Half an hour afterwards, Robina went downstairs. It was a perfect
summer's afternoon. She felt she could not stand the house. She went
out. The great heat of the day was over. The stars were beginning to
come out in the sky. They could hardly be seen as yet for there was too
much light, but by-and-by they would shine brilliantly.
Robina raised her head to the sky, and wondered in a vague, girlish sort
of fashion what sort of life it was up there, and if God really
understood people, and if, in God's other worlds, things were right, not
wrong. She felt depressed as she had never been depressed before.
Ralph was playing eagerly with the three Amberleys. He looked a bonny,
happy little boy. The rich colour had returned to his cheeks, he had
lost that slight look of delicacy which had characterised him for a
short time after his illness.
His illness! Robina knew about it now. She had guessed about it
before, but now, she knew. Those wet clothes which the maid servant had
shown her, were explained. The feverish chill which both Ralph and
Harriet had suffered from was also explained. Everything was made clear
to Robina. She felt herself almost shuddering. Such wickedness! such
deceit! such a deeply laid plot to steal the affections of one little
boy seemed too horrible to poor Robina! She felt she could scarcely go
on in her present position.
"Harriet is too clever for me," she thought. "I ought to tell Mr
Durrant that I listened: I ought to explain to him what really happened.
Oh, what--what am I to do! Ralph of course loves Harriet best now. He
naturally thinks her conduct heroic. He is the sort of boy to be
enraptured with a deed of that sort; and she did it all on purpose--on
purpose--and just to win his love from me. Oh, how am I to bear it!
Why did I ever know Ralph? Why was I ever sent to school? I was happy
enough at home. There were troubles, of course. There was poor Aunt
Felicia, and there was mother--darling mother, who never did understand
me, much as I cared for her. But all the same, compared to this life,
things were peaceful enough."
"Hullo, Robina!" said a voice at that moment. "A penny for your
thoughts, my dear!"
Robina turned swiftly. Her honest grey eyes flashed, then grew a little
dim. Mr Durrant came up to her.
"Do you want to walk about with me for a little, my child, or would you
rather I left you by yourself?"
"I will walk with you, of course," said Robina--"that is, if you care to
be with me. But," she added, "I am not a good companion to-night."
"And why not? is anything wrong?"
"There is something wrong, and I cannot tell it you. Please don't ask
me."
"Of course I won't, my dear girl. In a little company of this sort
there are sure to be small jars, but what I feel about your character is
this--that there is nothing mean about you. You naturally have your
faults. I could imagine, for instance, that you were exceedingly
high-spirited--too high-spirited at times. I could also imagine that
you yourself needed a little discipline in life."
"I do," said Robina, suddenly. "I need everything--every sort of
training. You don't know, you can't realise, what a wild sort of heart
I have. It seems to be too difficult at times to control. I thought
when I was at school, and when I was given the charge of Ralph, and when
I won that dear pony, that I could never know unhappiness again; and
then when you asked me here, I felt sure that I could never know
unhappiness again."
"And you did know it once again?" said Mr Durrant, looking kindly and
yet with anxiety at the girl.
"Yes," she said, nodding her head, and tears filling her eyes as she
turned away.
"Listen to me, Robina. There are some things about you that appeal to
me very forcibly. I know you are not perfect. I have been to your home
and have heard the opinion of your father and aunt, and of your mother
with regard to you. They have given their true opinions. Your father
admires those things in you which try your mother and aunt very much.
But I, my dear child, take you on my own valuation. I see in you one
inestimable quality. I do not believe under any circumstances you would
tell me a lie. That, to me, is the unpardonable sin. A girl who could
do anything deceitful would be an impossible companion for my little
Ralph. I do not believe you would be that."
Robina was quite silent. Her silence, and the extreme moodiness of her
appearance, rather surprised Mr Durrant.
"As a matter of fact," he said, after a moment's pause, "if I am to be
able to carry out my plan, which I am exceedingly desirous to do, I
shall have to choose between you and Harriet as a companion for my
little boy. All my inclinations tend towards you, Robina; but, on the
other hand, I have been speaking to Ralph, and Ralph seems to wish me to
choose Harriet as his school-mother during the year of my absence. Now
the wishes of so young a child cannot altogether guide me in this
matter, and I do not mean to come to a decision for at least a week on
the subject. During that time, I shall watch you both--not obtrusively
in any way, but still with a keen observation, for a great deal depends
on the choice which I am forced to make. I am, to tell you the truth, a
good deal puzzled at Ralph's preference for Harriet, and feel, without
being able to lay my hand on the mystery, that there is a mystery with
regard to it, and that Harriet has a power over him which I am not
permitted to know anything about."
Mr Durrant paused and looked at Robina. She was quite silent.
"It would," said the traveller, after a long pause, "be a very, very
serious thing--in fact, it would be exceedingly wrong for me to entrust
my boy to the companionship of a girl who was not truthful, who had the
elements of deceit in her composition; and I do beseech of you, Robina,
not to consider yourself in the matter, but if you know anything against
Harriet, to confide that something to me."
"You must not ask me," said Robina, suddenly. "I do not say I know
anything; she is my school companion. She is clever; she is not
cleverer than I am, but she is undoubtedly clever. You never can tell
why a person cares for another. Ralph was fond of Harriet when he was
at school, then he turned to me because poor Harriet was tempted to take
him away to visit a friend of hers--but you know all about that story."
"Yes, I know all about it, and about poor Harriet's subsequent
repentance. The incident has, therefore, quite faded from my mind, and
cannot influence me in my present decision in the very least."
"Of course not," said Robina. "Well, I cannot tell you any more."
"I am much puzzled," said Mr Durrant, "and your manner to-night is the
reverse of reassuring." He left Robina a few minutes afterwards, and
she walked by herself for a short time. She was just going back to the
house when a hand was laid on her arm, and a girl looked eagerly into
her face.
"So you were talking to him?"
"What do you mean?" said Robina. She almost flung Harriet's hand aside.
"I have discovered something," said Harriet. Harriet's face was
absolutely white. It looked curious and almost dreadful in the light
caused by the moon which was now rising. "It was Jane who found out,"
she said. "You were in the hammock all the time. You heard us; you
listened; you are an eavesdropper. Have you told Mr Durrant what I
said to Jane?"
"No," replied Robina, in a low tone.
"But you did listen?"
"I did: I was in the hammock. How did you find out?"
"We found your handkerchief on the ground when we were passing a few
moments afterwards; and you left your book behind you. Your book was in
the hammock; your handkerchief on the ground; you dare not deny it; you
heard every word."
"I heard every word," said Robina.
"Then what do you mean to do?" said Harriet.
"Nothing," replied Robina.
"Nothing?" said Harriet. "That is so like you. You mean to give up
your golden chance?"
Robina folded her hands. She stood and faced Harriet.
"If I can keep straight, I will," she said--"if by any means it is
possible for me to keep straight in the company of a girl like you, I
will do so. I believe, hard as it may seem, that that would be better
for me in the long run even than spending a whole year with Ralph."
"Do you indeed think so?" said Harriet. She spoke eagerly. "In that
case, Robina, you can help me."
"No," said Robina, starting back.
"Don't be silly," said Harriet. "Come down this path, no one will hear
us; we must talk. On board the yacht, there will be so little
opportunity, but here we are alone and together. The choice lies
between you and me. Now, you think you want all that Mr Durrant is
about to offer, but, compared to me, you don't want it at all. My home,
compared to yours, is, oh! so rough; and my people are oh! so poor! You
don't know, perhaps, that I am supported at Mrs Burton's school by an
aunt who grudges every penny of the money she spends on me. To be
educated by a man like that, to be able to live here until I am quite
grown-up--oh, it would make such a difference! You don't want these
advantages as badly as I want them. Give up your chance, you have but
to help me with Ralph. He loves me better than you now; you have but to
say a few words to Mr Durrant, and the deed is done."
"And what words are those?" said Robina.
"Tell him what you think about me."
"What I think?" said Robina.
"Yes, yes, yes! Don't you understand? You haven't said anything yet--I
mean, you haven't betrayed me?"
"I haven't."
"Well, his great idea is that Ralph should be under the care of a
truthful girl. Make out to him that I am the most truthful girl, the
most honourable, the most upright in all the world."
"Sell my soul, in fact?" said Robina. She turned and faced her
companion. "O Harriet! How I despise you! I tell you what I will do.
I will give up this whole thing. I will tell Mr Durrant that I won't
be Ralph's companion; that I prefer to go back to Mrs Burton's school,
and to take my chance there; that I can have nothing further to do with
Ralph, that I can tell him what I know about you, and he can choose Rose
Amberley, or Vivian, or Patience Chetwold, or one of the other girls as
Ralph's school-mother. When I put you out of court, I shall put myself
out of court. Oh, yes; that is what I will do. You are just dreadful,
Harriet, dreadful."
"You won't dare to do such a thing," said Harriet. "You must not; oh, I
beseech of you!" Harriet's whole tone altered. "Robina, I was only
joking. Oh, please, please, please don't betray me. Of course, I will
do nothing, only don't betray me. Let us have our chance, let us both
be above-board: probably Mr Durrant and Ralph will choose you, and if
they do, I will promise not to say a word."
"But you will have nothing to say," replied Robina, in some
astonishment.
"That is true; but oh! do nothing, nothing until the week is up!"
"You distract me," said Robina. "I want to go to him now--at once. He
thinks me truthful; perhaps I am; I have been up to the present. Now it
seems that, knowing what I know--knowing that you did that thing with
regard to the pond--"
"Oh, hush!" said Harriet.
"--That I ought to tell him. It lies on my conscience: I am most
miserable!"
"Well, at least promise that you will say nothing until we have been on
board the yacht and the time there is over."
Harriet argued. Robina pleaded; but in spite of herself, the girl who
was quite straight, who had no crooked thoughts, whose one desire was to
do to others as she would be done by, was no match for the girl who was
deceitful and intensely selfish. In the end, Robina was forced by her
companion to give the promise that she would say nothing until the week
was up.
Book 2--CHAPTER ELEVEN.