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diff --git a/39936-h/39936-h.htm b/39936-h/39936-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..59b6a90 --- /dev/null +++ b/39936-h/39936-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11400 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Meg's Friend, by Alice Abigail Corkran</title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; +} + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} +.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} +.p6 {margin-top: 6em;} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%} +hr.full {width: 95%;} + +hr.r5 {width: 5%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +hr.r65 {width: 65%; margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 3em;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + + .tdl {text-align: left;} + .tdr {text-align: right;} + .tdc {text-align: center;} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + + /* poetry number */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} +.right {text-align: right;} +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} +.i2 {margin-left: 2em;} + + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em;} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em;} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em;} + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:smaller; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; } + + hr.pg { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Meg's Friend, by Alice Abigail Corkran, +Illustrated by Robert Fowler</h1> +<p>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 <a +href="http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></p> +<p>Title: Meg's Friend</p> +<p> A Story for Girls</p> +<p>Author: Alice Abigail Corkran</p> +<p>Release Date: June 7, 2012 [eBook #39936]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEG'S FRIEND***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Katie Hernandez,<br /> + and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="pg" /> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 613px;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="613" height="700" alt="" /> +</div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 432px;"> +<img src="images/illus002.jpg" width="432" height="700" alt="" /> +<span class="quote"><span class="smcap">"I Wish I Were Dead!" cried Elsie.--Page 200.</span></span> +</div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span></p> + + +<h1>MEG'S FRIEND.</h1> +<h3 class="p2">A STORY FOR GIRLS.</h3> +<h2 class="p2">By ALICE CORKRAN,</h2> + +<p class="center p2"><i>Author of "Margery Merton's Girlhood," "Down the Snow +Stairs," "Joan's Adventures," etc., etc.</i></p> + +<p class="center p2"><i>WITH FIVE FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS BY ROBERT FOWLER.</i></p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<p class="center p2">NEW YORK:</p> + +<p class="center p2">A. L. BURT, PUBLISHER.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align="left" colspan="2"><h2>CONTENTS.</h2></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER I.</td><td align="right">PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Meg</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER II.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Two Years Later</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER III.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Meg to the Rescue</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER IV.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Farewell</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER V.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> A Mysterious Visit</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER VI.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Miss Reeve's Establishment for Young Ladies</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER VII.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> At School</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_85">85</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER VIII.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> The School Annual</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER IX.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Drifting Away</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER X.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Rebellion</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XI.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Away</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_131">131</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XII.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> An Acquaintance by the Way</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_142">142</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XIII.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> The Old Gentleman Again</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XIV.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Who Gave that Kiss?</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_165">165</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XV.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Miss Pinkett's Diamond</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_172">172</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XVI.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> The Party</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_183">183</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XVII.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Poor Meg</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_192">192</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XVIII.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Peace</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_205">205</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XIX.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Who Is He?</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_217">217</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XX.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Arrival</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_228">228</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXI.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Sir Malcolm Loftdale</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_241">241</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXII.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> The Editor of the <i>Greywolds Mercury</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_257">257</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXIII.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Friend or Foe</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_268">268</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXIV.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Friend!</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_277">277</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXV.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> For "Auld Lang Syne."</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_288">288</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXVI.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Before the Picture</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_305">305</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XXVII.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> In the Editor's Office</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_316">316</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<br /> +<br /> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> +<h2>MEG'S FRIEND.</h2> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<h3>MEG.</h3> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>On the topmost step of the top flight might +habitually be seen, toward sunset, a child seated +and watching, with head thrust through the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> +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:</p> + +<p>"You are late; where have you been, Mr. Standish?"</p> + +<p>"At work, Meg—at work all the time."</p> + +<p>"You have not been to the parlor of the Dragon?"</p> + +<p>"No, Meg; not set my foot inside it."</p> + +<p>"You have not been with those horrid whisky-smelling +men?"</p> + +<p>"Not seen one of them, Meg."</p> + +<p>"Then you may come up," the child would say, +taking his hand and leading him up.</p> + +<p>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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Two events had influenced her childhood. One +day, when she was about seven years of age, she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> +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:</p> + +<p>"Tilly, had you a mammy?"</p> + +<p>"Lor' bless the child!" answered Tilly, almost +losing hold of the plate she was washing. "Of +course I had."</p> + +<p>"Has every child got a mammy?" persisted Meg, +with deliberate plainness of speech.</p> + +<p>"Of course they have," answered the old woman, +utterly bewildered.</p> + +<p>"Is madam my mammy?" asked the child, a +slight tremor perceptible in the slower and deeper +intonation of her voice.</p> + +<p>"Madam" was the name by which she had been +taught to call Mrs. Browne.</p> + +<p>"No!" answered Tilly sharply; "and if you ask +any more questions ye'll be put into the dark closet."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Hitherto Meg had never asked a question concerning +herself. She had accepted a childhood<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> +without kissings and pettings—a snubbed, ignored +childhood—with a child's sainted powers of patience +and resignation.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Tilly, taken off her guard.</p> + +<p>There was a moment's pause, and an audible sigh.</p> + +<p>"I'll never be naughty again, Tilly—never," resumed +the child's voice, "if you'll just tell me—what +was she like?"</p> + +<p>"You'll not ask another question if I tell ye?" +replied Tilly after a moment of silent self-debate.</p> + +<p>"No, Tilly."</p> + +<p>"Never another? Do ye hear?"</p> + +<p>"Never, Tilly," repeated the child solemnly.</p> + +<p>"And you'll never let madam know as I told +you?" said Tilly excitedly, sitting up in her bed.</p> + +<p>"Never."</p> + +<p>"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,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> +said Tilly, nodding, as a sharp sob sounded in her +throat.</p> + +<p>"Lady?" said Meg.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"What man?" asked the child, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"Go to bed," said Tilly severely, through her +sobs.</p> + +<p>"Was it my pappy?" said the child, who had seen +and heard strange things during her seven-years' +life.</p> + +<p>"Go to bed," repeated Tilly. "You promised as +you'd never ask another question."</p> + +<p>"I will not, Tilly," said Meg, turning away, and +returning through the moonlight to bed.</p> + +<p>The child kept her word, and never alluded to the +subject again to Tilly.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>After another pause of smileless hesitation, she +took the footstool her host drew for her by the fire.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> +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:</p> + +<p> +<span class="i2">"Nellie was a lady—</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Last night she died,"</span> +</p> + +<p>and followed the negro ballad with a spirited rendering +of the "Erl King."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I wish mother would come just like that to me," +she said abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Your mother—is she dead?" he asked gently.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"A lady!" he repeated. "How do you know? +What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> +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?"</p> + +<p>"I would," he answered, thinking that at last he +was approaching a clew to the mystery.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"But let me hold it—just with my finger tips," +he pleaded, as the child jealously held the print +away from him.</p> + +<p>She slowly relinquished it to him and stood at +his elbow.</p> + +<p>"That's a picture taken out of a book—not a +portrait," he said.</p> + +<p>"I picked it up. Some lodgers had gone away.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> +I found it in a corner. Isn't it lovely? I'm sure +she'd be just like that," reiterated Meg.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>He paused, revolving his words, anxious not to +hurt, yet deeming it incumbent upon him to expel +this foolish fancy.</p> + +<p>"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."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span></p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know anything about that," said the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> +child, growing a little pale, and beginning once +more to fidget with the fashion-plate.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"It was not her fault," said the child faintly.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>A smothered exclamation rose to Mr. Standish's +lips. It was the first offensive word he had heard +the child use.</p> + +<p>"Meg," he cried, following the fluttering little +figure up the stairs.</p> + +<p>He saw her enter an attic; he heard the door +slam and the bolt drawn.</p> + +<p>"Meg," he called again gently.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Mr. Standish was perplexed, and resolved, after +completing the weekly budget he was writing for +the <i>Melbourne Banner</i>, to seek out the child, and +get the clew to this sudden demoralization.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Meg</span>: 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.</p> + +<p class="right"> +"W. S." +</p></blockquote> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p> +<span class="i2">"Nellie was a lady—</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Last night she died."</span> +</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>"Is it true what you have written here, or is it +a pack of stories?" she asked abruptly.</p> + +<p>"It is all true, Meg," said Mr. Standish gently. +"She was a lady."</p> + +<p>"A real lady, like those that drive about in the +carriages?" asked the child with stern cross-examination.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>At this assurance Meg gave a little sigh; the +tension about her lips relaxed; the fierce brilliancy +of her interrogative glance was subdued.</p> + +<p>"How do you know?" she asked more softly.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Browne told me. I will take you to her, +and she will tell it to you."</p> + +<p>"I don't want her to tell me, you tell me," said +Meg quickly.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>He took the little hand. "You must forget also, +Meg, that I said your mother had left you poor +and uncared for."</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I believe you; I believe you very much," she +said.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>He paused a moment. Meg was pale, and seemed +a little dazed; but the excitement had left her +manner.</p> + +<p>"Everything," he repeated with emphasis.</p> + +<p>The child's bosom heaved.</p> + +<p>"Now that she is dead," resumed the young man, +"I believe that dear mother watches over her little +daughter."</p> + +<p>"You believe it," said Meg slowly.</p> + +<p>"I believe it," said Mr. Standish. "But, come; +where is that picture? Let me look at it again."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Halloo! it is falling to bits. It was not so +crumpled and torn the other day," he remarked.</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> +there came a choking in her throat, and a sob, +quickly repressed.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<h3>TWO YEARS LATER.</h3> + + +<p>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 <i>mélange</i> 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.</p> + +<p>If the shifting scenes going on downstairs no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +for dinner?" Sometimes he tried to deceive her. +He would roll out a dazzling <i>menu</i>—turtle soup, +turbot, plum-pudding.</p> + +<p>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?"</p> + +<p>Her earnestness always moved him; he was +ashamed of deceiving her.</p> + +<p>Their last quarrel had been caused by Mr. +Standish's confession that he had dined off fish.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Herring!" she faltered.</p> + +<p>"Herrings," he repeated in a voice of rich appreciation. +"Two herrings, fat as lord mayors!"</p> + +<p>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."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"It is a foolish way of managing money," said +Meg, abrupt in her trouble, and only half-comforted.</p> + +<p>"Can you tell me, Meg, how to manage money +without reference to pay-day?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Will you do as I tell you?" she said, stopping +short in her restless peregrinations.</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +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!"</p> + +<p>On the evening of the fish dinner Mr. Standish +left the heiress out of the question, and Meg was +softened.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +inculcating economical instincts. Her fierce refusal +to answer convinced him that he had guessed right.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +Her advanced wisdom struck him. If it stirred +his sense of humor and inclined him to laugh, still +it made him thoughtful.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Often Meg's tones, staccato with prophetic denunciation, +would falter at the picture she evoked.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>One Sunday afternoon Mr. Standish emerged +from his room ready to sally forth. Meg appeared +out of her shadowy corner.</p> + +<p>"Going out?" she asked shortly.</p> + +<p>He nodded, smiling down with benign amusement. +He seemed enveloped in a holiday brightness.</p> + +<p>"Going with those horrid men?" she resumed, +throwing her words out with sorrowful brevity.</p> + +<p>He nodded, and drew out his watch. He was +apparently in a mood to be entertained.</p> + +<p>"Come, Meg, there are five minutes for a sermon. +I will listen to it respectfully, as if it were +the Archbishop of Canterbury preaching."</p> + +<p>But Meg was too much absorbed to mind a joke. +She followed him into his sitting-room, and began +restlessly walking about.</p> + +<p>Mr. Standish sat down, and as he stroked his hat +with his sleeve he watched the little figure's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>"Well, Meg, I am waiting," said Mr. Standish.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"Why not, Meg?"</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>"Poor child, you should not see those things!" +said Mr. Standish with a troubled look.</p> + +<p>"Why not? You would not let these men up +there take your money if you saw them."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"What is it that you want me to promise, Meg?" +he asked.</p> + +<p>"Not to let them take your money from you, not +to let them give you drink," she replied with her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> +accustomed unhesitancy, but her voice faltering +with harbored longing.</p> + +<p>"Not drink at all?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I wish not at all; I wish not at all," she replied +with unconscious repetition.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"You promise!" said Meg vehemently, with +another upward flash of the well-formed little +brown hand, and holding him with her eyes.</p> + +<p>"I promise," said Mr. Standish gravely, disguising +an inclination to laugh.</p> + +<p>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 <i>bon mot</i> he had put into the mouth of +"Sultan Will" to his suffering subjects—a con<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>fidence +that invariably produced abnormal gravity +in Meg.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Why did they come, disturbing him at his +work?" she asked spitefully.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +directors' table. "She did not want an orange; +she did not see what a dinner had to do with a +railway," she averred.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"You've broken your promise," said the child in +a low and trembling voice.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>As he went up he staggered—she had not seen +him stumble before—caught himself by the balustrade, +then plunged forward with uneven steps.</p> + +<p>Instinctively Meg put out her hand, but he did<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<h3>MEG TO THE RESCUE.</h3> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>If he caught a glimpse of Meg she would vanish +at his approach, and no call or song could entice<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> +ruin that was waiting him, and of her own wretchedness.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>A week after their falling out, Meg, in looking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"What do you want?" she inquired, standing +before the threshold she was defending.</p> + +<p>"I want Mr. Standish—a writing gent. I've got +news for him," replied the stranger with an air of +business.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Can't see him," said Meg briefly. "He's out, +and the door's locked."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"What news is it? I'll tell him when he comes +in," said Meg curtly.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Who are you? Where do you come from?" +asked Meg.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Eh, now, you are clever—as clever as clever +can be—the prettiest, cleverest little girl!" rejoined +the visitor admiringly.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +she spoke opened the window in the lobby, and kept +near it.</p> + +<p>"Then here I'll sit!" said the bailiff, depositing +his burly form on the stair.</p> + +<p>"How long will you sit there?" asked Meg.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"I hate you!" cried Meg with a flash, her bosom +heaving, her little red lips drawn tight over her +teeth.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"You'll get frightful rheumatism waiting there, +and I'm glad of it," she cried, as she disappeared.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Come this minute," she said, putting her hand +into his.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why, Meg," he said cheerily, yet surprised +at her manner; "so you have forgiven me at +last!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Why, what is this for, Meg," said Mr. Standish, +looking round.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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!"</p> + +<p>"It was kind, but foolish," said Meg briefly.</p> + +<p>"He wrote the other day to say he would make +it all right with Samuels, when I told him of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> +writ. He assured me the money was going by the +next post," Mr. Standish went on blankly.</p> + +<p>"He's an old cheat," said Meg, with scornful +directness of speech.</p> + +<p>"What is to be done? I have no money, Meg," +said the young man, with a wretched flicker of a +smile.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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——"</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>"Wise, practical Meg," said Mr. Standish, scarcely +able to repress a smile, moving irresolutely about +the little room.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"I have not the heart to do it Meg—I have not +the heart," said Mr. Standish, hesitating as the +child approached.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>A quiver of the eyelids only showed the child<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> +felt the tones. "Give it to me," she repeated imperatively.</p> + +<p>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 fashion-plate 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>Mr. Standish was not tired of waiting when Meg +appeared, her hand clutching the bodice of her dress.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Twenty-five pounds, Meg!" said Mr. Standish.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>The child cut short the words of thankfulness +that rose to Mr. Standish's lips.</p> + +<p>"Go," she said imperatively, taking him by the +hand and leading him to the door; "pay the man +and get him off."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"He's gone," said Meg, nodding. "Aren't you +glad?"</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Mr. Standish laughed out loud; but the laugh<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> +suddenly fell as he thought of all that knowledge +implied. He said gently, after a pause:</p> + +<p>"I thought the little friend who used to sit by my +fireside had left me. I missed you, Meg."</p> + +<p>"You were tipsy that night," the child answered, +with a quaver in her voice that did not take from +its severity.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"That was wicked of you," said Meg with spirit.</p> + +<p>"It was," agreed Mr. Standish candidly. "Come, +Meg, won't you forgive me if I promise——"</p> + +<p>"You promised before," interrupted the child.</p> + +<p>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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"No use to them when they get it," said Meg. +"They're always in a muddle."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Did you lend him much money?" asked Meg.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"And you gave it?" she said, and stopped.</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>"Did he never pay you back?" she faltered.</p> + +<p>"Never, Meg. It is a sad story. There was +some disgrace, and he died."</p> + +<p>She did not speak; the fate of the stranger +seemed to affect her but little.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<h3>FAREWELL.</h3> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Deus ex machina</i> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +that the political squib, the jokes which used to +have a depressing effect upon her, had brought him +the unlooked-for cash.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +The announcement, far from cheering Meg, deepened +the foreboding in her heart.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Meg touched his elbow. "Are you not going to +write to-night?" she asked in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"Not to-night, Meg. I am going to talk to you +instead."</p> + +<p>She remained motionless by his chair, questioning +him with her glance only.</p> + +<p>Still he did not speak. After a moment or two +he said abruptly, "Meg would you like to go to +school?"</p> + +<p>"I go to school every day. What do you mean?" +she asked, looking at him with quick suspicion.</p> + +<p>"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——"</p> + +<p>"You mean go away from here—quite?" interrupted +Meg, growing pale to the lips.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he answered.</p> + +<p>"What do you want me to go away for?" she +demanded, a flash of anger in her eyes.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Because I do not like to leave you with no one +but Mrs. Browne to look after you; and I am going +away."</p> + +<p>"When?" she asked tremulously.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow."</p> + +<p>She gave an exclamation that sounded like a cry.</p> + +<p>He drew her to him.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Where are you going?" she faltered, mastering +her emotion.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> +in writing a vivid statement of her forlorn and +neglected condition in the boarding-house.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Meg listened cold and silent to the end.</p> + +<p>"Won't you be glad to go to school to be educated?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Tears stood in her eyes, but anger kept them +from falling.</p> + +<p>"Do you wish to remain here when I am gone +Meg?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No," she replied faintly, as if her heart failed +her at the suggestion. "Why can't I go where you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> +go? Who'll light your fire for you, who'll look +after you? You want somebody to look after you."</p> + +<p>"I know it, Meg, and no one would look after +me as you would."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>The child's face worked, but she controlled the +rising sob.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"Take me home to be your housekeeper?" said +Meg.</p> + +<p>A laugh drifted to his face.</p> + +<p>"Better than that. We will be friends, close +friends, such friends as never were, if you go to this +school," he said.</p> + +<p>"You promise?" said the child, holding him with +her eyes.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p> + +<p>He nodded. "I promise, Meg."</p> + +<p>"Then I will go to that school," she said submissively, +putting her hand into his.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"My child, I had hoped, I had planned to avoid +this for you," he said. "I hoped you would be +asleep."</p> + +<div class="figcenter p2" style="width: 432px;"> +<img src="images/illus067.jpg" width="432" height="700" alt="" /> +<span class="caption"><span class="smcap">Meg presents the old fashion-plate to her friend.</span>—Page 61.</span> +</div> + +<p class="p2">The child's lips moved, but she did not speak. +Abruptly stretching out the hand that she had held<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +pressed against her bosom she put something into +his. It was the fashion-plate that had been to her +as her mother's portrait.</p> + +<p>"Is that for me, Meg?" he asked.</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>The child kept a stern silence.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<h3>A MYSTERIOUS VISIT.</h3> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Meg had been silent and repellent since her +friend's departure. She had lived alone, communing +with her grief.</p> + +<p>The landlady sat down on the child's bed and +began rocking herself backward and forward, uttering +faint moans.</p> + +<p>Meg looked at her gravely and apparently unmoved.</p> + +<p>"What are you crying for?" she asked at last, +when Mrs. Browne's moans became too emphatic +to be passed over in silence.</p> + +<p>"I am going to lose you, Meg—after all these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> +years—There's a gentleman downstairs—waiting +to take you away. Oh! oh! oh!" moaned Mrs. +Browne.</p> + +<p>"A gentleman—what gentleman?" asked Meg +with trembling eagerness, a light springing to her +eyes, for her thoughts had flown to her only friend.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Is he coming to take me away to that school?" +asked Meg, sitting up straight, speaking in curt and +business-like tones.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> +Mrs. Browne protested, she had meant to buy Meg +a pretty dress and hat.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"I'll not go away without these things," said Meg +ardently. "I'll not go to school or nowhere without +them."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Browne shook her head; but Meg was not to +be moved.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>He still wore a frilled shirt and tapped a silver +snuffbox, and he looked at Meg with his head very +much on one side.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ready to go—ready to go!" he said in a quick +chirping voice. "Not crying, eh? not crying?"</p> + +<p>Meg disengaged her hand to take the one proffered +to her.</p> + +<p>"Can't take that parcel," said Mr. Fullbloom, +shaking his head. "Can't take it."</p> + +<p>"Then I won't go away—I won't go to the school +without it," said Meg with fierce decision.</p> + +<p>"Tut, tut, tut!" said the lawyer. "What's inside +it? Lollipops, eh? lollipops?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Meg, pale with eagerness; "it's +books and things—keepsakes. I'll never part with +them—never!"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"I want to go to that school. Are we going +there now?" inquired Meg.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps we are—perhaps we are not—perhaps +we are going to a fairy palace," replied Mr. Fullbloom +with a suggestive sidelong glance.</p> + +<p>Meg looked at him smilelessly.</p> + +<p>"There are no fairies," she said curtly. "Am I +going to that school?"</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>The silence was broken, and the lawyer began to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Was this grand house the lady's school?" +thought Meg.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Who was she going to see now? Was she about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> +to be brought before the master or mistress of this +fairy palace?</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Here is the little girl," said Mr. Fullbloom.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"You are the little girl who spent all your life +in Mrs. Browne's boarding-house?" he said at last, +abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," said Meg with a quiver in her voice.</p> + +<p>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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You remember no other place? You have never +been to another?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I remember other places, but I have never lived +in another place," said Meg with her usual accuracy.</p> + +<p>"What is your name?"</p> + +<p>"Meg."</p> + +<p>"Meg what?"</p> + +<p>"Browne," said Meg.</p> + +<p>"No, that is not your name. Beecham is your +name. Don't forget—Beecham."</p> + +<p>"Beecham?" repeated Meg, amazed.</p> + +<p>"Take off your hat!" said her interlocutor.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"You were to take nothing out of that house," +said the old gentleman sternly.</p> + +<p>"I won't give them up—I won't!" cried Meg +with kindling countenance, and with hands outstretched +to protect her parcel.</p> + +<p>"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."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I do not want anything else," said Meg with +energy.</p> + +<p>"Turn to the light."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"That will do," said the old gentleman; and he +fell into a brooding silence.</p> + +<p>"This little girl wants to grow up a learned little +lady—a learned little lady," put in Mr. Fullbloom +cheerily after a pause.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is what I want to be," answered Meg +with an eager nod.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"I'll not forget every one. There is one person I +will never forget—never," replied Meg with +energy.</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> +conciliation, shaking his head. "I feel sure Meg +will not speak about him."</p> + +<p>"I don't want to talk about him," said Meg, her +voice instinct with the sacredness of her affection.</p> + +<p>"Do you know how to read?" asked the old +gentleman.</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Meg briefly.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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 ques<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>tioned +concerning it by teachers, schoolfellows, or +servants?"</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>Mr. Fullbloom chuckled, but the old man remained +smileless.</p> + +<p>"I have nothing more to add; take the child +away," he said.</p> + +<p>Mr. Fullbloom put out his hand to Meg. She +hesitated, looking toward the old gentleman to say +good-by.</p> + +<p>Once more the child encountered a glance that +seemed to freeze her with its mysterious dislike +and she went out in silence.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<h3>MISS REEVES' ESTABLISHMENT FOR YOUNG LADIES.</h3> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>Mr. Fullbloom coughed and Meg turned her head.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>"Reach the school soon now," said the lawyer +with his accustomed airy nod.</p> + +<p>"I am glad of it," replied Meg.</p> + +<p>"Want to be a learned little lady, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is just what I want to be," Meg +answered in an eager tone; "learned as a lady."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Meg nodded in token of her readiness to face any +amount of study.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"I knew she was not my mother," said Meg in a +low voice.</p> + +<p>"No, indeed; light and darkness could not be +more unlike."</p> + +<p>"You knew my mother?" cried Meg, a flush +kindling her cheeks.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I knew her a little," replied the lawyer guardedly. +"You are like her about the mouth and +eyes."</p> + +<p>"I am not a bit like her," Meg answered in a +tone of offense. "She was beautiful—like an +angel."</p> + +<p>"Yes, she was beautiful," acquiesced Mr. Fullbloom.</p> + +<p>Meg looked at the lawyer with a new expression. +A halo surrounded his brow, for he had seen her +mother.</p> + +<p>"Did the old gentleman I saw to-day know her +too?" she asked softly.</p> + +<p>The lawyer put up his finger and wagged his +head.</p> + +<p>"Little girls must not ask questions. They must +be seen, not heard," he replied, taking up his paper +and growing absorbed in its contents.</p> + +<p>He did not speak again until the train shortly +after stopped at Greyling station.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +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:</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> +throats and wrists. One girl appeared to Meg so +beautiful that she forgot everything in the delight +of looking at her.</p> + +<p>She was roused by a nudge of the elbow.</p> + +<p>"Miss Grantley is speaking to you," said her +spectacled neighbor. The young lady's lips were +quivering with restrained smiles.</p> + +<p>"Miss Beecham, will you take a glass of milk or +a cup of cocoa?" said the lady at the head of the +table.</p> + +<p>Meg looked blankly in the direction of the +speaker.</p> + +<p>"Is not your name Beecham?" said this lady with +a shade of annoyance in her voice.</p> + +<p>Meg shook her head in the negative; then suddenly +remembering the warning she had received +not to forget:</p> + +<p>"Yes—Beecham—that's my name," she said hurriedly, +with the vivid nod that usually accompanied +her assertions.</p> + +<p>A titter went round the table.</p> + +<p>"Hush!" said Miss Grantley severely.</p> + +<p>Meg sat stiff and upright.</p> + +<p>"Will you have milk or cocoa?" repeated Miss +Grantley.</p> + +<p>"Cocoa," blurted out Meg with monosyllabic +brevity, in her confusion forgetting her manners.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Meg seized with both hands the cup passed on +to her and hurriedly gulped down some of its +contents.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Come along," she said, and Meg followed.</p> + +<p>The girls were pouring into another room. They +at once surrounded Meg. The whispers became +audible.</p> + +<p>"Who is she?"</p> + +<p>"Who brought her?"</p> + +<p>"Where did she come from?"</p> + +<p>To Meg's surprise, one of the girls approached her +and said with familiar cordiality:</p> + +<p>"What is your name—your real name, I mean?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My real name?" repeated Meg. She was standing +inflexibly upright near a table.</p> + +<p>"The name you were called by before to-day?" +said her interrogator.</p> + +<p>"You did not recognize your name when you +were called Beecham—what is your real name?" +said another.</p> + +<p>Meg did not answer for a moment. She remembered +her promise to the mysterious white-haired +stranger. Then she said huskily:</p> + +<p>"What does it signify what name I had before?"</p> + +<p>Again she paused.</p> + +<p>"Then you had another name?" said the pretty +girl in a thin, high voice. "How very romantic!"</p> + +<p>"Don't tease her—what does it signify?" put in +Ursula.</p> + +<p>"What does it signify?" was repeated all round +in what Meg fancied a not unkindly tone. She +took courage.</p> + +<p>"What is in a name?" demanded one of the girls.</p> + +<p>"A rose by any other name would smell as sweet +would it not?" said another.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Meg, bewildered.</p> + +<p>"Where did you live!" questioned one.</p> + +<p>Meg remained mute. Again her promise to the +mysterious stranger sealed her lips.</p> + +<p>"Up a tree," suggested one.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Second branch," said another with a laugh.</p> + +<p>"Letters to you came addressed 'Miss What's-her-name, +second branch, fourth tree, on the right +side of the road,'" cried a third.</p> + +<p>This description of Meg's late abode was greeted +by peals of laughter.</p> + +<p>"Visitors climbed up," suggested another.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"A lady!" echoed all around her.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"My mother was a lady," said Meg.</p> + +<p>"Your mother!" was echoed all around.</p> + +<p>Meg did not answer; words seemed to tremble +on her lips as she gazed on her tormentors.</p> + +<p>"Is your dress her taste?" asked one.</p> + +<p>"Did she teach you to say 'Cocoa' like that, +without saying 'if you please'?" asked another, +mimicking Meg's answer to Miss Grantley.</p> + +<p>"My mother taught me nothing—she is dead," +said Meg slowly.</p> + +<p>There was a pause.</p> + +<p>Then the tormentors began again.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Are you sure you would know a lady if you saw +one?"</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"No," said Meg with concentration.</p> + +<p>"Does a lady go about playing the street-organ?" +asked a fat, stupid-faced girl.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"But do you know what it is to be a lady?" replied +the girl.</p> + +<p>"One is born, not made a lady," said another.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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:</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"That is a falsehood!" said Meg. Up flashed the +little brown hand and came down with a slap on +the dull, mocking face.</p> + +<p>There was a hubbub.</p> + +<p>Cries of "She's a savage!" "A gypsy!"</p> + +<p>"We will tell Miss Reeves," was vociferated on +all sides.</p> + +<p>Above the tumult rose the voice of Ursula:</p> + +<p>"You deserved that slap, Laura Harris. Miss +Beecham had told us her mother was dead. She +has been teased too much."</p> + +<p>A bell sounded and the head-mistress, followed +by the other teachers and the servants, entered the +room.</p> + +<p>"Silence, young ladies," said Miss Reeves.</p> + +<p>Prayer-time had come at Moorhouse.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<h3>AT SCHOOL.</h3> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> +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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Miss Beecham is a <i>table-rase</i>, 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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> +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 <i>Times</i>. 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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"What coronation?" asked Meg.</p> + +<p>"That of Queen Elizabeth."</p> + +<p>"But she is dead and buried in Westminster +Abbey," Meg rejoined blankly, being dismally +dense in apprehending a joke.</p> + +<p>"Is she?" replied Mr. Eyre with feigned astonishment, +and as was his wont when he bantered his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +pupils, he set about biting what remained of his +nails and scribbled the lessons to be learned in the +following week.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>She observed them. As she had watched the +hubbub of the lodging-house, so she now watched<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +the routine of the school. The girls of the first +class, tall, elegantly dressed, appeared to her like +young goddesses.</p> + +<p>Some of those nodded to her kindly as they +passed, and she returned the salute awkwardly +without a smile.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Daughter of a ballet-dancer, my dear, you +mean," Miss Pinkett said with an icy sniff. "That +ridiculous drawing speaks volumes."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Ursula continued the defense of the stranger, and +made advances to Meg, which the child persistently +refused.</p> + +<p>"Why won't you take my sweets?" Ursula asked +once in a piqued tone.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't want them," said Meg with jerky abruptness.</p> + +<p>"Why? Is it because you have none to give in +return?" demanded Ursula bluntly.</p> + +<p>"I don't want them—that is all!" answered Meg.</p> + +<p>"It is pride—nothing but pride!" said Ursula, +turning away with a displeased gleam of her spectacles.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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 pre<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>cision +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.</p> + +<p>A moment later Ursula felt a gentle touch on the +elbow, and a fragrant bunch of brown blossoms +was thrust into her hand.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>Meg nodded.</p> + +<p>Ursula buried her nose into the flowers with a +hesitating expression as Miss Grantley came up, followed +by girls.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<div class="figcenter p2" style="width: 700px;"> +<img src="images/illus103.jpg" width="700" height="426" alt="" /> +<span class="caption"><span class="smcap">Meg pulls the forbidden flowers.</span>—Page 94.</span> +</div> + +<p class="p2">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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Meg, in her isolation, took no interest in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> +"rouge pot controversy." One afternoon, to her +surprise, she was beckoned by Miss Pinkett into the +room shared by her and Gwendoline.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Miss Pinkett watched the effect on Meg with cold +curiosity.</p> + +<p>"You look much prettier as you are every day," +said Meg.</p> + +<p>"Do I look like your mother?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My mother!" repeated the child, and she began +to tremble.</p> + +<p>"I copied the portrait you drew, roses and all," +said the Beauty.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>"What are they doing inside?"</p> + +<p>"Is not Gwendoline dressing up? Does she rouge +her cheeks?"</p> + +<p>"I saw a bit of a white dress."</p> + +<p>"I did—I did! Tell us, Meg—Meg!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>When the tea bell rang Meg went downstairs.</p> + +<p>"Where are Miss Pinkett and Miss Lister?" asked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> +Miss Reeves, after she had said grace, glancing down +the table.</p> + +<p>"They have not come down yet from their room, +madam," said the attending parlor-maid.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"Miss Beecham knows!" repeated some other +voices.</p> + +<p>"Miss Lister puts paint on her cheeks," resumed +Laura, growing more explicit.</p> + +<p>"I hope not!" said Miss Reeves, with an anxious +brow, and her eye rested upon Meg.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>At this moment Miss Pinkett and Gwendoline +entered. The Beauty's face was shining with soap.</p> + +<p>"What were you doing in your room, young +ladies?" asked Miss Reeves gravely.</p> + +<p>"I suppose, madam, Miss Beecham has been +telling," replied Miss Pinkett.</p> + +<p>"No, we are waiting for her answer to the question +I have just put to you."</p> + +<p>Meg was conscious of every eye being turned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +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:</p> + +<p>"They called me into the room to make fun of a +portrait of my mother which I had drawn."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>A titter went round the table.</p> + +<p>"Hush!" said Miss Reeves seriously. "It is unkind +to laugh at the child. Sit down, young ladies."</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"No!" said Meg emphatically, turning her back +upon the Beauty and walking stiffly away.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> +<h3>THE SCHOOL ANNUAL.</h3> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The important Saturday had arrived, and Ursula +and her staff were assembled, with Miss Reeves'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> +permission, in the smaller schoolroom. Ursula sat +at the head of the table in an impressive armchair; +the spectacles astride her <i>retroussé</i> nose seemed +critically brilliant.</p> + +<p>Meg slunk in, and sat at the window within +earshot.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"No, no, no!" said Meg, retreating into the +veranda.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The conclusion of this story was not arrived at.</p> + +<p>Ursula rapped the table with her paper-knife.</p> + +<p>"Story declined with thanks," she said briefly.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why?" asked Laura indignantly.</p> + +<p>"Because, notwithstanding the delicious cakes, +we consider it in bad taste," replied Ursula, using +the editorial "we" with fine effect.</p> + +<p>"Miss Grant, have you a story to submit to us +for the forthcoming annual?"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>An audible shiver ran through the audience as +she now unrolled her MS., and in a deep voice read +the title—"The Midnight Yell."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>A sigh greeted this story.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Accepted," said Ursula, in a business-like tone.</p> + +<p>"Will it be illustrated?" inquired the authoress +anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Yes; probably with a spectral donkey braying," +said Ursula.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, I cannot allow that!" said the authoress.</p> + +<p>"We decline to hold communications about the +MSS., refused or accepted," replied Ursula, bringing +her paper-knife sharply down upon the table.</p> + +<p>"Miss Lister's story," she demanded.</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>"It will make a pretty picture," said Ursula. "I +can see the two drowning with that set seraphic +smile, as if they liked it."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Gwendoline, who never saw a joke, +"it will make a lovely picture."</p> + +<p>"I have written a poem," said Miss Blanche +Hathers modestly, taking out a roll of paper tied +with bows of pink satin ribbon.</p> + +<p>A hum of approbation greeted this announcement.</p> + +<p>"Go on," said Ursula, with the freezing brevity +of the editor.</p> + +<p>"The poem is called 'A Lament,' perhaps it +might be more appropriately called 'A Deserted +Maiden's Prayer.'"</p> + +<p>Ursula nodded. Miss Hathers began effectively:</p> + +<p> +<span class="i2">"Oh! star of even</span><br /> +<span class="i2">My heart is riven,</span><br /> +<span class="i2"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>Come thou down and shine</span><br /> +<span class="i2">In these eyes of mine;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">'Twill draw him back."</span> +</p> + +<p>Ursula, forgetting editorial dignity, completed the +couplet, amid giggles and laughter:</p> + +<p> +<span class="i2">"And his cheek I'll smack."</span> +</p> + +<p>The discomfited poetess folded up her effusion. +The next line was:</p> + +<p> +<span class="i2">"On dreamy track,"</span> +</p> + +<p>and it was only the first verse.</p> + +<p> +<span class="i2">"'Twill draw him back,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">On dreamy track."</span> +</p> + +<p>she repeated in an injured voice.</p> + +<p>"Never mind on what track—we must shunt him," +said Ursula with decision. "Any more MSS.?" she +inquired, scanning the assembled contributors.</p> + +<p>There came a rustle of many pages.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Meg, who had sat still all the time with her chin +in her hands, like a surly little exile from the circle,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> +looked as if the foolish tales irritated her. Suddenly, +in a clear, abrupt voice she said:</p> + +<p>"Shall I tell you my story?"</p> + +<p>"Your story?" echoed the girls, amazed.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Ursula.</p> + +<p>"Do!" exclaimed Gwendoline.</p> + +<p>"It is the story of a toad," said Meg.</p> + +<p>"Of a toad!" repeated Gwendoline in dismay.</p> + +<p>"There was once upon a time a toad," Meg began, +breathing heavily—taking no notice of the interruption.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> +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:</p> + +<p>"'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.'</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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.'</p> + +<p>"Its heart grew wicked." Meg put emphasis on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>There was a silence.</p> + +<p>Then Miss Pinkett said: "What a shocking +story!"</p> + +<p>"Shocking!" circled round the table.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Were you the little toad?" asked Laura +Harris.</p> + +<p>"Yes!" said Meg curtly.</p> + +<p>"I like that story," said Ursula, "and I shall +draw such a toad."</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<h3>DRIFTING AWAY.</h3> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> +her heart deepened. She was enduring the tantalizing +pangs of picturing the happy hours from +which she was excluded.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>Then she perceived that the boat had swung itself +round; it was drifting down with the current.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> +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!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the boat jerked, struggling like a living +creature arrested in full flight.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Well, if ever a little girl escaped drowning you +have!" said her rescuer, giving himself a shake.</p> + +<p>Meg was silent as she realized that she had been +saved from drowning in the whirl and foam of roar<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>ing +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?"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Her rescuers voted that she was a heroine.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>"You saved my life—and—and—I am very much +obliged to you."</p> + +<p>A peal of laughter taken up by all the group<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>Then they began to question her again: "Was +she afraid of meeting her schoolmistress? Would +she be scolded?"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"You must have been frightened, madam, at this +young lady's disappearance," said Meg's rescuer, +jumping on shore.</p> + +<p>Meg allowed herself to be helped out like a +princess by the oarsmen.</p> + +<p>"We had not long missed the child," replied +Miss Reeves. "We were startled when we dis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>covered +that the boat was gone. She ought not to +have gone alone—it was very thoughtless."</p> + +<p>"The boat drifted away with her—it nearly +carried her down the weir," said the spokesman. +"She was very courageous."</p> + +<p>Meg felt herself pleaded for, and listened, +motionless.</p> + +<p>"You saved her life?" said Miss Reeves.</p> + +<p>"I was able, by swimming out in time, to turn +the boat's head," replied the young man lightly. +"She behaved with great pluck."</p> + +<p>"I am most grateful, and I shall acquaint her +guardians," said Miss Reeves.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Miss Reeves hesitated, then she said smiling: +"She will not be scolded."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Meg watched their figures retreating through the +trees; and when they vanished she felt the loneliness +creep over her again.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<h3>REBELLION.</h3> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> +for you," the child had said, in transferring the +belated toy; and Meg's desolate soul had been +touched by the words.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> + +<p>"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.'"</p> + +<p>"I am not a savage," said Meg shortly.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"I would not have gone," retorted Meg, her eyes +brilliant with indignation.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>From the dormitory Meg listened. She heard +Miss Grantley go in, and when two short shrieks +reached her ear she shook with impish laughter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> +The next moment Miss Grantley appeared on the +threshold.</p> + +<p>"I know you did this," she said.</p> + +<p>"I did," replied Meg.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Miss Grantley left, and Meg heard the key turn +in the lock.</p> + +<p>She was locked in.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>She would take nothing more with her.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Meg perceived that besides a liberal amount of +bread and butter there was a large slice of currant +cake.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Cook sends her duty, miss, and this bit of cake +which she made for the kitchen. She hopes you'll +accept it."</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>Rachel received Meg's thanks in gruff silence, +and departed, deliberately locking the door behind +her.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> +She stowed her parcel out of sight, and drew the +curtains, and began to undress.</p> + +<p>She was not yet in bed when she heard steps +coming up the garden path and voices bidding each +other good-night.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>She felt as if some guardian angel child were directing +her project.</p> + +<p>Before returning to bed, and when by the perfect +silence she judged that all the household was asleep,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> +she softly drew back the curtains from the windows. +Then she lay down, determined to keep awake.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<h3>AWAY.</h3> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>All depended still upon the caution of her move<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>ments, +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.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Meg went round to the kitchen-garden. She had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Was it some waking nightmare, an illusion of +frightened fancy? Meg remembered the furtive +click of the door. Could her escape have been dis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>covered, +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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Shall I put it back into the nest?" said Meg +impulsively, feeling generous under the impression +of that great relief.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Can you climb?" said the stranger.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>Meg nodded. She was eager to dismiss the +stranger; but still the lady dallied, looking kindly +at her.</p> + +<p>"There is a little nosegay; I picked it as I went +out. I give it to you. Good-by!"</p> + +<p>She took some flowers from her belt.</p> + +<p>"Good-by," said Meg, with cordiality.</p> + +<p>The stranger nodded again, and turning round +walked away with swift and even steps.</p> + +<p>Meg loitered a moment watching her, then she +clambered over the stile and was off.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> +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?</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +penetrating sweet perfumes about her; of the +honey-laden breeze, of the fruity sunshine.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>A forest of light-tipped horns surrounded her.</p> + +<p>Meg started up. At the sudden movement the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2> +<h3>AN ACQUAINTANCE BY THE WAY.</h3> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Nice day, miss!" said the boy.</p> + +<p>Meg nodded again.</p> + +<p>"Going this way, miss?" continued the cripple.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Meg replied, in a tone of embarrassed +coolness, which was not, however, discouraging to +conversation.</p> + +<p>"Going far, miss?"</p> + +<p>"Going to London," said Meg.</p> + +<p>The cripple looked at her with evident admiration.</p> + +<p>"Are you going to London?" asked Meg.</p> + +<p>"No," replied the lad, "I'm going part of the +way."</p> + +<p>Meg did not like to press the question further, +and the resources of conversation seemed exhausted.</p> + +<p>"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."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p> + +<p>Meg looked at her companion with some surprise.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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?"</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"I cannot guess," said Meg. "I am eleven and +a half," she added, with a generosity of confidence +that invited a magnanimous return.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"I once punched a lad—he was older than me—who +was worriting the little chap."</p> + +<p>"You did?" said Meg admiringly.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"You did right!" cried Meg.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"I am glad you did it," said Meg, with a flush +on her cheek and approval in her eye.</p> + +<p>"That's what I does," repeated the cripple, with +another swagger of his pendant body.</p> + +<p>Meg began to feel a great respect for this cripple,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> +who seemed to her to have the spirit of a lion.</p> + +<p>"How are you going to earn money?" she asked, +feeling an admiring friendship now justified the +question.</p> + +<p>The cripple, after a cautious moment, replied:</p> + +<p>"Blacking boots."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Meg, a little disconcerted.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p> + +<p>Meg could not refuse. She placed first one foot +then the other on the board, and brush, brush went +the active hands.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"I am very much obliged," said Meg hesitatingly; +"and here is threepence."</p> + +<p>"I don't want yer money," replied the boy with +an emphatic jerk of his head. "Keep it; ye'll +want it yerself."</p> + +<p>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!"</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> +I'll make two shillings a day. But it's not a bootblack +I'll remain."</p> + +<p>"What will you become?" asked Meg.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>The lad gave a chuckle, a jerk of his head, and a +thump of his crutch.</p> + +<p>"You've walked fifty miles!" said Meg, with the +homage of round-eyed surprise.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Meg's admiration overflowed her pent-up heart,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"No, I would stay to conquer them," said the +cripple, stamping his crutch.</p> + +<p>"How would you conquer them?" said Meg.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Meg was silent awhile with appreciation of such +courage. Then she said:</p> + +<p>"But suppose you felt sure there was a letter +waiting for you, would you not go to get it?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"I'd go and look for the one as should ha' writ<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span>ten +it everywhere. I'd not give over till I found +him," said the cripple.</p> + +<p>"You would!" said Meg.</p> + +<p>"I would!" repeated the boy.</p> + +<p>"I wish you were going all the way to London," +said Meg.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"To-morrow!" repeated Meg, aghast.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Meg could not speak from consternation; the +prospect for a moment overwhelmed her.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"I wish I could meet some one who would drive +me," said Meg in faltering accents.</p> + +<p>"If ye're frightened ye'll never find the person +as was good to you," the lad replied rousingly.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You were not frightened at night, all alone?" +asked Meg.</p> + +<p>"I'm frightened of nothink," said the lad; "but +ye're a little lady, so that makes a difference."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Presently they came to a fingerpost.</p> + +<p>"What's written up there?" said the cripple.</p> + +<p>"Can't you see?" asked Meg, astonished.</p> + +<p>"I can't read," said the boy.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" exclaimed Meg, whose admiration received +a great shock.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Meg's admiration revived.</p> + +<p>"Weybridge is written on that side," she said.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Good-by," said Meg, wishing to shake hands, +yet hesitating.</p> + +<p>The boy touched his hat and set off on his way.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> +<h3>THE OLD GENTLEMAN AGAIN.</h3> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> +she remained quiet as a little ghost until the figure, +with unsteady gait, had passed. Then Meg resumed +her way determinedly.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>How quiet and still it was, as if all nature were +bidding Meg trust to its protection and sleep till +morning.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>It beckoned to her. "Come here!" said a voice; +but Meg did not move.</p> + +<p>"Drive on!" exclaimed the impatient voice, and +the carriage moved off.</p> + +<p>A sudden revulsion of terror seized Meg as she +watched it driving away. She roused herself and +began to run.</p> + +<p>Again the figure stooped forward—beckoned to +her as the carriage stopped.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p> + +<p>Meg approached.</p> + +<p>"Are you not Meg—Meg Beecham?" the old +gentleman said in a voice of stern surprise.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir," answered Meg.</p> + +<p>"No, what?" repeated the old gentleman. "I +do not understand your answer."</p> + +<p>"I have not lost my way," said Meg.</p> + +<p>"Then where are the persons in whose charge +you are? Where are your schoolfellows?"</p> + +<p>"They are not here. I did not go out with +them," said Meg, and paused again.</p> + +<p>Her dauntlessness was quelled by fatigue, and by +the chill weight of these eyes fixed upon her.</p> + +<p>"Will you answer me plainly? Why are you +here, and why are you alone?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I have run away," said Meg with a flicker of +her old spirit.</p> + +<p>"Run away from school?" asked the old gentleman +in an icy voice.</p> + +<p>Meg nodded.</p> + +<p>There was an awful pause.</p> + +<p>"Why have you run away?"</p> + +<p>"Because," said Meg, "they despise me—they +say I shame the school. That's why I've run +away."</p> + +<p>"You say you have not lost your way," replied +the old gentleman, taking no heed of her answer. +"Where were you going to?"</p> + +<p>"To London."</p> + +<p>"To London!" repeated her interlocutor. "What +would you have done there?"</p> + +<p>"I would have gone to Mrs. Browne. I would +have asked my way until I found her house."</p> + +<p>There came a pause, during which the old gentleman +looked at her and muttered himself.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>"No, no! I will not go back!—I will not!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> +cried Meg, jumping to her feet as the carriage began +to turn round.</p> + +<p>"You shall go back," said the old gentleman, +pushing her down in the seat opposite and holding +her there.</p> + +<p>The carriage moved swiftly, and so noiselessly +that Meg heard every word her companion said.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"No!" cried Meg, with a flash of confidence. +"Mrs. Browne will take me in."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Browne has left that house. It is occupied +by strangers who do not know you, who would +shut its doors upon you."</p> + +<p>"Gone!" repeated Meg, aghast. "Where is she +gone to?"</p> + +<p>"You will never know," said the stranger. Then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>"No, no! It can't be—it won't be!" cried +Meg.</p> + +<p>"Who will prevent it?" said the old gentleman.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> +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!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I want to know where he is—I want to +know!" cried Meg, breaking again into incoherent +appeal.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>She did not move. A hope and an assurance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> +catching a glimpse of a bright, bold face looking at +her.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>She fancied she heard light steps leave the room; +but that kiss had brought the solace she yearned +for, and she fell asleep.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> +<h3>WHO GAVE THAT KISS.</h3> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p> + +<p>"How it <i>sines</i>!" she said with her baby lisp, and +she passed her rosy fingertips over the gilding.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"What is your name?" asked Meg.</p> + +<p>"Elsie," said the child; "and what is yours?"</p> + +<p>"My name is Meg."</p> + +<p>"Did your mamma give you those books?" asked +the child.</p> + +<p>"I have no mamma," Meg replied curtly.</p> + +<p>"I have no mamma either; she is dead," said +Elsie.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"How strong you are!" said the child. "Can +you lift me?"</p> + +<p>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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XV.</h2> +<h3>MISS PINKETT'S DIAMOND.</h3> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The girls were astonished to see a return of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>"How dare you be so cruel to a little child!" +Meg said, standing between Elsie and her tormentor.</p> + +<p>"I shall have you punished, you gypsy!" Miss +Laura replied.</p> + +<p>"Have me punished if you like," said Meg; "but +if you dare hurt this child I will give it to you +again."</p> + +<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Elsie at this prospect let Meg carry her away, +but she began to cry:</p> + +<p>"I want it—I want it. I want to take it to bed +with me! I want to have it all to myself!"</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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 yel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>low +light or a bit of shiny blue. Miss Pinkett said +her mother had more beautiful diamonds," Elsie +concluded, with a sigh of exhausted happiness.</p> + +<p>"It is only a bit of coal—black coal that has been +buried a long time in the earth," Meg replied with +practical coldness.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Meg bluntly. "I would not ask +her. You might lose it, and she would never forgive +you."</p> + +<p>But the diamond star had taken possession of +Elsie's mind, and the fear of punishment did not +lift the spell it exercised.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't care for drops of water," said Elsie pettishly.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>One morning Meg was running down the corridor +that led out of the dormitories.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"Elsie, put it back at once," she said peremptorily.</p> + +<p>"The box was open. I saw it shining and I took +it out. I could not help it. Is it not lovely?"</p> + +<p>The tiny fingers caressed the stone, and the baby +voice gurgled and laughed to it.</p> + +<p>"You will get into trouble, and I shall not be able +to save you from being punished," said Meg. "Put +it back."</p> + +<p>As she spoke Elsie gave a sudden start, dropped +the diamond, and took to flight.</p> + +<p>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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What are you doing in my room?" asked Miss +Pinkett coldly.</p> + +<p>Meg, without answering, put down the diamond.</p> + +<p>Miss Pinkett flushed. "What right have you to +touch anything of mine—this diamond especially?"</p> + +<p>Meg remained silent, as if pondering what she +would say.</p> + +<p>"If I find you fingering anything that belongs to +me I will report you, Miss Beecham," resumed Miss +Pinkett in her most chilly tones.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not just now, at any rate," answered Meg a +little roughly. Any sign of yearning in Elsie's +voice affected her painfully.</p> + +<p>"Do you think Miss Pinkett's lovely jewel is like +that star?" said Elsie, after a pause.</p> + +<p>"No, it is not more like it than a lighted lucifer +match is like a sun," replied Meg.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"The what?" asked Elsie.</p> + +<p>"The condor," repeated Meg, and she pointed to +the picture of the bird. But Elsie's mind was not to +be so easily diverted.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"I think," said Meg, "that if you had it you +would want nothing but that hard, glittering stone."</p> + +<p>"Nothing! At night I would put it under my +pillow and it would come into a dream," continued +Elsie.</p> + +<p>"You dream of it already," said Meg impatiently.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I wish you would tell me a story about it," replied +Elsie with a sigh.</p> + +<p>Meg shut her book. She drew her breath heavily</p> + +<p>"I don't like that diamond," she said. Then +pausing, she began abruptly:</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Elsie, with a pant.</p> + +<p>"The little girl," went on Meg, "jumped about +for joy, and said she would want nothing now that +she had this diamond.</p> + +<p>"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.'"</p> + +<p>"Blessing!" repeated Elsie petulantly. "I am +sure she never did want anything more."</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>"What was it?" said Elsie eagerly.</p> + +<p>"She was dropping off to sleep, sobbing to herself +in her weariness and solitariness, when on her +forehead there was laid a soft kiss."</p> + +<p>"A kiss!" repeated Elsie in a tone of disappointment.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Was it the spirit gave her the kiss?" asked +Elsie, with cold interest.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p> + +<p>"She sometimes thought it was," said Meg.</p> + +<p>"And the diamond—what became of the diamond?" +asked Elsie.</p> + +<p>"It had vanished," said Meg.</p> + +<p>"I do not like that story," said Elsie pettishly; +but she remained thoughtful by Meg's side.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> +<h3>THE PARTY.</h3> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> +flowers and sketches; the pupils lending their aid +and their taste to Signora Vallaria, who supervised +the arrangements.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"I was looking for Elsie," Meg explained.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> +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?"</p> + +<p>"I?" replied Meg, amazed.</p> + +<p>"You cannot deny that you were there. I met +you there!" Miss Pinkett rejoined excitedly.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say that you accuse me of +stealing?"</p> + +<p>"It does not amount to an accusation," said Miss +Reeves. "I only ask you what you were doing in +Miss Pinkett's room?"</p> + +<p>"I never touched the diamond star," said +Meg.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"I touched it that day," said Meg, and paused;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> +she had caught sight of Elsie, cowering pale and +trembling against the wall.</p> + +<p>"Why did you touch it? Why did you say I +ought not to leave it about?" hotly questioned Miss +Pinkett.</p> + +<p>"I had a reason for touching it that day."</p> + +<p>"What reason?" asked Miss Reeves.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"You were in my room," said Miss Pinkett, "and +the diamond case was on the table, and the diamond +was in it, I know."</p> + +<p>"I was in your room," Meg began.</p> + +<p>"What for?" asked Miss Pinkett.</p> + +<p>"I was looking"—again Meg encountered that +appealing look from Elsie, cowering a white trembling +little scrap against the wall.</p> + +<p>"Your explanations are lame," said Miss Reeves +gravely.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Hush, Miss Beecham!" said Miss Reeves severely.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 mean<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>ing. +How could she see that child alone, get a few +secret words with her?</p> + +<p>She went indoors, and in the hall she met Elsie, +like a little ghost, furtively creeping out, holding +something in her shaking hand.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Elsie?"</p> + +<p>"They are going to search our things, everybody's +things," gasped Elsie. "I am going to throw +it away."</p> + +<p>"Throw what away?" asked Meg energetically.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Elsie, did you take the diamond?" asked +Meg sadly.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>She put her arm about the child. But Elsie +struggled like a little mad animal from her grasp.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, no; don't say it was I—don't say it was I!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"I will ask to be punished in your stead, Elsie," +she said.</p> + +<p>"They won't punish you for me—they won't let +you be punished for me!"</p> + +<p>Meg drew her breath.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>The child was cold with anguish.</p> + +<p>"Very well; I will not say it is you."</p> + +<p>"You'll not say it—you'll not say it?" repeated +Elsie, clinging to Meg's skirt.</p> + +<p>"No; I'll manage it," said Meg.</p> + +<p>"How will you manage it? Who will give the +diamond up?"</p> + +<p>"I," said Meg.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Meg put her gently away, marched out and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +went straight into the room where all were +assembled.</p> + +<p>Miss Reeves with Signora Vallaria and two other +teachers were preparing for the search of the boxes. +Meg walked up to the head-mistress.</p> + +<p>"There is the diamond!" she said, holding it out +with outstretched hand.</p> + +<p>A dead pause greeted this speech. Then Miss +Pinkett's laugh rippled up.</p> + +<p>"I thought so," she said.</p> + +<p>Miss Reeves took the jewel, lifting her hand to +enjoin silence.</p> + +<p>"What does this mean?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I return Miss Pinkett's diamond," Meg replied.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say that you took it notwithstanding +your repudiation of the accusation which +shamed some of us into believing you innocent?"</p> + +<p>"I restore it now," said Meg huskily.</p> + +<p>"Had you heard that the boxes were to be +searched?" demanded Miss Reeves.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Meg.</p> + +<p>Again there was a pause.</p> + +<p>"I will stake my word upon it, there is a +mystery," said Signora Vallaria, fixing her dark +eyes upon Meg.</p> + +<p>"Miss Beecham," resumed Miss Reeves, "did you +take this diamond?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span></p> + +<p>Meg remained silent.</p> + +<p>"I repeat the question," said Miss Reeves. "Did +you take this diamond?"</p> + +<p>"I restore it, and I am ready to submit to any +punishment you may decree. Is that not sufficient +answer?"</p> + +<p>Again there was a murmur round the room.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Meg turned to follow her guide in silence. The +stern girl seemed turned to stone.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> +<h3>POOR MEG.</h3> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> +The gas was turned off and the house was plunged +into darkness.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>Just before the bell for prayers rang she heard +a step outside. The handle of the door turned and +Miss Reeves entered.</p> + +<p>There was a moment of silence as the head mistress +and the pupil faced each other.</p> + +<p>"Meg, how did that diamond come into your +possession?" Miss Reeves asked, not unkindly.</p> + +<p>Meg did not answer.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>A passing moment of temptation came to Meg +to explain, to admit that certain reasons kept her +silent, but she sternly repressed the impulse.</p> + +<p>She repeated what she had said before—she had +restored the jewel, was that not enough? She would +say nothing more.</p> + +<p>"Then," said Miss Reeves sternly, "I can give<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Meg went up to her room, and the day passed. +She sat with her chin buried in her hands looking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Meg received the news mutely, and went upstairs +to begin her packing as directed.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> +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!"</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"Speak to me, Meg! won't you speak to me? I +am so miserable," lisped the child piteously.</p> + +<p>"You ought to be," replied Meg.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>"How could they let you go with me? I am a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> +thief; you are a white, pure, innocent child," Meg +said in bitter sarcasm.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"I am frightened, I am frightened. The girls +say no one must look at you, or talk to you. I am +frightened."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know you are frightened," Meg replied +with softened gruffness. Elsie looked changed, she +seemed a little wasted.</p> + +<p>"I cannot sleep. Oh, Meg, I cannot sleep, I am +so miserable!" sobbed Elsie, touching Meg's dress.</p> + +<p>A pang of pity shot through Meg's heart.</p> + +<p>"Hush! Elsie. Never mind, never mind," she +said, stroking the child's hair. "Don't speak loud, +some one may be listening."</p> + +<p>"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?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, I won't," said Meg. "I won't. Do not be +afraid, my pet."</p> + +<p>She kept stroking Elsie's hair, grateful for that +moment of solace.</p> + +<p>"I wish I were dead!" cried Elsie, with a sudden +wail, flinging herself into Meg's arms.</p> + +<p>"Come away this moment!" said a voice, and a +hand took hold of Elsie and dragged her away.</p> + +<p>Meg recognized Ursula. She stood stock-still for +a moment. Then she threw herself prone down +upon the ground with a passionate cry.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>She became aware of steps approaching. Some +one touched her on the shoulder. Ursula's voice +said, "Meg, you must come down at once."</p> + +<p>Meg turned her head round.</p> + +<p>"You must come down at once," repeated Ursula,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> +as Meg kept looking at her stupidly. "You had +better come down," continued Ursula gently, putting +her hand upon hers. Meg rose.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"You need not put on your things," said Ursula. +"It is in the schoolroom you are wanted."</p> + +<p>"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?</p> + +<p>The room was full. Miss Reeves advanced to +meet her.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Has Elsie confessed?" she panted.</p> + +<p>"Not of her own free will," replied Miss Reeves +gravely. "She was forced to confess by the sud<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>deness +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."</p> + +<p>"It was splendid!" said Ursula. "Meg Beecham +is a noble girl."</p> + +<p>"She is," circled round the room.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Meg recognized Elsie standing alone, +wringing her little hands with that piteous gesture<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> +of older grieving. Sinking down on her knees, she +stretched out her arms.</p> + +<p>"Elsie, Elsie!" she cried, and in a moment the +sobbing child was clasped to her heart.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>There was a pause, broken by Elsie's sobs, repeated +in various corners of the room.</p> + +<p>"How can Elsie be forgiven?" said Miss Reeves +gravely. "Worse than taking the diamond was her +willingness to let another be expelled."</p> + +<p>Then again Miss Pinkett stepped forward.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>"For Meg's sake!" said Ursula, seconding Miss +Pinkett's petition.</p> + +<p>"For Meg's sake!" was repeated all round the +room.</p> + +<p>Miss Reeves hesitated. Then laying her hand on +Elsie's head:</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> +<h3>PEACE.</h3> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>She tried to make it up to Elsie; but a change<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We are going out into the country to pick +flowers," said Meg, kneeling beside her.</p> + +<p>Elsie did not answer, and made a little movement +with her elbow as if to wave Meg away.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"I don't want to go," said Elsie.</p> + +<p>"You are not well, my pet," said Meg, patting the +little hand.</p> + +<p>"I am quite well," said Elsie harshly. "I do not +want to go, that is all."</p> + +<p>"Then I will not go either. I will stop with +you," said Meg determinedly.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Why do you hate me, Elsie?" asked Meg gently.</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>"I look at you like that because I love you so +dearly," said Meg, seeking to draw the child to her.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 cus<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span>tomer. +As she gesticulated, shaking her fingers +up in the air, shrugging her shoulders, and talking +in French, bargaining, vowing it was <i>trop cher</i>, +she acted her part so vividly that Elsie forgot her +sorrow, and at last broke out into a laugh.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> +illusive cloudland overhead, from wooded aisles, +spread with wild flowers, voiced with notes of birds +and buzz of insects.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Does she ever ask for me?" asked Meg.</p> + +<p>"She is delirious, she would not know you," was +the invariable answer.</p> + +<p>One morning the news came that the crisis was +past—delirium was over. The news was good; yet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>"When shall I see her?" asked Meg huskily.</p> + +<p>"Not just yet," the doctor replied, patting her +head.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Meg, Meg, come!"</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>"Meg, Meg, come!"</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I thought you would never come, Meg," Elsie +murmured through her labored breathing.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Elsie, I have wanted to come," whispered +Meg, bringing her face close down to the pillow.</p> + +<p>"I wanted you," whispered Elsie. "I kept saying, +'Meg, Meg, come!'"</p> + +<p>"I heard you," said Meg.</p> + +<p>"Heard me?" repeated the muffled voice. "How +could you hear me? I only whispered it. 'Meg +Meg, come!'"</p> + +<p>"But I heard you," said Meg, "and here I am, +darling; here I am, and I will never leave you."</p> + +<p>"I said," continued Elsie in that labored whisper, +"if Meg comes the dreadful diamond will go."</p> + +<p>"The dreadful diamond?" repeated Meg.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"It was a bad dream, my pet; not reality," said +Meg soothingly.</p> + +<p>"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.'"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span></p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"It will never come again," repeated Meg, trying +to still her sobs.</p> + +<p>Elsie lay back apparently at peace. Suddenly she +turned, and there was a flicker of the old trouble +in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Do you think God, too, forgives me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Meg with a bursting heart.</p> + +<p>"Are you sure he does?" insisted the piteous, +laboring voice.</p> + +<p>"I am sure of it, I know it!" said Meg with a +world of conviction.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"It is very dark," she said. "Draw back the +curtains and let in the light."</p> + +<p>"It is not day yet," said Meg.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Stay with me, it is so dark," gasped Elsie, her +hands restlessly moving as if pushing back some +weight.</p> + +<p>"I will not stir from your side, my pet," said +Meg, stilling her sobs.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Elsie made another ghostly attempt to +sit up.</p> + +<p>"How sweet the lilac smells!" she said. "Here +is London-pride, and there's thrift. I'll pluck these +for Mamey."</p> + +<p>She struggled to get out of bed, while Meg held +her tight.</p> + +<p>"Mamey calls to me—to—say—good-night—and +say my prayers," she panted, and then dropped +back.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> +<h3>WHO IS HE?</h3> + + +<p>Five years had elapsed. Meg was eighteen; she +had distanced all her competitors, and she was the +head-pupil of Miss Reeves' establishment.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>Mr. Standish still held an ever-present if some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span>what +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?</p> + +<p>"Describe him to me," Ursula had once asked.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"And you can't remember his face?" Ursula said +in tones of disappointment.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span></p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>To the teasing humor with which the solicitor +asked her why she wanted so much to know, she +answered, "Because I am grateful."</p> + +<p>"But gratitude, my dear," said Mr. Fullbloom, +tapping his snuffbox, "wants an object. Suppose<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> +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?"</p> + +<p>"I would be grateful to one who remembered and +thought of me were he living or dead," said Meg.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps if he be alive he is a gruff, disagreeable +old curmudgeon; you might be afraid of him—you +might not like him!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"But not as they were, without an address?" +Meg asked in consternation.</p> + +<p>"That was no concern of mine. I posted them," +said Mr. Fullbloom.</p> + +<p>"But where did my letters go?" she cried.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> +employment of the idle, and Meg's life was one of +action.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I was sorry I said that," replied Meg. "I have +missed you. I did not think you would obey +me so implicitly."</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"I have passed my examination," said Meg. "I +am now at the head of the school."</p> + +<p>Mr. Fullbloom put his hand on his heart and +bowed.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it will—and sooner than you think," +exclaimed Mr. Fullbloom. "Ha! ha!" he went on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" said Fullbloom with evident enjoyment. +"May I ask what it is?"</p> + +<p>"I will not be dependent any longer. I am going +to earn my own livelihood," replied Meg.</p> + +<p>"How valorous we are, all of a sudden!" said +Mr. Fullbloom, chuckling as if immensely tickled +by the idea of Meg earning her livelihood.</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> +three little girls in the country. The salary is +thirty pounds. I won't be dependent any longer," +repeated Meg with concentration.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"To-morrow!" repeated Meg. "On a visit to +him! Who, then, is he?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"But where am I to go? Who am I to ask for?" +cried Meg.</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> +at half-past five. It takes over three hours to get +to Greywolds."</p> + +<p>Meg felt a sudden recoil as she realized how near +she was to the meeting she had dreamed of so long.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XX.</h2> +<h3>ARRIVAL.</h3> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> +toward the human being who had shown solicitude +toward her in her forlornness?</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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 lug<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span>gage +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.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a carriage drove up, the gate of the +station was pushed open, and the dandified figure +of Mr. Fullbloom came gayly forward.</p> + +<p>"So, you have found your way," he said airily.</p> + +<p>"I was afraid you had forgotten your appointment," +Meg answered with dignity.</p> + +<p>"I always associate this train and ladies with +unpunctuality," the solicitor replied with unruffled +equanimity.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> +dame in an impressive black silk gown coming +forward to meet her.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>With a sense of relief Meg heard the door close, +and reflected that probably until dinner-time she +would be left alone.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 benefac<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span>tor. +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> +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!</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> +piteous feeling. It looked like an outcast in the +midst of this painted pageantry of splendid men +and women.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Meg dropped her hold of the frame and turned +round.</p> + +<p>The housekeeper was standing on the threshold +looking at her aghast.</p> + +<p>"Miss Beecham, what are you doing?"</p> + +<p>"I was trying to get a peep at this picture," said +Meg, jumping down. "Why is its face turned to +the wall?"</p> + +<p>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."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Indeed; I am sorry," said Meg in some confusion.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"Coffee is served in the drawing-room, Miss +Beecham."</p> + +<p>"Thank you; but I think I shall return to my +room," said Meg.</p> + +<p>She hurried up the staircase. A confused pain +seemed to haunt the surrounding splendor. It op<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>pressed +her as might the scent of flowers in a room +of death.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> +<h3>SIR MALCOLM LOFTDALE.</h3> + + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> +structures in which bloomed a tropical vegetation, +enchanted her.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> +him ascending the steps of the house. On questioning +the housekeeper, Meg found that the picturesque +old gentleman was Sir Malcolm Loftdale.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>At sight of him Meg's heart fluttered, and she +acknowledged by a flurried inclination of her head +his stately bow.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You have been most kind, sir," muttered Meg, +in a tumult of timidity.</p> + +<p>"My servants have received strict orders to +attend to your comfort. I hope they have been +attentive?"</p> + +<p>"They have been very attentive," replied Meg.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"I do not know how to ride, sir," said Meg, +touched and bewildered by the thoughtfulness and +repellent manner of her host.</p> + +<p>"My old groom would teach you; he is a most +trustworthy and respectable man," said Sir +Malcolm.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>The old gentleman bowed hastily; the expression<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>There was a pause, Sir Malcolm frowned, then he +said with the same impassible frigidity:</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> +most agreeable to me by never referring to the +subject."</p> + +<p>Bowing once more with that impassible fineness +of mien, the old gentleman opened the door and +disappeared.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> +baronet's eyesight was beginning to fail. He had +lodgings in the village.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>He attracted and repelled Meg. She was always +in a fright when she was near him. His glance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> +roof: that gentle independence had grown a sort of +second nature with her.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>He looked up surprised, and rose.</p> + +<p>"I could not accept it of you," he said with a +bow.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" she asked with breathless gentleness.</p> + +<p>"Did Mrs. Jarvis suggest to you to come?" he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> +said with a quick frown, an evidence of irritation +he suppressed at once.</p> + +<p>"No," said Meg. "I heard Mr. Robinson had +left, and I hoped that you would let me take his +place."</p> + +<p>"That would be impossible. I would not lay +such a tax upon any lady," he said with courteous +definiteness of accent and manner.</p> + +<p>"Why will you not let me read to you?" asked +Meg pleadingly.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"They would interest me if I read them for you," +said Meg with timid persistence.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>As Meg did not answer he continued:</p> + +<p>"Excuse the frankness of my refusal. I thank +you, nevertheless, for the offer."</p> + +<p>He glanced toward the door, and as she moved<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>"May I ask you, sir, to be so kind as to spare me +a moment? I have a request to make."</p> + +<p>"Certainly," he replied, turning back; he sat +down and pointed to a chair near his. But Meg +remained standing.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Why do you want to go, Miss Beecham?" said +Sir Malcolm. "Are you not comfortable here?"</p> + +<p>"Comfortable, yes," said Meg. She paused as if +hesitating, then she added brusquely, "I do not +think I care much for comfort."</p> + +<p>There was something primitive, almost childish,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"You do not care for comfort. That is a great +source of independence," he observed.</p> + +<p>"I wish to be independent," said Meg with gentle +spirit.</p> + +<p>"You are proud. It is a spirit that should be +repressed," he answered.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"What could you give?" he asked with a slight +contraction of his hard lips.</p> + +<p>"I could give proofs of what I feel—gratitude," +she said.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>Sir Malcolm bowed his head. "I understand; +you do not wish to be dependent upon me for your +maintenance."</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>Meg gave an exclamation of acceptance.</p> + +<div class="figcenter p2" style="width: 700px;"> +<img src="images/illus265.jpg" width="700" height="433" alt="" /> +<span class="caption"><span class="smcap">Meg reads the morning papers to Sir Malcolm.</span>—Page 255.</span> +</div> + +<p class="p2">"Understand me," said the old man with deliber<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span>ate +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."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>"So be it, then," said the baronet.</p> + +<p>At a sign from him Meg sat down and took up +the <i>Times</i>. "Where shall I begin, sir?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"With the first leader, if you please," he replied +with an inclination of the head, crossing his knees, +and composing himself to listen.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>After she had read the <i>Times</i>, the political leaders +of the <i>Standard</i>, and selections from its foreign +correspondence under Sir Malcolm's directions, a +third paper remained—the local organ apparently—the +<i>Greywolds Mercury</i>. At the murmured injunction +of her auditor, "The leader, if you please," +Meg once more set upon her task.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"I think this will suffice for to-day, Miss +Beecham," said the baronet, when she had read to +the end.</p> + +<p>She rose as he spoke. She noticed he looked +paler. "Is there no letter, sir, that I can write for +you?" asked Meg.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> +<h3>THE EDITOR OF THE "GREYWOLDS MERCURY."</h3> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>On Wednesday and Saturday the <i>Greywolds</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> +<i>Mercury</i> 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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Greywolds Mercury</i>. She had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"I want to see the editor," she said brusquely.</p> + +<p>"He is busy, miss," answered the clerk, surveying +her slowly over his spectacles.</p> + +<p>"I want to see him on important business," said +Meg determinedly, trying to look unabashed.</p> + +<p>"What name shall I say?" asked the clerk.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Miss Beecham; but he will not know me," +replied Meg.</p> + +<p>The clerk disappeared, and returned after a moment +to say the editor would be glad to see the lady.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Are you the editor of the <i>Greywolds Mercury</i>?" +she asked, making another desperate effort to conquer +her shyness.</p> + +<p>"I am," he answered.</p> + +<p>"If anything appears in the paper that is unjust +it is to you one must appeal?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly. I hope nothing of this kind has +appeared," he answered. His tone was curt, his +voice deep and not inharmonious.</p> + +<p>"It is because something unjust has appeared, and +has been repeated, that I have called upon you," +said Meg.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Indeed! Would you tell me the particulars? +Pray, sit down," said the editor. If his manner +had a certain <i>brusquerie</i> 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.</p> + +<p>He was dressed with a certain negligence, +but with great neatness. Meg noticed, she knew +not why, his large, well-shaped hand.</p> + +<p>"There have been a number of articles upon Sir +Malcolm Loftdale," began Meg.</p> + +<p>The editor acknowledged the truth of this statement +by an inclination of the head.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"You do not know how good he is," she resumed +with energy, "and you represent him as unjust +and tyrannical."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span></p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>Meg made a movement as if repudiating this line +of argument.</p> + +<p>"A man cannot be one thing in his public capacity +and another in his private relationship," she said +quickly.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid he can," answered the editor, with +a smile distantly brightening his glance.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Meg gave an exclamation. "I do not believe it; +I do not accept this statement. You misjudge him,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> +You do not know him as I know him. He leads a +lonely life and perhaps does not know."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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 <i>Greywolds Mercury</i>. But, believe me, +there are many upon his estate who daily talk of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>"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. Doubt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span>less +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?"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"You are so good an advocate," he said, smiling, +"that you almost incline me to be a convert."</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"His kindness to you is all that I care for," said +the editor, gallantly.</p> + +<p>"Will you promise me not to write any more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> +articles against him?" asked Meg, with the childlike +almost primitive directness that occasionally distinguished +her speech when greatly in earnest.</p> + +<p>"I promise to remember your advocacy whenever +I begin to write, or to think of Sir Malcolm Loftdale," +answered the editor.</p> + +<p>"You promise it?" repeated Meg.</p> + +<p>"I promise it," said the editor.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> +<h3>FRIEND OR FOE.</h3> + + +<p>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 <i>Greywolds Mercury</i> lying among the +morning newspapers, she looked at its pages with +confidence.</p> + +<p>She read the <i>Times</i> 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.</p> + +<p>When the turn of the <i>Greywolds Mercury</i> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Miss Beecham?" asked Sir Malcolm.</p> + +<p>"I cannot read it!" replied Meg unsteadily.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The concluding phrases ran: "There is a justice<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>As she paused he opened his eyes and +looked round; his expression was one of mental +anguish.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"May I not do something more for you, sir?" +asked Meg, affected by his tone and manner.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, I am much obliged," he replied, +turning away and taking up a book.</p> + +<p>Meg noticed that his hand trembled. She remembered +the editor's words. "He was not good +to his son."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span></p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 pre<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span>paring +to cut him once more, when he advanced +resolutely toward her.</p> + +<p>"May I say a few words to you, Miss Beecham, +with reference to the article that appeared in this +morning's <i>Mercury</i>?"</p> + +<p>"I would prefer not," replied Meg curtly.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"I would rather not approach the subject. No +explanation is possible," replied Meg coldly.</p> + +<p>"I think you are mistaken in saying that. Will +you give me the opportunity I ask?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Not so. That is unjust. Allow me to say you +are harsh beyond my deserts," replied the editor,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span></p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>The editor was silent a moment, then he said: +"You are right."</p> + +<p>The gravity of his tone softened Meg; she hesitated +a moment, then inclining her head she moved +away.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"You must acknowledge, then, that you forgot +all that I said," replied Meg with the childlike +bluntness which characterized her.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I will never discuss with you again," said Meg +hastily; and with a quick bow she left him and +passed within the gates.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"I have heard from my late secretary," he said. +"He writes from London. He will be back in a +few days."</p> + +<p>"Then, sir, I suppose I must resign my post," +said Meg in a pained voice. "I have been happy +in serving you."</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"Of what other use can I be, sir, to you?"</p> + +<p>"The use of bringing pleasure to me by your +simple presence in my house," he said, taking her +hand.</p> + +<p>"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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Were you fond of your task?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I liked it, sir," she replied.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> +<h3>FRIEND!</h3> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> +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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> +those of Meg, and they acquired by contact with +him an added grace of reserve and composure.</p> + +<p>The attacks in the <i>Mercury</i> 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.</p> + +<p>One afternoon, as she walked about the grounds, +she began timidly to draw the baronet's attention +to the softened tone of the <i>Greywolds Mercury</i>.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>"The attacks pained me," began Meg with regretful +hesitation, struggling to master her timidity.</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>"But, do you not admit, sir," said Meg with a +slight tremor in her deep tones, "that liberalism, if +mistaken, yet has its principles?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Mercury</i>. 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>The clerk told her that his master was out. "But +I expect him back in five minutes," he added. +"Will you walk upstairs, miss?"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>Meg was still gazing at the conventional figure +in the ball-dress when the door opened, and the +editor walked in.</p> + +<p>She vaguely recognized that his demeanor was +altered. He bowed distantly.</p> + +<div class="figcenter p2" style="width: 431px;"> +<img src="images/illus297.jpg" width="431" height="700" alt="" /> +<span class="caption"><span class="smcap">Meg recognizes the old fashion-plate</span>.—Page 284.</span> +</div> + +<p class="p2">"I came to thank you and to explain," began +Meg, and paused. Memory had touched her eyelids +and she recognized him. The puzzling recollection<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> +that had obtruded itself with vague pertinacity +asserted itself triumphantly. She knew now why +she had thought of this stranger as a friend.</p> + +<p>"To explain?" he repeated; and he, too, paused.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"You owe me nothing. You convinced me, and +I acted upon my new conviction," he answered, still +in a distant tone.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>He looked surprised and said:</p> + +<p>"I have had it some years."</p> + +<p>"Who gave it to you?" she asked.</p> + +<p>He looked curiously at her. "A story is attached +to that picture," he answered evasively.</p> + +<p>"Is your name William Standish?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he replied. "Did you not know my name +was Standish?" he added, puzzled by the expression +of her face.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span></p> + +<p>She shook her head in denial. "Was it a child +gave you this picture?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he replied, monosyllabic in his surprise.</p> + +<p>"To her foolish, lonely fancy was it the portrait +of her mother, who had died in giving her birth?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Was her name Meg?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"I am, or rather I was little Meg," she said in a +low voice.</p> + +<p>"You?" he exclaimed, looking at her.</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>"But I thought your name was Beecham," he +said. "That of Meg, I understood, was Browne."</p> + +<p>"Till I went to school I believed my name was +Browne; but one day I was told it was Beecham," +she said.</p> + +<p>"You Meg, little Meg!" he replied, his eyes traveling +slowly over her. "I can scarcely believe it."</p> + +<p>"But all the same it is I!" she said with a laugh, +as he kept looking at her. "Let me prove my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>"That is true!" he replied, still looking scrutinizingly +at her.</p> + +<p>"I remember how I used to tease you about your +dinners. I was quite motherly with you!"</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>"That was for tall Meg!" he said.</p> + +<p>"Tall Meg, who I fear, did what little Meg would +never have done: appearing to ignore a kindness +out of fear."</p> + +<p>"No, no, we will not talk of that. It was so +natural," he said, still looking at her with surprised +and friendly eyes.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV.</h2> +<h3>FOR "AULD LANG SYNE."</h3> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> +met her advances. He distinctly disclaimed any +shadow of authority over her.</p> + +<p>"But you have been so good to me, sir," she +replied. "But for you, when I ran away from +school——"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Free as air!" rang through Meg's heart. "I +am my own mistress; free to meet my friend +again."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Still he had said she was free as air, and Meg<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> +injunction she felt herself free to yield to the refreshment +and delight of those meetings.</p> + +<p>They met at sunset, after the journalist's work +was done, in the wood behind the house; and their +trysting-place was an elm.</p> + +<p>"It looks like an old wizard," said Mr. Standish, +pointing to the leafless tree standing gaunt against +the dying light.</p> + +<p>"Old Merlin!" said Meg; "and there is the eerie +brightness about him. He is going to throw a spell +over us."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> +up rainbow shells by the shore; every shell different +in the heap lying beside her in a glorious chance +medley.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"But I was a sad trouble to you, Meg," he vowed. +"You were a little tyrant then. Where is all that +tyranny gone?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Copy! What is copy?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Blessed ignorance! Copy is that which goes to +fill those columns of print. It is what the hungry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span> +printer clamors for, and looks very black when he +does not get."</p> + +<p>Meg laughed.</p> + +<p>"You speak as if printers were wild beasts fed +with leaders on schemes for extending the franchise +or removing some dowdy old tax."</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"Then I will meet you no more if I spoil your +work," she said gravely.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"Is this your play?" she would question gravely, +when he said anything complimentary.</p> + +<p>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 laugh<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span>ter. +With a blunt playfulness she met anything +approaching to sentiment.</p> + +<p>"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!'"</p> + +<p>"And I heard a cuckoo in the wood as I came +along," she replied; "he cried nothing but 'Copy! +copy! copy!'"</p> + +<p>"It must have been the printer's devil," he said, +"when I was taking a holiday."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>She was late one day; she had been detained, she +explained, by a fascinating being.</p> + +<p>"Who was he?"</p> + +<p>She would not tell his name, but vowed he had +splendid lustrous eyes, and a mustache an officer +in the guards might envy.</p> + +<p>Mr. Standish laughed, and seemed inclined to +turn the conversation to another topic.</p> + +<p>"You do not ask his name," she said; "yet this +fascinating creature made me late, and with difficulty +I tore myself from his spell."</p> + +<p>"But you came," he replied, falling into her mood.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My sense of duty. I am naturally punctual. I +push it to a weakness."</p> + +<p>"I wish to forget him," he said; "he has robbed +me enough. What is the name of the country +bumpkin?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"The rector. I knew it. Confess it is the rector," +Mr. Standish said with finger uplifted.</p> + +<p>"No white-haired rector, indeed," said Meg.</p> + +<p>"Then the curate? All the ladies are fascinated +by the curate."</p> + +<p>"Not the curate. My charmer is an inmate of +the house."</p> + +<p>"An inmate?" repeated Mr. Standish, perplexed.</p> + +<p>"On the day of my arrival he was so pleasant +and cordial his greeting almost made me feel at +home."</p> + +<p>"I wonder who he is!" said Mr. Standish.</p> + +<p>"As you look troubled, I will be generous and +tell you," said Meg, and paused.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Mr. Standish, "who is he?"</p> + +<p>"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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"What was that fault?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Do you think it was because of this marriage +that his portrait was turned to the wall?" persisted +Meg.</p> + +<p>"I think so. At least this I know: Sir Malcolm +never forgave that marriage."</p> + +<p>"But why?" asked Meg.</p> + +<p>"Because she was poor and brave enough to work<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>"What became of her?" still questioned Meg.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Did the child live?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"And for having done which, do you remember, +you stroked my head?" he replied smilingly.</p> + +<p>She answered him with a blush only.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> +every day in her heart a reliance, a sort of wide +faith in him, as if all he said and thought must be +right.</p> + +<p>The winter passed and the spring came round; +the sap rose in the earth and the pulses of nature +quickened.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> +simple, familiar, and charming, as it might be between +dearest friends.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>"I am late again. I am so sorry. I could not +help it," he said earnestly.</p> + +<p>"But I can help coming in future," said Meg in a +severe tone.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"The shower is over. I think I shall go back," +she said.</p> + +<p>"Do you see that black cloud shaped like an +Inverness cape? It is coming right up with its +deluge."</p> + +<p>"All the more reason that I should hurry home," +she said.</p> + +<p>"But consider, Meg," he replied, smiling down<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>She looked at him with scrutinizing gravity, then +a smile broke.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"I waited two hours," he replied.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>She took out his note, opened it, and held it under +his eyes.</p> + +<p>"I know—I know," he said; "that perjured note. +But all is forgiven now."</p> + +<p>The cape of cloud passed away, and the sun came +out.</p> + +<p>There was a good-humored strength about Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span>—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.</p> + +<p>"Meg!" he said in a low voice, and bending forward +he drew her to him.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> +<h3>BEFORE THE PICTURE.</h3> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>One morning, on returning from her tryst in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span> +woods, she met the baronet at the gates of the park. +"You are out early, Miss Beecham," he said with +constrained courtesy.</p> + +<p>"I hope, sir, I am not late," she replied anxiously.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid, sir, you have missed me—" she +began.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span></p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>"Resign it!" exclaimed Sir Malcolm, bending his +eyes upon her. "For what reason?"</p> + +<p>"I have formed an attachment, sir. I am engaged +to be married," she replied with the calmness of +fright.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>She hesitated under the influence of a gaze, the +keenness of which stopped confidence at its source.</p> + +<p>"To one who was very good to me in my childhood. +When no one else cared for me he was my +only friend."</p> + +<p>"Have you corresponded with him ever since +your childhood?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, sir; I met him here. I had lost sight of +him for years."</p> + +<p>"Is he of low birth?" asked the baronet with +frigid brusqueness.</p> + +<p>"No, sir. But if he were—" She paused and +looked at the old man with a glance steady as his +own.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"May I ask to what profession he belongs?" demanded +Sir Malcolm.</p> + +<p>"He is a writer," said Meg, and paused.</p> + +<p>"A writer? That is somewhat vague," said Sir +Malcolm.</p> + +<p>"A journalist," she resumed, and again she +paused.</p> + +<p>Sir Malcolm knit his brows.</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span> +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 <i>Greywolds Mercury</i>."</p> + +<p>"Of the paper that dragged my name into print +and held it up to public ignominy in its columns?" +observed Sir Malcolm.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span> +due you are claiming. A father only would have +the right to impose the authority over me you demand +to establish."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>They entered the large dining-room. Sir Malcolm +had signed to two servants in the hall to follow.</p> + +<p>They walked straight to where the picture hung +with its face turned to the wall, an outcast among +that goodly painted company.</p> + +<p>At the order of the master the picture was turned, +and the servants left the room. "That is your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span> +father's portrait," said Sir Malcolm in a voice that +sounded without a quaver.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Ah! how could he bring this sorrow upon you,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span> +sir?" murmured Meg, scarce knowing what she +said, confused by this outburst of confidence from +one whom she had always known so reticent.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span> +slowly with effort he said: "Will you forgive me, +Meg, for your neglected childhood?"</p> + +<p>Meg made a deprecatory gesture, and uttered an +exclamation. These words of entreaty from him +hurt her like a blow.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Before I came?" murmured Meg, astonished.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"You have made me love you—you have wound +yourself round my heart. Forgive me, Meg," said +the old man.</p> + +<p>"Do not ask me to forgive you, sir. I have received +nothing but good from you," said Meg.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Say it, Meg," the old man urged. "Say, +'Grandfather, I forgive it and forget it.'"</p> + +<p>"As you wish I will say it, sir. I forgive—" +began Meg.</p> + +<p>"Say, 'Grandfather,'" he interrupted.</p> + +<p>"Grandfather, I forgive it and forget it," repeated +Meg, stretching out her hands.</p> + +<p>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?"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"No, sir, I can never forget that—never!" she +said, loosening her hands from his grasp and stepping +away.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>She moved away restlessly; then suddenly throw<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span>ing +her arms up with a gesture of despair she sank +into a chair, and hiding her face in her hands she +burst into tears.</p> + +<p>The old man waited until her sobs grew quieter; +then he said:</p> + +<p>"Come with me, Meg; we will go to Mr. Standish +together."</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> +<h3>IN THE EDITOR'S OFFICE.</h3> + + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span> +with an air of bewilderment: "Sir Malcolm Loftdale, +I believe?"</p> + +<p>"Take my card up," said the baronet, pulling out +his cardcase.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"You are, I believe, sir, the responsible editor of +the <i>Greywolds Mercury</i>," said the baronet with a +chill civility that brought a sorrowful anticipation +to Meg.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span></p> + +<p>He paused, and Mr. Standish remained silent, +waiting for his visitor to continue.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span> +within the hour of the position she holds in my +house—that Miss Beecham is my granddaughter."</p> + +<p>"Your granddaughter!" repeated Mr. Standish +with a movement of surprise. "I thought, sir, you +had but one child—a son?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"You have applied the word dishonorable to me, +Sir Malcolm Loftdale. Allow me to say it is the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span> +last word, I think, you should have employed," resumed +Mr. Standish.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span></p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Her father! What do you know of her father?" +said Sir Malcolm savagely.</p> + +<p>"If Philip Loftdale was her father, I knew him +well. He often called me his dearest friend."</p> + +<p>Meg, leaning back against the wall, saw her +grandfather staring vacantly at the speaker. "What +do you mean? Who are you, sir?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Again I ask you, sir," said Mr. Standish with +sudden gentleness, "for a few moments' private +conversation."</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>He laid his hand upon the letters.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"It is my wish. Go on, sir!" said Sir Malcolm +fiercely as Mr. Standish paused.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Go on, sir," said the old man.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Since his marriage, if you remember, you held +no communication with him——"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Sir Malcolm did not reply, and for a moment +there was a dead silence. Mr. Standish resumed +with difficulty:</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Still the old man remained silent as death, looking +with a fixed gaze upon the speaker.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Sir Malcolm drew a heavy breath; he parted his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span> +lips as if to speak, but no words came; and he +listened intently.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"You can repay it, grandfather," said Meg +through tears.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Grandfather, do not part us!" repeated Meg in +a voice hoarse with pleading. "I will never desert +you!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p class="center"> +THE END.<br /> +</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + +<h2>A. L. BURT'S PUBLICATIONS</h2> + +<h3>For Young People</h3> + +<h3>BY POPULAR WRITERS,</h3> + +<p class="center">97-99-101 Reade Street, New York.</p> + + +<blockquote><p><b>Bonnie Prince Charlie</b>: A Tale of Fontenoy and Culloden. By +<span class="smcap">G. A. Henty</span>. With 12 full-page Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Gordon +Browne</span>. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"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."—<i>Spectator.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><b>With Clive in India</b>; or, the Beginnings of an Empire. By +<span class="smcap">G. A. Henty</span>. With 12 full-page Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Gordon +Browne</span>. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"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."—<i>Scotsman.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><b>The Lion of the North</b>: A Tale of Gustavus Adolphus and the +Wars of Religion. By <span class="smcap">G. A. Henty</span>. With full-page Illustrations +by <span class="smcap">John Schönberg</span>. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"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."—<i>Times.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><b>The Dragon and the Raven</b>; or, The Days of King Alfred. By +<span class="smcap">G. A. Henty</span>. With full-page Illustrations by <span class="smcap">C. J. Staniland</span>, +R.I. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"Treated in a manner most attractive to the boyish reader."—<i>Athenĉum.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><b>The Young Carthaginian</b>: A Story of the Times of Hannibal. +By <span class="smcap">G. A. Henty</span>. With full-page Illustrations by <span class="smcap">C. J. Staniland</span>, +R.I. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"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."—<i>Saturday Review.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><b>In Freedom's Cause</b>: A Story of Wallace and Bruce. By <span class="smcap">G. A. +Henty</span>. With full-page Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Gordon Browne</span>. +12mo, cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"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."—<i>The Schoolmaster.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><b>With Lee in Virginia</b>: A Story of the American Civil War. By +<span class="smcap">G. A. Henty</span>. With full-page Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Gordon +Browne</span>. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"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."—<i>Standard.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><b>By England's Aid</b>; or, The Freeing of the Netherlands (1585-1604). +By <span class="smcap">G. A. Henty</span>. With full-page Illustrations by +<span class="smcap">Alfred Pearse</span>, and Maps. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"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."—<i>Boston +Gazette.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><b>By Right of Conquest</b>; or, With Cortez in Mexico. By <span class="smcap">G. A. +Henty</span>. With full-page Illustrations by <span class="smcap">W. S. Stacey</span>, and +Two Maps. 12mo, cloth, price $1.50.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"'By Right of Conquest' is the nearest approach to a perfectly successful +historical tale that Mr. Henty has yet published."—<i>Academy.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><b>In the Reign of Terror</b>: The Adventures of a Westminster Boy. +By <span class="smcap">G. A. Henty</span>. With full-page Illustrations by <span class="smcap">J. Schönberg</span>. +12mo, cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"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."—<i>Saturday +Review.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><b>With Wolfe in Canada</b>; or, The Winning of a Continent. By +<span class="smcap">G. A. Henty</span>. With full-page Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Gordon +Browne</span>. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"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."—<i>Illustrated London News.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><b>True to the Old Flag</b>: A Tale of the American War of Independence. +By <span class="smcap">G. A. Henty</span>. With full-page Illustrations by +<span class="smcap">Gordon Browne</span>. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"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."—<i>The Times.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><b>The Lion of St. Mark</b>: A Tale of Venice in the Fourteenth +Century. By <span class="smcap">G. A. Henty</span>. With full-page Illustrations by +<span class="smcap">Gordon Browne</span>. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"Every boy should read 'The Lion of St. Mark.' Mr. Henty has never produced +a story more delightful, more wholesome, or more vivacious."—<i>Saturday +Review.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><b>A Final Reckoning</b>: A Tale of Bush Life in Australia. By <span class="smcap">G. A. +Henty</span>. With full-page Illustrations by <span class="smcap">W. B. Wollen</span>, +12mo, cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"Mr. Henty has never published a more readable, a more carefully constructed, +or a better written story than this."—<i>Spectator.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><b>Under Drake's Flag</b>: A Tale of the Spanish Main. By <span class="smcap">G. A. +Henty</span>. With full-page Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Gordon Browne</span>. +12mo, cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"A book of adventure, where the hero meets with experience enough, one +would think, to turn his hair gray."—<i>Harper's Monthly Magazine.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><b>By Sheer Pluck</b>: A Tale of the Ashanti War. By <span class="smcap">G. A. Henty</span>. +With full-page Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Gordon Browne</span>. 12mo, +cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"Mr. Henty keeps up his reputation as a writer of boys' stories. 'By Sheer +Pluck' will be eagerly read."—<i>Athenĉum.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><b>By Pike and Dyke</b>: A Tale of the Rise of the Dutch Republic. +By <span class="smcap">G. A. Henty</span>. With full-page Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Maynard +Brown</span>, and 4 Maps. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"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."—<i>St. +James' Gazette.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><b>St. George for England</b>: A Tale of Cressy and Poitiers. By +<span class="smcap">G. A. Henty</span>. With full-page Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Gordon +Browne</span>. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"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."—<i>The Standard.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><b>Captain's Kidd's Gold</b>: The True Story of an Adventurous Sailor +Boy. By <span class="smcap">James Franklin Fitts</span>. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p><b>Captain Bayley's Heir</b>: A Tale of the Gold Fields of California. +By <span class="smcap">G. A. Henty</span>. With full-page Illustrations by <span class="smcap">H. M. +Paget</span>. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"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."—<i>Christian Leader.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><b>For Name and Fame</b>; or, Through Afghan Passes. By <span class="smcap">G. A. +Henty</span>. With full-page Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Gordon Browne</span>. +12mo, cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"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."—<i>Daily News.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><b>Captured by Apes</b>: The Wonderful Adventures of a Young +Animal Trainer. By <span class="smcap">Harry Prentice</span>. 12mo, cloth, $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p><b>The Bravest of the Brave</b>; or, With Peterborough in Spain. +By <span class="smcap">G. A. Henty</span>. With full-page Illustrations by <span class="smcap">H. M. +Paget</span>. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"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."—<i>Daily Telegraph.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><b>The Cat of Bubastes</b>: A Story of Ancient Egypt. By <span class="smcap">G. A. +Henty</span>. With full-page Illustrations. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"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."—<i>Saturday +Review.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><b>With Washington at Monmouth</b>: A Story of Three Philadelphia +Boys. By <span class="smcap">James Otis</span>. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p><b>For the Temple</b>: A Tale of the Fall of Jerusalem. By <span class="smcap">G. A. +Henty</span>. With full-page Illustrations by <span class="smcap">S. J. Solomon</span>. 12mo, +cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"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."—<i>Graphic.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><b>Facing Death</b>; or, The Hero of the Vaughan Pit. A Tale of +the Coal Mines. By <span class="smcap">G. A. Henty</span>. With full-page Illustrations +by <span class="smcap">Gordon Browne</span>. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"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."—<i>Standard.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><b>Tom Temple's Career.</b> By <span class="smcap">Horatio Alger</span>. 12mo, cloth, +price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p><b>Maori and Settler</b>: A Story of the New Zealand War. By +<span class="smcap">G. A. Henty</span>. With full-page Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Alfred Pearse</span>. +12mo, cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"Brimful of adventure, of humorous and interesting conversation, and +vivid pictures of colonial life."—<i>Schoolmaster.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><b>Julian Mortimer</b>: A Brave Boy's Struggle for Home and Fortune. +By <span class="smcap">Harry Castlemon</span>. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<b>Carrots:</b>" Just a Little Boy. By <span class="smcap">Mrs. Molesworth</span>. With +Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Walter Crane</span>. 12mo, cloth, price 75 cents.</p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p>"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."—<i>Examiner.</i></p> + +<p>"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."—<i>Punch.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><b>Mopsa the Fairy.</b> By <span class="smcap">Jean Ingelow</span>. With Eight page +Illustrations. 12mo, cloth, price 75 cents.</p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p>"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."—<i>Eclectic.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><b>A Jaunt Through Java</b>: The Story of a Journey to the Sacred +Mountain. By <span class="smcap">Edward S. Ellis</span>. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p><b>Wrecked on Spider Island</b>; or, How Ned Rogers Found the +Treasure. By <span class="smcap">James Otis</span>. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p><b>Geoff and Jim</b>: A Story of School Life. By <span class="smcap">Ismay Thorn</span>. Illustrated +by <span class="smcap">A. G. Walker</span>. 12mo, cloth, price 75 cents.</p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p>"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."—<i>Church +Times.</i></p> + +<p>"This is a capital children's story, the characters well portrayed, and the +book tastefully bound and well illustrated."—<i>Schoolmaster.</i></p> + +<p>"The story can be heartily recommended as a present for boys."—<i>Standard.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><b>The Castaways</b>; or, On the Florida Reefs. By <span class="smcap">James Otis</span>. +12mo, cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p><b>Tom Thatcher's Fortune.</b> By <span class="smcap">Horatio Alger, Jr.</span> 12mo, +cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote><p><b>Birdie</b>: A Tale of Child Life. By <span class="smcap">H. L. Childe-Pemberton</span>. +Illustrated by <span class="smcap">H. W. Rainey</span>. 12mo, cloth, price 75 cents.</p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p>"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."—<i>New York Express.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><b>Popular Fairy Tales.</b> By the <span class="smcap">Brothers Grimm</span>. Profusely +Illustrated, 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p>"From first to last, almost without exception, these stories are delightful."—<i>Athenĉum.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<div class="transnote"> +Transcribers Note: +<br /> +<br /> +These variations that were present in the original text have been retained:<br /> +<span class="i2">"Who Gave That Kiss?" and "Who Gave That Kiss."</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Italicized and non-italicized "Greywolds Mercury"</span><br /> +<span class="i2">fashionplate and fashion-plate</span><br /> +<span class="i2">finger-tips and fingertips</span><br /> +<span class="i2">weather-beaten and weatherbeaten</span><br /> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<hr class="pg" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEG'S FRIEND***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 39936-h.txt or 39936-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/9/9/3/39936">http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/9/3/39936</a></p> +<p> +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p> +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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