + +"To her foolish, lonely fancy was it the portrait of her mother, who had +died in giving her birth?" + +"That is true," he replied. Then he added earnestly, "Do you know +anything of that child? Can you tell me anything about her? I have tried +to find her. I have made many efforts to do so, but in vain. I have lost +all clew to her." + +"Was her name Meg?" she asked. + +"Yes, her name was Meg--dear little Meg!" he said, his eyes shining +softly, as if he were seeing before him an image that delighted him. + +"I am, or rather I was little Meg," she said in a low voice. + +"You?" he exclaimed, looking at her. + +She nodded. + +"But I thought your name was Beecham," he said. "That of Meg, I +understood, was Browne." + +"Till I went to school I believed my name was Browne; but one day I was +told it was Beecham," she said. + +"You Meg, little Meg!" he replied, his eyes traveling slowly over her. +"I can scarcely believe it." + +"But all the same it is I!" she said with a laugh, as he kept looking at +her. "Let me prove my identity--put me to the test; you will see how +correctly I will answer," she said. "I remember the night when you put +that patch on the old fashion-plate. I had crumpled it up in despair +because you said that probably my mother was not a lady." + +"That is true!" he replied, still looking scrutinizingly at her. + +"I remember how I used to tease you about your dinners. I was quite +motherly with you!" + +"Motherly! Grandmotherly! Bless you, little Meg!" he cried, and then he +laughed. "Is it you? Is it really you?" and he stretched out his two +hands. + +Meg placed hers into their clasp. "Yes, it is little Meg for whom you +did that kind thing, of stopping the attacks upon Sir Malcolm." + +"That was for tall Meg!" he said. + +"Tall Meg, who I fear, did what little Meg would never have done: +appearing to ignore a kindness out of fear." + +"No, no, we will not talk of that. It was so natural," he said, still +looking at her with surprised and friendly eyes. + +They fell to chat, interchanging memories of those old childish days. He +walked with her across the country to the gates of the park, and as they +walked still they chatted of that fond, silly past. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +FOR "AULD LANG SYNE." + + +Although Meg could not explain to herself the right of authority Sir +Malcolm had over her, she felt it and acknowledged his control. The +temptation often came to enjoy the society of the friend of her +childhood, but her honest nature shrank from meeting him secretly; and +yet the attacks on the old baronet that had appeared in the local paper +precluded the possibility of mentioning to him its editor's name. + +Still she longed to see Mr. Standish. One day she thought she would +venture to ask Sir Malcolm's permission. She began, blundering a little +about the debt of gratitude which she owed to him, and which it was her +pleasure to acknowledge; his wishes, she said, would ever influence her +in her acts and her conduct. Then, with a blush, she admitted there was +something she wished to do, for which she wished to get his permission. +Meg was amazed at the manner in which the old gentleman met her +advances. He distinctly disclaimed any shadow of authority over her. + +"But you have been so good to me, sir," she replied. "But for you, when +I ran away from school----" + +"When you ran away from school," he interrupted with unexpected +coldness. "I was almost inclined, when you refused to enter the +carriage, to leave you on the road. If I have given you protection it is +for reasons I do not care to explain. I have told you, I do not want +gratitude. The tie between us is a voluntary one. You are free as air, +young lady, but always with a risk. Your acts will not be disobediences, +though they may be imprudences. Distinctly remember you are your own +mistress. Keep your secrets if you have any. I do not demand your +confidence." + +"Free as air!" rang through Meg's heart. "I am my own mistress; free to +meet my friend again." + +After this extraordinary ebullition of candor from Sir Malcolm, the old +gentleman's kindness seemed to regain its late level. Meg even fancied +that he was kinder, as if he endeavored thus to salve any wound to her +feelings which his temporary harshness might have occasioned. + +Still he had said she was free as air, and Meg now felt justified in +acting as her heart impelled her. The winter came and went, but it +brought no sense of dreariness or bleakness to Meg. She had found the +friend of her childhood, and the reflection of her childhood's days +shone over everything. It was no wonder that she felt some of the charm +of the old companionship with him who had been good to her when all the +world had neglected her; and the memory of whose kindness had set a halo +about the memory of her forlorn life. + +She asked herself no questions concerning the nature of this new +interest; she knew only that until it came back to her she was as one +walled in, and without daylight. The real Meg had lived captive in a +state of repression; to no one had she ventured to tell her impressions; +but to this friend she could speak of the most trivial event, and +confide the most intimate thought. He drew her out with a frank +tenderness that won her simple trust. There grew a fascination to walk +and to talk with him; to tell him all that had happened to her since the +day of their parting. She had never forgotten him; the thought of him +had ever dwelt in her mind, ready to start up and welcome him at his +coming. And although it was still her pleasure and her duty to minister +to her benefactor's need, yet by his own injunction she felt herself +free to yield to the refreshment and delight of those meetings. + +They met at sunset, after the journalist's work was done, in the wood +behind the house; and their trysting-place was an elm. + +"It looks like an old wizard," said Mr. Standish, pointing to the +leafless tree standing gaunt against the dying light. + +"Old Merlin!" said Meg; "and there is the eerie brightness about him. He +is going to throw a spell over us." + +The prediction proved true; a spell was cast about Meg's life, and she +loved no spot on earth as she loved the place by that tree. + +No young girl ever set forth to her first ball with more expectation and +longing than did Meg feel in anticipation of some new chat with the lost +friend whom she had found again. Endless, endless appeared to her the +sources of interesting conversation and of sentiment that he had at his +command, and each time they met and talked it seemed to her that he +opened a new world of thought and imagination for her spirit to dwell +in. + +They had a thousand subjects to speak about. Every topic came at random. +They cared not which it was, for each seemed ever new. Meg was like a +child who has never seen the sea, now picking up rainbow shells by the +shore; every shell different in the heap lying beside her in a glorious +chance medley. + +Sometimes he entertained her with scenes of travel, of striving and +success. Sometimes they interchanged memories, mutually reminding each +other of incidents in the past. With grave humor, followed by hearty +laughter, he would describe the part she had played in some scene where +she had behaved with great motherliness and dignity toward him. He would +tell her how she had never despaired of him, although the bailiffs were +after him. + +"But I was a sad trouble to you, Meg," he vowed. "You were a little +tyrant then. Where is all that tyranny gone?" + +"You give me no excuse to exercise it," she replied one day. "The +instinct may be there still; but you are so good, so absorbed in work +now." + +"Ah, if you only knew it!" he exclaimed. "Little Meg would have been +more quick-sighted. She would have sternly reproved me, and preached to +me about wasting my time when I should be furnishing copy." + +"Copy! What is copy?" she asked. + +"Blessed ignorance! Copy is that which goes to fill those columns of +print. It is what the hungry printer clamors for, and looks very black +when he does not get." + +Meg laughed. + +"You speak as if printers were wild beasts fed with leaders on schemes +for extending the franchise or removing some dowdy old tax." + +"Well, well, I am a humbug. All the time that I am writing these leaders +I am thinking of coming to see you; I hurry through my work in order to +be in time to meet you, Meg," he answered. + +"Then I will meet you no more if I spoil your work," she said gravely. + +"There spoke the child. All the severity of the little monitor of yore +is in those accents," he replied with a laugh. "No, Meg, I work all the +better to earn my play." + +"Your play?" she said slowly, with a slight emphasis on the word; and +she was silent awhile. The expression remained with her, casting its +little shadow of doubt, and she would harp back upon it. + +"Is this your play?" she would question gravely, when he said anything +complimentary. + +They had their merry wrangles, their desperate fallings-out, their +pretty makings-up. Meg, with characteristic repartees, parried his +thrusts, and their intercourse was sweet with wholesome laughter. With +a blunt playfulness she met anything approaching to sentiment. + +"While I was waiting," he said one day, "there was a little bird up +there--you'll hear it--which continually says, 'She'll come! she'll +come!'" + +"And I heard a cuckoo in the wood as I came along," she replied; "he +cried nothing but 'Copy! copy! copy!'" + +"It must have been the printer's devil," he said, "when I was taking a +holiday." + +An innocent coquetry, which was the simple outcome of delight in her +ever-growing happiness, would tinge her manner with a little salt of +aggressiveness. She sometimes played at making him jealous. + +She was late one day; she had been detained, she explained, by a +fascinating being. + +"Who was he?" + +She would not tell his name, but vowed he had splendid lustrous eyes, +and a mustache an officer in the guards might envy. + +Mr. Standish laughed, and seemed inclined to turn the conversation to +another topic. + +"You do not ask his name," she said; "yet this fascinating creature made +me late, and with difficulty I tore myself from his spell." + +"But you came," he replied, falling into her mood. + +"My sense of duty. I am naturally punctual. I push it to a weakness." + +"I wish to forget him," he said; "he has robbed me enough. What is the +name of the country bumpkin?" + +"Country bumpkin, indeed! He wears a coat the fit of which the most +fashionable tailor might well envy the secret of its cut--a coat black +and glossy, with just a touch of white at the throat." + +"The rector. I knew it. Confess it is the rector," Mr. Standish said with +finger uplifted. + +"No white-haired rector, indeed," said Meg. + +"Then the curate? All the ladies are fascinated by the curate." + +"Not the curate. My charmer is an inmate of the house." + +"An inmate?" repeated Mr. Standish, perplexed. + +"On the day of my arrival he was so pleasant and cordial his greeting +almost made me feel at home." + +"I wonder who he is!" said Mr. Standish. + +"As you look troubled, I will be generous and tell you," said Meg, and +paused. + +"Well," said Mr. Standish, "who is he?" + +"My charmer of the admirable coat, the impressive mustache, and the +splendid eyes is--well--my black cat. He it was who received me +cordially, sat by my fire, purred a welcome, and followed me about with +a tail straight as that;" and she lifted her parasol to a perpendicular. + +Sometimes the talk drifted to Sir Malcolm's son, who had been the +editor's friend, and whose portrait, turned to the wall, appealed with a +piteous interest to Meg, and was always recurring to her mind. + +"He had many faults," Mr. Standish admitted one day. "He was reckless, +but there was a winsomeness about him that won hearts; and the fault he +committed which rankled deepest in the old baronet's mind was an action +that came nearer to a virtue." + +"What was that fault?" she asked. + +"He married the woman he loved. She was the prettiest, sweetest woman I +ever saw. Absurd as it may seem, Meg, the first time I saw you grown up +you reminded me of her. It was simply fancy, of course the likeness is +lost now. It seems to have gone out." + +"Do you think it was because of this marriage that his portrait was +turned to the wall?" persisted Meg. + +"I think so. At least this I know: Sir Malcolm never forgave that +marriage." + +"But why?" asked Meg. + +"Because she was poor and brave enough to work for her living. I +believe she was a governess; but her trials came after their marriage. +His debts accumulated, his father was unforgiving; he sometimes had to +hide." + +"What became of her?" still questioned Meg. + +"She died when her child was born. After her death he certainly grew +more reckless. He was unhappy, and I think he had some remorse. The +marriage took place on the continent." + +"Did the child live?" + +"I don't know. He certainly had no home for it. He never alluded to it. +I believe he was not with his wife when she died." + +"Poor wife!" said Meg, thinking of that unhappy wife who had suffered so +much, who had died so neglected and uncared for. "Is it not strange," +she continued after a pause, "that it should have been my guardian's son +who was the friend for whom you almost beggared yourself?" + +"And for having done which, do you remember, you stroked my head?" he +replied smilingly. + +She answered him with a blush only. + +Sometimes he spoke to her as to a comrade out of the fund of his large +experience and knowledge. His interest in the working classes appealed +to her, and life seemed to grow wider from the solicitude that he +brought into it for others. There grew every day in her heart a +reliance, a sort of wide faith in him, as if all he said and thought +must be right. + +The winter passed and the spring came round; the sap rose in the earth +and the pulses of nature quickened. + +They met oftener. Sometimes they wandered forth to meet each other in +the dewy mornings, when the fields shone like gossamer. There, in the +woods, where the birds wearied themselves for listeners, they came on +the scene. Meg would bid him forget his politics, his ink-bottle, in +honor of all the loveliness around. + +"Look at this clump of daffodils," she said one morning when a mood of +mirthful raillery was upon her, pointing to the silly flowers. "Don't +they look like Hebes drooping their gold cups? Ah! everything is young +and merry, sir, but your old politics--your dull old politics." + +Then he vowed he would never talk politics to her again, upon which she +coaxed and played the little siren until he relented, complaining that +she honeycombed his will by her cajoleries. + +An exaltation stirred Meg's spirit--the girl who had been silent and +reserved was full of innocent gayety; and still that companionship with +one who had brought happiness to her childhood continued simple, +familiar, and charming, as it might be between dearest friends. + +Sir Malcolm had an attack of illness, and as Meg devoted herself to him +for some time there were no meetings at the elm. Then she became +conscious of the value of the enchantment this new-found relationship +brought into her life; and when they met again she was aware of a subtle +change in the sentiment with which she regarded the relations between +Mr. Standish and herself. + +While compelling herself to greet him with the same equable +friendliness, she was often chilled by the awkwardness of +self-restraint. The facile word lagged when she tried to assume an +attitude of bantering reserve, and her sincere nature oftener hid itself +behind that of shy formality. She would then gravely inquire of his +work, awkwardly plunge into politics or surface topics, but after awhile +in his reassuring presence the pain of her embarrassed spirit would +vanish, and she would feel comforted. In the sweetness of restored +harmony between them, after the jar of repression, her heart would +expand, and again she would weave around him a web of delicate sympathy +and winsome pleasantry. She would be a child again, and would display +her old quickness of mood to suit his disposition--gay when he wished to +be gay, serious when he was serious, silent when he was inclined for +silence. In this childlike docility and wistful eagerness to please him +dwelt the old wakeful and sensitive pride, quick to take alarm, easily +perplexed. The happy confidence would take flight like a frightened +bird, the laughter of her heart would be quenched, the trustful +approaches of her spirit checked as quickly as had been those of the +susceptible child, so coy and yet so devoted. + +One day he did not come. In the evening she received a note of +explanation. He had been detained by business; he had come too late, and +he had waited, hoping some kindly inspiration would lead her to see if +he had kept tryst after the appointed hour. But she had not come. Would +she be gracious and come the next day? + +After a debate with herself Meg sallied forth. Again he was not there, +and a dull, unhappy anger took possession of her. She was returning at +once, but a shower came. She stood under a tree waiting for it to pass, +but the trailing cloud seemed never to empty. She was angry, and she +felt about to cry for being imprisoned there. The raindrops began to +saturate the tree. She would not forgive him; twice to have failed her! +She had her upbraiding of him so perfect by going over it, she wished he +might come in time to deliver it. She heard steps approaching, and she +kept her eyes sternly before her. It was only a countrywoman with sloppy +shoes. Her heart went down, and tears rushed to her eyes; and so full +was she of her grievance that when he joined her with the rain streaming +from his hat she started, not having heard him come, and all her +prepared reproaches left her memory. She did not give him her hand, +however, and tried to flick away the telltale tears. + +"I am late again. I am so sorry. I could not help it," he said +earnestly. + +"But I can help coming in future," said Meg in a severe tone. + +"No, you could not punish me like this," he said. "It was a telegram +from London upon which I was obliged to write a short article which kept +me. That article was written in such desperation that I shall be afraid +to read it in print. Won't you give me your hand?" + +"The shower is over. I think I shall go back," she said. + +"Do you see that black cloud shaped like an Inverness cape? It is coming +right up with its deluge." + +"All the more reason that I should hurry home," she said. + +"But consider, Meg," he replied, smiling down upon her; "what an +undignified retreat. Before you have gone a hundred yards you will be +obliged to break into a run, and finally make another stage under yonder +elm tree, where I will rejoin you; and then we will begin all over +again. Nothing like a good rainstorm for a reconciliation. But all the +grace of it is gone. Come now, I have felt the first menacing drop upon +my nose. Make friends, it says." + +She looked at him with scrutinizing gravity, then a smile broke. + +"I cannot resist the drop's appeal," she replied with a laugh, and she +put out her hand. "Still, for all the rain in the world," she continued, +"I must air my grievance. I had a good right to be angry. I waited +nearly twenty minutes yesterday." + +"I waited two hours," he replied. + +"But you came at a wrong hour," she said. "I came at the hour you +appointed. Look at this--just look at this, and you will be silent." + +She took out his note, opened it, and held it under his eyes. + +"I know--I know," he said; "that perjured note. But all is forgiven +now." + +The cape of cloud passed away, and the sun came out. + +There was a good-humored strength about Mr. Standish that puzzled Meg, +and she often longed to pierce the mystery--at least the mystery to +her--of his nature. But after a time his manner changed; a melancholy +grew upon him. One day he turned and said: "You call me your friend, +Meg. You keep dwelling on the memories of those fond silly days of your +childhood. But you are a child no longer. Perhaps we had better think of +one another, and cease those happy walks." + +"Cease those walks!" she exclaimed with a gasp in her voice. He remained +silent. Then she said proudly: "If you think so, really--" but her voice +failed, and with a sudden cry she exclaimed, "I knew it could not +last--that you must tire of me." + +"Tire of you, Meg!" he cried, facing round upon her. "It is because I +love you that I say this. But it is not as the friend of your childhood +that I love you. We must make no mistake. I love you as the man loves +the one woman in all the world he wants for his wife. If you cannot +accept that love from me I would prefer not to see you again." + +She did not reply, and she averted her face. When she looked slowly up, +even in the tension of waiting for her answer, he felt something of the +thrill he might have experienced if a spirit had answered to his call. +The child he had known was looking back at him. A something he had +missed--a mystery of spiritual identity with the Meg of long ago, +glimmerings of which he had caught--had waked up. It was the child grown +to be a woman--endowed with a woman's soul, gifted with a thousandfold +powers of feeling. She did not speak; her silence, her quivering +features, her kindling countenance answered him. + +"Meg!" he said in a low voice, and bending forward he drew her to him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +BEFORE THE PICTURE. + + +Meg delayed announcing the news of her engagement to Sir Malcolm. She +feared the effect upon him of hearing that she had betrothed herself to +the man who had written those attacks in the local newspaper. Sir +Malcolm had been ailing during the winter. + +"She could not leave him yet," she told her lover. "It was her duty to +remain with him." And he agreed that it was for awhile. + +The crisis, however, came sooner than she anticipated. A trouble had +been fermenting in Sir Malcolm's secret thoughts. He had noticed Meg's +absences. Always regular at her post at the hours when he required her +services as secretary and reader, he missed her companionship in his +walks; he had lost the certainty of meeting her in the drawing-room, in +her little study with her books, or at the piano. + +One morning, on returning from her tryst in the woods, she met the +baronet at the gates of the park. "You are out early, Miss Beecham," he +said with constrained courtesy. + +"I hope, sir, I am not late," she replied anxiously. + +"You are always punctual--a model of punctuality--in the discharge of +your duties. It is scarcely half-past ten," he replied in a ceremonious +tone, with the slightest emphasis on the word duties. As they walked +toward the house he added, "Far be it from me to imply that I have a +right to claim more of the pleasure of your society than you care to +give me." + +"I am afraid, sir, you have missed me--" she began. + +"I have told you I am a solitary; I miss no one," he interrupted with +that directness of speech which might have been brutal, had it not been +veiled by the art he possessed of lofty politeness. + +"There is something I want to tell you, sir, that I ought to have told +you before," began Meg, her heart beating and her cheeks flushing, as +she felt that the hour of revelation had come. + +The baronet's gaze rested upon her with an illconcealed flicker of +anxiety. But he said in his finest manner that he would be happy to +listen to anything she had to say; but perhaps the interview had best be +deferred until they reached his study. + +When they came there Meg began hesitatingly: "The post that I have +filled, sir, in your household has been one of pleasure to me; still +what is difficult to say I must say now--I must resign it." + +"Resign it!" exclaimed Sir Malcolm, bending his eyes upon her. "For what +reason?" + +"I have formed an attachment, sir. I am engaged to be married," she +replied with the calmness of fright. + +"Married!" ejaculated Sir Malcolm. "Engaged without having consulted me! +Nonsense; you mean to tell me--" He paused. "But this is monstrous." He +got up, walked up and down the room. Meg watched him in silence, +astonished at what seemed to her an extraordinary outburst of emotion. +After a few moments Sir Malcolm regained his composure, and sitting down +again said in a constrained, business-like tone, "You will admit that, +at least, as your guardian, I should have been told of this before. To +whom are you engaged?" + +She hesitated under the influence of a gaze, the keenness of which +stopped confidence at its source. + +"To one who was very good to me in my childhood. When no one else cared +for me he was my only friend." + +"Have you corresponded with him ever since your childhood?" + +"No, sir; I met him here. I had lost sight of him for years." + +"Is he of low birth?" asked the baronet with frigid brusqueness. + +"No, sir. But if he were--" She paused and looked at the old man with a +glance steady as his own. + +"I understand. You assert your right to marry who you will--clodhopper +or landowner. Perhaps, however, you will admit, as I observed just now, +that as your guardian I am justified in asking questions about this +young man?" + +"I gladly admit it, sir, and thank you; for it is another proof of the +interest--the generous interest--you have lavished upon me," she said +warmly. + +"May I ask to what profession he belongs?" demanded Sir Malcolm. + +"He is a writer," said Meg, and paused. + +"A writer? That is somewhat vague," said Sir Malcolm. + +"A journalist," she resumed, and again she paused. + +Sir Malcolm knit his brows. + +"It is difficult for me to explain," continued Meg, raising her eyes and +speaking low, but quite firmly. "The circumstances that led to our +meeting were so strange--in a manner they are painful. They may place +me in a false light--I may appear ungrateful. The friend of my childhood +is Mr. Standish, the editor of the _Greywolds Mercury_." + +"Of the paper that dragged my name into print and held it up to public +ignominy in its columns?" observed Sir Malcolm. + +Meg bowed her head, and said falteringly: "These articles led to our +meeting. I had called at the office to remonstrate, to expostulate with +the writer." + +"To expostulate, to remonstrate!" cried Sir Malcolm with a burst of +outraged pride. "What! You exposed me to this humiliation; you begged +quarter for me of this insolent radical. It was a grievous injury you +did me!" He checked himself, then resumed with deliberate calm: "But let +that pass. It is your marriage with this man we were discussing. I +forbid it; I cannot countenance such an engagement." + +"I think, sir," said Meg after a pause, speaking steadily, but in a +feeling voice, "that after reflection you will admit that you are +claiming too much authority over me. Mr. Standish and I love each other, +and we admit the right of no third person to part us. I know you have +been my secret benefactor for a long time; yet it is more than a +benefactor's due you are claiming. A father only would have the right +to impose the authority over me you demand to establish." + +"It is this authority over you that I demand and that I rightly +possess," said the baronet in a weighty voice, rising and drawing +himself up. "You are my only son's only child. I stand in your father's +place toward you. I am your grandfather." + +"My grandfather!" said Meg stupidly. Everything grew indistinct around +her except the figure of the old man, standing erect, authoritative, the +sun shining on his white hair, illumining it like a halo round his head. + +"Follow me!" he said. He turned and she followed automatically. He +preceded her down the great staircase. The perfume of flowers came to +her dreamily. Still she followed her guide on and on--vaguely conscious +that some great issue was at hand. + +They entered the large dining-room. Sir Malcolm had signed to two +servants in the hall to follow. + +They walked straight to where the picture hung with its face turned to +the wall, an outcast among that goodly painted company. + +At the order of the master the picture was turned, and the servants left +the room. "That is your father's portrait," said Sir Malcolm in a voice +that sounded without a quaver. + +She knew that he turned away and left her standing there, looking at the +representation of a young man dressed in a scarlet and gold uniform. He +had a gallant and winsome air, his features were femininely delicate, +the blue, small eyes bright, the lips full. As a sudden realization that +she was looking at her father's face came to her, a tumult of feeling +swept over Meg. Then came a chill and a disappointment. The countenance +said nothing to her; she gazed at it dry-eyed. + +She moved away. Sir Malcolm's glance was steadily averted. As she +approached he looked round. His features were tense with suppressed +emotion; a flicker of wildness lit the eyes, lustrous with unshed tears. + +"It is a beautiful face," said Meg softly, moved by the evidences of a +mental struggle that gave a crazy look of anguish to the old face; "but +it is not dear to me, sir, as yours is dear." + +"It does not do him justice; he was the handsomest lad in the country," +said the old man. "I loved him, Meg; I staked all my pride in life upon +him. When he disgraced me my pride in life left me." + +"Ah! how could he bring this sorrow upon you, sir?" murmured Meg, +scarce knowing what she said, confused by this outburst of confidence +from one whom she had always known so reticent. + +"He brought dishonor upon our name," said the old man. Meg saw that he +flushed and that he trembled; but he went on quietly nevertheless. "I +must explain to you now why this picture was turned to the wall. I must +tell you--what is agonizing to me to tell, and must be painful to you to +hear; but the circumstances compel me. He wronged you. I have tried to +fill his place toward you. He married your mother abroad, and under a +false name. He contracted debts--debts of honor--that, having the money, +he yet never paid. Thank God! the extent of his dishonor was never made +public." Sir Malcolm paused, then he resumed: "His last act was, +perhaps, the redeeming feature of his life. He killed himself. His +suicide showed that a gleam of the old spirit made a dishonored life +unbearable to him." + +Meg did not speak. The horror of that tragedy filled the room. After a +silence the old man resumed in his more habitual manner and tone: + +"We need never refer to this unhappy story again. Ask me nothing +concerning your mother; I never saw her, and know next to nothing about +her. She died in giving you birth." Again he paused, then slowly with +effort he said: "Will you forgive me, Meg, for your neglected +childhood?" + +Meg made a deprecatory gesture, and uttered an exclamation. These words +of entreaty from him hurt her like a blow. + +"I ask you to forgive it," continued the baronet with emotion. "I humbly +ask it from my soul. I have remorse for it. I admit that in your +childhood I looked upon you with aversion--that your coming here was a +pain to me; and yet I loved you before you came." + +"Before I came?" murmured Meg, astonished. + +"I have loved you ever since the day I brought you back to school. When +I saw you so spent with anguish and fatigue, lying on the cushions +before me, my heart went out to you. I stopped my carriage when I was +driving off after having left you; I returned, I came to your little +bedside and kissed you in the dark." + +"Then it was you who gave me that kiss!" faltered Meg. "I have never +forgotten it." And on the impulse she pressed her lips on his thin hand. + +"You have made me love you--you have wound yourself round my heart. +Forgive me, Meg," said the old man. + +"Do not ask me to forgive you, sir. I have received nothing but good +from you," said Meg. + +"Say it, Meg," the old man urged. "Say, 'Grandfather, I forgive it and +forget it.'" + +"As you wish I will say it, sir. I forgive--" began Meg. + +"Say, 'Grandfather,'" he interrupted. + +"Grandfather, I forgive it and forget it," repeated Meg, stretching out +her hands. + +He took them then, looking down into her eyes. "Can you, forgetting the +part I played of neglect, forget also the part of kindness played in it +by that man? For my sake can you forget it?" + +The words struck the chords of Meg's heart and filled it with the memory +of the love that had come to her in her forlornness, and that now filled +her life with all youth's appeals. + +"No, sir, I can never forget that--never!" she said, loosening her hands +from his grasp and stepping away. + +"If you persist in this engagement, I will not disguise it from you, +Meg, you will strike the last prop from under me--it will break my +heart!" said Sir Malcolm. + +The words crushed once more the rising mutiny in Meg's heart. The +tyranny of pity mastered its revolt--insisted upon the new duty to the +new loyalty. + +She moved away restlessly; then suddenly throwing her arms up with a +gesture of despair she sank into a chair, and hiding her face in her +hands she burst into tears. + +The old man waited until her sobs grew quieter; then he said: + +"Come with me, Meg; we will go to Mr. Standish together." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +IN THE EDITOR'S OFFICE. + + +A few moments later Meg was walking by her grandfather's side. He had +refused to drive. Sir Malcolm never said a word, but he seemed in hot +haste. Meg's thoughts were in a tumult. What was he going to do? How +would he meet his former enemy? Had he been softened? + +The old baronet gripped his stick as he went along and planted it firmly +on the road. She would have given anything to have questioned him; but +fear on the one hand lest she should exasperate him, on the other a +failing heart lest if he were inclined to conciliation she might balk +the impulse by some well-meant blunder kept her silent. + +When they reached the office, and her grandfather asked the clerk if Mr. +Standish was at home, she tried to judge his mood by the tone of his +voice. For an instant she hoped the clerk's answer would be in the +negative; but the young man, leaving his desk, replied that Mr. Standish +was at home, adding with an air of bewilderment: "Sir Malcolm Loftdale, +I believe?" + +"Take my card up," said the baronet, pulling out his cardcase. + +They climbed up the narrow stairs, and Meg saw her lover standing by his +table to receive them. With a bow as cold, Mr. Standish returned the old +gentleman's frigid salutation. He was stretching out his hand to her, +but with a little anxious frown she signaled to him to take no notice of +her at present. + +"You are, I believe, sir, the responsible editor of the _Greywolds +Mercury_," said the baronet with a chill civility that brought a +sorrowful anticipation to Meg. + +Mr. Standish in a constrained voice acknowledged his position. "I am +afraid that this places me in an unfavorable light before you, sir," he +continued in a half-apologetic tone. + +Sir Malcolm moved his hand. "You mistake the object of my visit if you +think, sir, that I ask for an explanation--if you suppose that articles +upon myself which appeared some months ago, and which no doubt had +literary merit, have produced upon me the slightest impression. I am +ready to admit the right of every man to his opinions. I have my own +opinions on a subject which I would prefer not to express." + +He paused, and Mr. Standish remained silent, waiting for his visitor to +continue. + +"My motive for entering a publishing office," the baronet went on, +looking round him with a cold smile, "is from a widely different motive. +I will refer to one of those articles only for the simple sake of +illustration. You were very indignant, sir, at my stringent suppression +of a poacher. Now, sir, I beg you in justice to give me your opinion of +a poacher in a moral sense--one who, by assignations, by means at his +command, contrives to inveigle the affections of a young girl, almost a +child, intruding himself thus dishonestly into a gentleman's family." + +"Sir Malcolm Loftdale," said Mr. Standish firmly yet courteously, "I +perfectly understand your meaning. This young lady occupies an honorable +position in your household, and she has always led me to understand that +you treated her with the utmost kindness and consideration; but she is +not a member of your family." + +"Such being your impression, I will not presume to blame you," said the +baronet with the cynical courtesy one uses to an inferior. "Your +honorable intentions I take for granted. It only remains for me to +inform you, in the presence of this young lady--who has herself been +made acquainted by me within the hour of the position she holds in my +house--that Miss Beecham is my granddaughter." + +"Your granddaughter!" repeated Mr. Standish with a movement of surprise. +"I thought, sir, you had but one child--a son?" + +"She is the daughter and only child of that son," answered the baronet +with lofty curtness. "There is no necessity for me to enter with you +into the details of a family history. Suffice it to say that I beg of +you, as an honorable literary man"--the old gentleman laid a slight +sarcastic stress on the word literary--"never again to address this +lady, and to terminate from this moment an acquaintance which, if +pursued, must be henceforth termed clandestine, treacherous, and +dishonorable." + +At these words Mr. Standish drew himself up with a dignity as cold and +stern as was that of his visitor. "Sir Malcolm Loftdale," he said, "this +comes rather late. It is not for me to give the pledge you exact; I will +give it at the request of Miss Beecham only." + +For a moment irritation seemed about to surprise the old gentleman. He +clinched his stick and reared his grand old head as for a rebuke; then +he turned mutely toward Meg. + +"You have applied the word dishonorable to me, Sir Malcolm Loftdale. +Allow me to say it is the last word, I think, you should have +employed," resumed Mr. Standish. + +"Sir, your protestations are thrown away upon me. I have no more to say +to you," replied the baronet. "Meg, my child, it is now for you to +decide. You have heard the expression of my positive wishes; you know +how I feel on this subject; you know better than any one how your +decision one way or the other will affect me. I confide in you." + +Meg wrung her hands and remained silent. In her despair she confusedly +felt she was called upon to make her choice between two duties. One was +heavy to follow, the other meant all the happiness of her young heart. +She gave an inarticulate moan--a word of that primal language common to +all creation in its moments of anguish. + +"I do not ask you to speak," said Sir Malcolm. "Put your hand on my arm, +Meg, and let me take you home--that will suffice." + +"I cannot--I cannot!" she moaned, moving a few irresolute steps away +from the two between whom her fate lay. She could not speak the word +that must bring sorrow to one who was weak, lonely, and already heavily +stricken, still less that other word which must crush the young, the +strong, and the beloved one. + +"Before you ask this young lady to retract," she heard the voice of her +lover say; then he paused as if to change the phrase to one more +generously worded: "Before you ask her to refuse me for your sake, will +you grant me a few moments' private conversation?" + +"No, sir," answered the baronet. "I repeat I have said all I have to say +to you. I wish this interview to end. Come back with me, Meg." + +"You have addressed me as one capable of dishonorable conduct," Mr. +Standish resumed quietly. "This young lady's father, sir, if he were +alive, would have been the last to apply such a term to me." + +"Her father! What do you know of her father?" said Sir Malcolm savagely. + +"If Philip Loftdale was her father, I knew him well. He often called me +his dearest friend." + +Meg, leaning back against the wall, saw her grandfather staring vacantly +at the speaker. "What do you mean? Who are you, sir?" he asked. + +"Again I ask you, sir," said Mr. Standish with sudden gentleness, "for a +few moments' private conversation." + +"No, sir; if you have anything to say, speak out before this young lady. +I took the step of leading Miss Beecham here that she might judge the +merits of the case for herself. I am sorry to have to add that the +assertion you have just made, that you were my son's friend, is no +recommendation to me. He was unfortunate in his associates." + +Mr. Standish did not reply. He took out a bunch of keys and fitted one +into a drawer. Meg saw him draw out a bundle of letters. He kept his +eyes averted from her as he said: + +"I shrink from telling the particulars I must now state, or of hinting +at an obligation. But I am playing for a great stake--one that is all +the world to me; and I see no means of moving you, sir, but by referring +to this fact, and bringing evidences of its truth before you." + +He laid his hand upon the letters. + +"It is your wish, sir, that I should speak before Miss Beecham. Perhaps +it is as well that she should hear what I have to say." + +"It is my wish. Go on, sir!" said Sir Malcolm fiercely as Mr. Standish +paused. + +"Your son was adjutant of his regiment. Whatever were his follies and +recklessness, he was a good soldier. He was trusted by his comrades, and +he was proud of their trust. You were stern with him, sir--I shall not +say overstern. It is not for me to judge." + +"Go on, sir," said the old man. + +"Since his marriage, if you remember, you held no communication with +him----" + +"If your claim upon me," interrupted the baronet fiercely, "is that you +are a relation of the unhappy woman he married, I think you must admit +that the fact that I have recognized her daughter, and that I mean +publicly to declare her my grandchild, is a reparation which answers all +claims and silences all appeals." + +"I make no claim upon you. I think I will establish that I am no--" Mr. +Standish paused, then resumed: "If you remember, your son wrote to you +shortly before his death a letter that you returned unopened, as you had +done others before." + +Sir Malcolm did not reply, and for a moment there was a dead silence. +Mr. Standish resumed with difficulty: + +"That letter, sir, was to ask you for three hundred pounds, that in a +reckless moment he had taken from the money belonging to his regiment, +convinced that he would be able to repay it." + +Still the old man remained silent as death, looking with a fixed gaze +upon the speaker. + +"Your son came to me. Dishonor faced him. He told me of his folly. The +next day he would be disgraced if he failed to raise the money." + +Sir Malcolm drew a heavy breath; he parted his lips as if to speak, but +no words came; and he listened intently. + +"God knows, sir," resumed the young man, "that I tell you what follows +with the utmost unwillingness. I had the money he needed so sorely, and +I let him have it. His honor was saved. His act remained unknown to his +brother-officers and to the world, but he felt the stigma too bitterly +to live." + +The old man sat down and took the proffered documents. He read them +through hurriedly, and Meg noticed that once he brushed away a tear. +Then he rose, and with a large and liberal action put out a trembling +hand to the editor, who clasped it in his. + +"Mr. Standish," said the baronet, "you have saved what is dearer to me +than life--my family honor. I will do, sir, what I have never done +before. I ask your pardon. I acknowledge an obligation to you that I can +never repay." + +"You can repay it, grandfather," said Meg through tears. + +"You can repay it, sir--ay, and brimming over," said Mr. Standish. "The +stake I have played for, as I said, is all the world to me. I love this +lady with a love that can never change. I loved her as a child, I love +her as a girl, I will love her as a woman all her life. Do not part +us!" + +"Grandfather, do not part us!" repeated Meg in a voice hoarse with +pleading. "I will never desert you!" + +The old gentleman hesitated. He resumed his seat, and putting his elbow +on the table he covered his eyes with his hand. There was anxious +silence in the room. At last Sir Malcolm rose, and with a grave dignity +he went to Meg, and taking her hand he placed it in that of her lover. + + +THE END. + + + + +A. L. BURT'S PUBLICATIONS + +For Young People + +BY POPULAR WRITERS, + +97-99-101 Reade Street, New York. + + + Bonnie Prince Charlie: A Tale of Fontenoy and Culloden. By G. A. + HENTY. With 12 full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, + cloth, price $1.00. + +The adventures of the son of a Scotch officer in French service. The +boy, brought up by a Glasgow bailie, is arrested for aiding a Jacobite +agent, escapes, is wrecked on the French coast, reaches Paris, and +serves with the French army at Dettingen. He kills his father's foe in a +duel, and escaping to the coast, shares the adventures of Prince +Charlie, but finally settles happily in Scotland. + + "Ronald, the hero, is very like the hero of 'Quentin Durward.' The + lad's journey across France, and his hairbreadth escapes, make up + as good a narrative of the kind as we have ever read. For freshness + of treatment and variety of incident Mr. Henty has surpassed + himself."--_Spectator._ + + + With Clive in India; or, the Beginnings of an Empire. By G. A. + HENTY. With 12 full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, + cloth, price $1.00. + +The period between the landing of Clive as a young writer in India and +the close of his career was critical and eventful in the extreme. At its +commencement the English were traders existing on sufferance of the +native princes. At its close they were masters of Bengal and of the +greater part of Southern India. The author has given a full and accurate +account of the events of that stirring time, and battles and sieges +follow each other in rapid succession, while he combines with his +narrative a tale of daring and adventure, which gives a lifelike +interest to the volume. + + "He has taken a period of Indian history of the most vital + importance, and he has embroidered on the historical facts a story + which of itself is deeply interesting. Young people assuredly will + be delighted with the volume."--_Scotsman._ + + + The Lion of the North: A Tale of Gustavus Adolphus and the Wars + of Religion. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by JOHN + SCHÖNBERG. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. + +In this story Mr. Henty gives the history of the first part of the +Thirty Years' War. The issue had its importance, which has extended to +the present day, as it established religious freedom in Germany. The +army of the chivalrous king of Sweden was largely composed of Scotchmen, +and among these was the hero of the story. + + "The tale is a clever and instructive piece of history, and as boys + may be trusted to read it conscientiously, they can hardly fail to + be profited."--_Times._ + + + The Dragon and the Raven; or, The Days of King Alfred. By G. A. + HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by C. J. STANILAND, R.I. 12mo, + cloth, price $1.00. + +In this story the author gives an account of the fierce struggle between +Saxon and Dane for supremacy in England, and presents a vivid picture of +the misery and ruin to which the country was reduced by the ravages of +the sea-wolves. The hero, a young Saxon thane, takes part in all the +battles fought by King Alfred. He is driven from his home, takes to the +sea and resists the Danes on their own element, and being pursued by +them up the Seine, is present at the long and desperate siege of Paris. + + "Treated in a manner most attractive to the boyish + reader."--_Athenĉum._ + + + The Young Carthaginian: A Story of the Times of Hannibal. By G. + A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by C. J. STANILAND, R.I. + 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. + +Boys reading the history of the Punic Wars have seldom a keen +appreciation of the merits of the contest. That it was at first a +struggle for empire, and afterward for existence on the part of +Carthage, that Hannibal was a great and skillful general, that he +defeated the Romans at Trebia, Lake Trasimenus, and Cannĉ, and all but +took Rome, represents pretty nearly the sum total of their knowledge. To +let them know more about this momentous struggle for the empire of the +world Mr. Henty has written this story, which not only gives in graphic +style a brilliant description of a most interesting period of history, +but is a tale of exciting adventure sure to secure the interest of the +reader. + + "Well constructed and vividly told. From first to last nothing + stays the interest of the narrative. It bears us along as on a + stream whose current varies in direction, but never loses its + force."--_Saturday Review._ + + + In Freedom's Cause: A Story of Wallace and Bruce. By G. A. HENTY. + With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price + $1.00. + +In this story the author relates the stirring tale of the Scottish War +of Independence. The extraordinary valor and personal prowess of Wallace +and Bruce rival the deeds of the mythical heroes of chivalry, and indeed +at one time Wallace was ranked with these legendary personages. The +researches of modern historians have shown, however, that he was a +living, breathing man--and a valiant champion. The hero of the tale +fought under both Wallace and Bruce, and while the strictest historical +accuracy has been maintained with respect to public events, the work is +full of "hairbreadth 'scapes" and wild adventure. + + "It is written in the author's best style. Full of the wildest and + most remarkable achievements, it is a tale of great interest, which + a boy, once he has begun it, will not willingly put on one + side."--_The Schoolmaster._ + + + With Lee in Virginia: A Story of the American Civil War. By G. A. + HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, + price $1.00. + +The story of a young Virginian planter, who, after bravely proving his +sympathy with the slaves of brutal masters, serves with no less courage +and enthusiasm under Lee and Jackson through the most exciting events of +the struggle. He has many hairbreadth escapes, is several times wounded +and twice taken prisoner; but his courage and readiness and, in two +cases, the devotion of a black servant and of a runaway slave whom he +had assisted, bring him safely through all difficulties. + + "One of the best stories for lads which Mr. Henty has yet written. + The picture is full of life and color, and the stirring and + romantic incidents are skillfully blended with the personal + interest and charm of the story."--_Standard._ + + + By England's Aid; or, The Freeing of the Netherlands (1585-1604). + By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by ALFRED PEARSE, and + Maps. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. + +The story of two English lads who go to Holland as pages in the service +of one of "the fighting Veres." After many adventures by sea and land, +one of the lads finds himself on board a Spanish ship at, the time of +the defeat of the Armada, and escapes only to fall into the hands of the +Corsairs. He is successful in getting back to Spain under the protection +of a wealthy merchant, and regains his native country after the capture +of Cadiz. + + "It is an admirable book for youngsters. It overflows with stirring + incident and exciting adventure, and the color of the era and of + the scene are finely reproduced. The illustrations add to its + attractiveness."--_Boston Gazette._ + + + By Right of Conquest; or, With Cortez in Mexico. By G. A. HENTY. + With full-page Illustrations by W. S. STACEY, and Two Maps. 12mo, + cloth, price $1.50. + +The conquest of Mexico by a small band of resolute men under the +magnificent leadership of Cortez is always rightly ranked among the most +romantic and daring exploits in history. With this as the groundwork of +his story Mr. Henty has interwoven the adventures of an English youth, +Roger Hawkshaw, the sole survivor of the good ship Swan, which had +sailed from a Devon port to challenge the mercantile supremacy of the +Spaniards in the New World. He is beset by many perils among the +natives, but is saved by his own judgment and strength, and by the +devotion of an Aztec princess. At last by a ruse he obtains the +protection of the Spaniards, and after the fall of Mexico he succeeds in +regaining his native shore, with a fortune and a charming Aztec bride. + + "'By Right of Conquest' is the nearest approach to a perfectly + successful historical tale that Mr. Henty has yet + published."--_Academy._ + + + In the Reign of Terror: The Adventures of a Westminster Boy. By + G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by J. SCHÖNBERG. 12mo, + cloth, price $1.00. + +Harry Sandwith, a Westminster boy, becomes a resident at the chateau of +a French marquis, and after various adventures accompanies the family to +Paris at the crisis of the Revolution. Imprisonment and death reduce +their number, and the hero finds himself beset by perils with the three +young daughters of the house in his charge. After hairbreadth escapes +they reach Nantes. There the girls are condemned to death in the +coffin-ships, but are saved by the unfailing courage of their boy +protector. + + "Harry Sandwith, the Westminster boy, may fairly be said to beat + Mr. Henty's record. His adventures will delight boys by the + audacity and peril they depict.... The story is one of Mr. Henty's + best."--_Saturday Review._ + + + With Wolfe in Canada; or, The Winning of a Continent. By G. A. + HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, + price $1.00. + +In the present volume Mr. Henty gives an account of the struggle between +Britain and France for supremacy in the North American continent. On the +issue of this war depended not only the destinies of North America, but +to a large extent those of the mother countries themselves. The fall of +Quebec decided that the Anglo-Saxon race should predominate in the New +World; that Britain, and not France, should take the lead among the +nations of Europe; and that English and American commerce, the English +language, and English literature, should spread right round the globe. + + "It is not only a lesson in history as instructively as it is + graphically told, but also a deeply interesting and often thrilling + tale of adventure and peril by flood and field."--_Illustrated + London News._ + + + True to the Old Flag: A Tale of the American War of Independence. + By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. + 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. + +In this story the author has gone to the accounts of officers who took +part in the conflict, and lads will find that in no war in which +American and British soldiers have been engaged did they behave with +greater courage and good conduct. The historical portion of the book +being accompanied with numerous thrilling adventures with the redskins +on the shores of Lake Huron, a story of exciting interest is interwoven +with the general narrative and carried through the book. + + "Does justice to the pluck and determination of the British + soldiers during the unfortunate struggle against American + emancipation. The son of an American loyalist, who remains true to + our flag, falls among the hostile redskins in that very Huron + country which has been endeared to us by the exploits of Hawkeye + and Chingachgook."--_The Times._ + + + The Lion of St. Mark: A Tale of Venice in the Fourteenth Century. + By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. + 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. + +A story of Venice at a period when her strength and splendor were put to +the severest tests. The hero displays a fine sense and manliness which +carry him safely through an atmosphere of intrigue, crime, and +bloodshed. He contributes largely to the victories of the Venetians at +Porto d'Anzo and Chioggia, and finally wins the hand of the daughter of +one of the chief men of Venice. + + "Every boy should read 'The Lion of St. Mark.' Mr. Henty has never + produced a story more delightful, more wholesome, or more + vivacious."--_Saturday Review._ + + + A Final Reckoning: A Tale of Bush Life in Australia. By G. A. + HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by W. B. WOLLEN, 12mo, cloth, + price $1.00. + +The hero, a young English lad, after rather a stormy boyhood, emigrates +to Australia, and gets employment as an officer in the mounted police. A +few years of active work on the frontier, where he has many a brush with +both natives and bushrangers, gain him promotion to a captaincy, and he +eventually settles down to the peaceful life of a squatter. + + "Mr. Henty has never published a more readable, a more carefully + constructed, or a better written story than this."--_Spectator._ + + + Under Drake's Flag: A Tale of the Spanish Main. By G. A. HENTY. + With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price + $1.00. + +A story of the days when England and Spain struggled for the supremacy +of the sea. The heroes sail as lads with Drake in the Pacific +expedition, and in his great voyage of circumnavigation. The historical +portion of the story is absolutely to be relied upon, but this will +perhaps be less attractive than the great variety of exciting adventure +through which the young heroes pass in the course of their voyages. + + "A book of adventure, where the hero meets with experience enough, + one would think, to turn his hair gray."--_Harper's Monthly + Magazine._ + + + By Sheer Pluck: A Tale of the Ashanti War. By G. A. HENTY. With + full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. + +The author has woven, in a tale of thrilling interest, all the details +of the Ashanti campaign, of which he was himself a witness. His hero, +after many exciting adventures in the interior, is detained a prisoner +by the king just before the outbreak of the war, but escapes, and +accompanies the English expedition on their march to Coomassie. + + "Mr. Henty keeps up his reputation as a writer of boys' stories. + 'By Sheer Pluck' will be eagerly read."--_Athenĉum._ + + + By Pike and Dyke: A Tale of the Rise of the Dutch Republic. By G. + A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by MAYNARD BROWN, and 4 + Maps. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. + +In this story Mr. Henty traces the adventures and brave deeds of an +English boy in the household of the ablest man of his age--William the +Silent. Edward Martin, the son of an English sea captain, enters the +service of the Prince as a volunteer, and is employed by him in many +dangerous and responsible missions, in the discharge of which he passes +through the great sieges of the time. He ultimately settles down as Sir +Edward Martin. + + "Boys with a turn for historical research will be enchanted with + the book, while the rest who only care for adventure will be + students in spite of themselves."--_St. James' Gazette._ + + + St. George for England: A Tale of Cressy and Poitiers. By G. A. + HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, + price $1.00. + +No portion of English history is more crowded with great events than +that of the reign of Edward III. Cressy and Poitiers; the destruction of +the Spanish fleet; the plague of the Black Death; the Jacquerie rising; +these are treated by the author in "St. George for England." The hero of +the story, although of good family, begins life as a London apprentice, +but after countless adventures and perils becomes by valor and good +conduct the squire, and at last the trusted friend of the Black Prince. + + "Mr. Henty has developed for himself a type of historical novel for + boys which bids fair to supplement, on their behalf, the historical + labors of Sir Walter Scott in the land of fiction."--_The + Standard._ + + + Captain's Kidd's Gold: The True Story of an Adventurous Sailor + Boy. By JAMES FRANKLIN FITTS. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. + +There is something fascinating to the average youth in the very +idea of buried treasure. A vision arises before his eyes of swarthy +Portuguese and Spanish rascals, with black beards and gleaming +eyes--sinister-looking fellows who once on a time haunted the Spanish +Main, sneaking out from some hidden creek in their long, low schooner, +of picaroonish rake and sheer, to attack an unsuspecting trading craft. +There were many famous sea rovers in their day, but none more celebrated +than Capt. Kidd. Perhaps the most fascinating tale of all is Mr. Fitts' +true story of an adventurous American boy, who receives from his dying +father an ancient bit of vellum, which the latter obtained in a curious +way. The document bears obscure directions purporting to locate a +certain island in the Bahama group, and a considerable treasure buried +there by two of Kidd's crew. The hero of this book, Paul Jones Garry, is +an ambitious, persevering lad, of salt-water New England ancestry, and +his efforts to reach the island and secure the money form one of the +most absorbing tales for our youth that has come from the press. + + + Captain Bayley's Heir: A Tale of the Gold Fields of California. + By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by H. M. PAGET. 12mo, + cloth, price $1.00. + +A frank, manly lad and his cousin are rivals in the heirship of a +considerable property. The former falls into a trap laid by the latter, +and while under a false accusation of theft foolishly leaves England for +America. He works his passage before the mast, joins a small band of +hunters, crosses a tract of country infested with Indians to the +Californian gold diggings, and is successful both as digger and trader. + + "Mr. Henty is careful to mingle instruction with entertainment; and + the humorous touches, especially in the sketch of John Holl, the + Westminster dustman, Dickens himself could hardly have + excelled."--_Christian Leader._ + + + For Name and Fame; or, Through Afghan Passes. By G. A. HENTY. + With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price + $1.00. + +An interesting story of the last war in Afghanistan. The hero, after +being wrecked and going through many stirring adventures among the +Malays, finds his way to Calcutta and enlists in a regiment proceeding +to join the army at the Afghan passes. He accompanies the force under +General Roberts to the Peiwar Kotal, is wounded, taken prisoner, carried +to Cabul, whence he is transferred to Candahar, and takes part in the +final defeat of the army of Ayoub Khan. + + "The best feature of the book--apart from the interest of its + scenes of adventure--is its honest effort to do justice to the + patriotism of the Afghan people."--_Daily News._ + + + Captured by Apes: The Wonderful Adventures of a Young Animal + Trainer. By HARRY PRENTICE. 12mo, cloth, $1.00. + +The scene of this tale is laid on an island in the Malay Archipelago. +Philip Garland, a young animal collector and trainer, of New York, sets +sail for Eastern seas in quest of a new stock of living curiosities. The +vessel is wrecked off the coast of Borneo and young Garland, the sole +survivor of the disaster, is cast ashore on a small island, and captured +by the apes that overrun the place. The lad discovers that the ruling +spirit of the monkey tribe is a gigantic and vicious baboon, whom he +identifies as Goliah, an animal at one time in his possession and with +whose instruction he had been especially diligent. The brute recognizes +him, and with a kind of malignant satisfaction puts his former master +through the same course of training he had himself experienced with a +faithfulness of detail which shows how astonishing is monkey +recollection. Very novel indeed is the way by which the young man +escapes death. Mr. Prentice has certainly worked a new vein on juvenile +fiction, and the ability with which he handles a difficult subject +stamps him as a writer of undoubted skill. + + + The Bravest of the Brave; or, With Peterborough in Spain. By G. + A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by H. M. PAGET. 12mo, cloth, + price $1.00. + +There are few great leaders whose lives and actions have so completely +fallen into oblivion as those of the Earl of Peterborough. This is +largely due to the fact that they were overshadowed by the glory and +successes of Marlborough. His career as general extended over little +more than a year, and yet, in that time, he showed a genius for warfare +which has never been surpassed. + + "Mr. Henty never loses sight of the moral purpose of his work--to + enforce the doctrine of courage and truth. Lads will read 'The + Bravest of the Brave' with pleasure and profit; of that we are + quite sure."--_Daily Telegraph._ + + + The Cat of Bubastes: A Story of Ancient Egypt. By G. A. HENTY. + With full-page Illustrations. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. + +A story which will give young readers an unsurpassed insight into the +customs of the Egyptian people. Amuba, a prince of the Rebu nation, is +carried with his charioteer Jethro into slavery. They become inmates of +the house of Ameres, the Egyptian high-priest, and are happy in his +service until the priest's son accidentally kills the sacred cat of +Bubastes. In an outburst of popular fury Ameres is killed, and it rests +with Jethro and Amuba to secure the escape of the high-priest's son and +daughter. + + "The story, from the critical moment of the killing of the sacred + cat to the perilous exodus into Asia with which it closes, is very + skillfully constructed and full of exciting adventures. It is + admirably illustrated."--_Saturday Review._ + + + With Washington at Monmouth: A Story of Three Philadelphia Boys. + By JAMES OTIS. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. + +Three Philadelphia boys, Seth Graydon "whose mother conducted a +boarding-house which was patronized by the British officers;" Enoch +Ball, "son of that Mrs. Ball whose dancing school was situated on +Letitia Street," and little Jacob, son of "Chris, the Baker," serve as +the principal characters. The story is laid during the winter when Lord +Howe held possession of the city, and the lads aid the cause by +assisting the American spies who make regular and frequent visits from +Valley Forge. One reads here of home-life in the captive city when bread +was scarce among the people of the lower classes, and a reckless +prodigality shown by the British officers, who passed the winter in +feasting and merry-making while the members of the patriot army but a +few miles away were suffering from both cold and hunger. The story +abounds with pictures of Colonial life skillfully drawn, and the +glimpses of Washington's soldiers which are given show that the work has +not been hastily done, or without considerable study. + + + For the Temple: A Tale of the Fall of Jerusalem. By G. A. HENTY. + With full-page Illustrations by S. J. SOLOMON. 12mo, cloth, price + $1.00. + +Mr. Henty here weaves into the record of Josephus an admirable and +attractive story. The troubles in the district of Tiberias, the march of +the legions, the sieges of Jotapata, of Gamala, and of Jerusalem, form +the impressive and carefully studied historic setting to the figure of +the lad who passes from the vineyard to the service of Josephus, becomes +the leader of a guerrilla band of patriots, fights bravely for the +Temple, and after a brief term of slavery at Alexandria, returns to his +Galilean home with the favor of Titus. + + "Mr. Henty's graphic prose pictures of the hopeless Jewish + resistance to Roman sway add another leaf to his record of the + famous wars of the world."--_Graphic._ + + + Facing Death; or, The Hero of the Vaughan Pit. A Tale of the Coal + Mines. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by GORDON + BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. + +"Facing Death" is a story with a purpose. It is intended to show that a +lad who makes up his mind firmly and resolutely that he will rise in +life, and who is prepared to face toil and ridicule and hardship to +carry out his determination, is sure to succeed. The hero of the story +is a typical British boy, dogged, earnest, generous, and though +"shamefaced" to a degree, is ready to face death in the discharge of +duty. + + "The tale is well written and well illustrated, and there is much + reality in the characters. If any father, clergyman, or + schoolmaster is on the lookout for a good book to give as a present + to a boy who is worth his salt, this is the book we would + recommend."--_Standard._ + + + Tom Temple's Career. By HORATIO ALGER. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. + +Tom Temple, a bright, self-reliant lad, by the death of his father +becomes a boarder at the home of Nathan Middleton, a penurious insurance +agent. Though well paid for keeping the boy, Nathan and his wife +endeavor to bring Master Tom in line with their parsimonious habits. The +lad ingeniously evades their efforts and revolutionizes the household. +As Tom is heir to $40,000, he is regarded as a person of some importance +until by an unfortunate combination of circumstances his fortune shrinks +to a few hundreds. He leaves Plympton village to seek work in New York, +whence he undertakes an important mission to California, around which +center the most exciting incidents of his young career. Some of his +adventures in the far west are so startling that the reader will +scarcely close the book until the last page shall have been reached. The +tale is written in Mr. Alger's most fascinating style, and is bound to +please the very large class of boys who regard this popular author as a +prime favorite. + + + Maori and Settler: A Story of the New Zealand War. By G. A. + HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by ALFRED PEARSE. 12mo, cloth, + price $1.00. + +The Renshaws emigrate to New Zealand during the period of the war with +the natives. Wilfrid, a strong, self-reliant, courageous lad, is the +mainstay of the household. He has for his friend Mr. Atherton, a +botanist and naturalist of herculean strength and unfailing nerve and +humor. In the adventures among the Maoris, there are many breathless +moments in which the odds seem hopelessly against the party, but they +succeed in establishing themselves happily in one of the pleasant New +Zealand valleys. + + "Brimful of adventure, of humorous and interesting conversation, + and vivid pictures of colonial life."--_Schoolmaster._ + + + Julian Mortimer: A Brave Boy's Struggle for Home and Fortune. By + HARRY CASTLEMON. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. + +Here is a story that will warm every boy's heart. There is mystery +enough to keep any lad's imagination wound up to the highest pitch. The +scene of the story lies west of the Mississippi River, in the days when +emigrants made their perilous way across the great plains to the land of +gold. One of the startling features of the book is the attack upon the +wagon train by a large party of Indians. Our hero is a lad of uncommon +nerve and pluck, a brave young American in every sense of the word. He +enlists and holds the reader's sympathy from the outset. Surrounded by +an unknown and constant peril, and assisted by the unswerving fidelity +of a stalwart trapper, a real rough diamond, our hero achieves the most +happy results. Harry Castlemon has written many entertaining stories for +boys, and it would seem almost superfluous to say anything in his +praise, for the youth of America regard him as a favorite author. + + + "Carrots:" Just a Little Boy. By MRS. MOLESWORTH. With + Illustrations by WALTER CRANE. 12mo, cloth, price 75 cents. + + "One of the cleverest and most pleasing stories it has been our + good fortune to meet with for some time. Carrots and his sister are + delightful little beings, whom to read about is at once to become + very fond of."--_Examiner._ + + "A genuine children's book; we've seen 'em seize it, and read it + greedily. Children are first-rate critics, and thoroughly + appreciate Walter Crane's illustrations."--_Punch._ + + + Mopsa the Fairy. By JEAN INGELOW. With Eight page Illustrations. + 12mo, cloth, price 75 cents. + + "Mrs. Ingelow is, to our mind, the most charming of all living + writers for children, and 'Mopsa' alone ought to give her a kind of + pre-emptive right to the love and gratitude of our young folks. It + requires genius to conceive a purely imaginary work which must of + necessity deal with the supernatural, without running into a mere + riot of fantastic absurdity; but genius Miss Ingelow has and the + story of 'Jack' is as careless and joyous, but as delicate, as a + picture of childhood."--_Eclectic._ + + + A Jaunt Through Java: The Story of a Journey to the Sacred + Mountain. By EDWARD S. ELLIS. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. + +The central interest of this story is found in the thrilling adventures +of two cousins, Hermon and Eustace Hadley, on their trip across the +island of Java, from Samarang to the Sacred Mountain. In a land where +the Royal Bengal tiger runs at large; where the rhinoceros and other +fierce beasts are to be met with at unexpected moments; it is but +natural that the heroes of this book should have a lively experience. +Hermon not only distinguishes himself by killing a full-grown tiger at +short range, but meets with the most startling adventure of the journey. +There is much in this narrative to instruct as well as entertain the +reader, and so deftly has Mr. Ellis used his material that there is not +a dull page in the book. The two heroes are brave, manly young fellows, +bubbling over with boyish independence. They cope with the many +difficulties that arise during the trip in a fearless way that is bound +to win the admiration of every lad who is so fortunate as to read their +adventures. + + + Wrecked on Spider Island; or, How Ned Rogers Found the Treasure. + By JAMES OTIS. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. + +A "down-east" plucky lad who ships as cabin boy, not from love of +adventure, but because it is the only course remaining by which he can +gain a livelihood. While in his bunk, seasick, Ned Rogers hears the +captain and mate discussing their plans for the willful wreck of the +brig in order to gain the insurance. Once it is known he is in +possession of the secret the captain maroons him on Spider Island, +explaining to the crew that the boy is afflicted with leprosy. While +thus involuntarily playing the part of a Crusoe, Ned discovers a wreck +submerged in the sand, and overhauling the timbers for the purpose of +gathering material with which to build a hut finds a considerable amount +of treasure. Raising the wreck; a voyage to Havana under sail; shipping +there a crew and running for Savannah; the attempt of the crew to seize +the little craft after learning of the treasure on board, and, as a +matter of course, the successful ending of the journey, all serve to +make as entertaining a story of sea-life as the most captious boy could +desire. + + + Geoff and Jim: A Story of School Life. By ISMAY THORN. + Illustrated by A. G. WALKER. 12mo, cloth, price 75 cents. + + "This is a prettily told story of the life spent by two motherless + bairns at a small preparatory school. Both Geoff and Jim are very + lovable characters, only Jim is the more so; and the scrapes he + gets into and the trials he endures will, no doubt, interest a + large circle of young readers."--_Church Times._ + + "This is a capital children's story, the characters well portrayed, + and the book tastefully bound and well + illustrated."--_Schoolmaster._ + + "The story can be heartily recommended as a present for + boys."--_Standard._ + + + The Castaways; or, On the Florida Reefs. By JAMES OTIS. 12mo, + cloth, price $1.00. + +This tale smacks of the salt sea. It is just the kind of story that the +majority of boys yearn for. From the moment that the Sea Queen dispenses +with the services of the tug in lower New York bay till the breeze +leaves her becalmed off the coast of Florida, one can almost hear the +whistle of the wind through her rigging, the creak of her straining +cordage as she heels to the leeward, and feel her rise to the +snow-capped waves which her sharp bow cuts into twin streaks of foam. +Off Marquesas Keys she floats in a dead calm. Ben Clark, the hero of the +story, and Jake, the cook, spy a turtle asleep upon the glassy surface +of the water. They determine to capture him, and take a boat for that +purpose, and just as they succeed in catching him a thick fog cuts them +off from the vessel, and then their troubles begin. They take refuge on +board a drifting hulk, a storm arises and they are cast ashore upon a +low sandy key. Their adventures from this point cannot fail to charm the +reader. As a writer for young people Mr. Otis is a prime favorite. His +style is captivating, and never for a moment does he allow the interest +to flag. In "The Castaways" he is at his best. + + + Tom Thatcher's Fortune. By HORATIO ALGER, JR. 12mo, cloth, price + $1.00. + +Like all of Mr. Alger's heroes, Tom Thatcher is a brave, ambitious, +unselfish boy. He supports his mother and sister on meager wages earned +as a shoe-pegger in John Simpson's factory. The story begins with Tom's +discharge from the factory, because Mr. Simpson felt annoyed with the +lad for interrogating him too closely about his missing father. A few +days afterward Tom learns that which induces him to start overland for +California with the view of probing the family mystery. He meets with +many adventures. Ultimately he returns to his native village, bringing +consternation to the soul of John Simpson, who only escapes the +consequences of his villainy by making full restitution to the man whose +friendship he had betrayed. The story is told in that entertaining way +which has made Mr. Alger's name a household word in so many homes. + + + Birdie: A Tale of Child Life. By H. L. CHILDE-PEMBERTON. + Illustrated by H. W. RAINEY. 12mo, cloth, price 75 cents. + + "The story is quaint and simple, but there is a freshness about it + that makes one hear again the ringing laugh and the cheery shout of + children at play which charmed his earlier years."--_New York + Express._ + + + Popular Fairy Tales. By the BROTHERS GRIMM. Profusely + Illustrated, 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. + + "From first to last, almost without exception, these stories are + delightful."--_Athenĉum._ + + + + + * * * * * * + + + + +Transcribers note: + +These variations that were present in the original text have been +retained: + + "Who Gave That Kiss?" and "Who Gave That Kiss." + Italicized and non-italicized "Greywolds Mercury" + fashionplate and fashion-plate + finger-tips and fingertips + weather-beaten and weatherbeaten + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEG'S FRIEND*** + + +******* This file should be named 39936-8.txt or 39936-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/9/9/3/39936 + + + +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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