"I AM UNHAPPY."
Between forty and fifty young girls assembled night and morning for
prayers in the pretty chapel which adjoined Lavender House. This chapel
had been reconstructed from the ruins of an ancient priory, on the site
of which the house was built. The walls, and even the beautiful eastern
window, belonged to a far-off date. The roof had been carefully reared in
accordance with the style of the east window, and the whole effect was
beautiful and impressive. Mrs. Willis was particularly fond of her own
chapel. Here she hoped the girls' best lessons might be learned, and here
she had even once or twice brought a refractory pupil, and tried what a
gentle word or two spoken in these old and sacred walls might effect.
Here, on wet Sundays the girls assembled for service; and here, every
evening at nine o'clock, came the vicar of the large parish to which
Lavender House belonged, to conduct evening prayers. He was an old man,
and a great friend of Mrs. Willis', and he often told her that he
considered these young girls some of the most important members of his
flock.
Here Hester knelt to-night. It is to be doubted whether in her confusion,
and in the strange loneliness which even Mrs. Willis had scarcely
removed, she prayed much. It is certain she did not join in the evening
hymn, which, with the aid of an organ and some sweet girl-voices, was
beautifully and almost pathetically rendered. After evening prayers had
come to an end, Mrs. Willis took Hester's hand and led her up to the old,
white-headed vicar.
"This is my new pupil, Mr. Everard, or rather I should say, our new
pupil. Her education depends as much on you as on me."
The vicar held out his hands, and took Hester's within them, and then
drew her forward to the light.
"This little face does not seem quite strange to me," he said. "Have I
ever seen you before, my dear?"
"No, sir," replied Hester.
"You have seen her mother," said Mrs. Willis--"Do you remember your
favorite pupil, Helen Anstey, of long ago?"
"Ah! indeed--indeed! I shall never forget Helen. And are you her child,
little one?"
But Hester's face had grown white. The solemn service in the chapel,
joined to all the excitement and anxieties of the day, had strung up her
sensitive nerves to a pitch higher than she could endure. Suddenly, as
the vicar spoke to her, and Mrs. Willis looked kindly down at her new
pupil, the chapel seemed to reel round, the pupils one by one
disappeared, and the tired girl only saved herself from fainting by a
sudden burst of tears.
"Oh, I am unhappy," she sobbed, "without my mother! Please, please, don't
talk to me about my mother."
She could scarcely take in the gentle words which her two friends said to
her, and she hardly noticed when Mrs. Willis did such a wonderful thing
as to stoop down and kiss a second time the lips of a new pupil.
Finally she found herself consigned to Miss Danesbury's care, who hurried
her off to her room, and helped her to undress and tucked her into her
little bed.
"Now, love, you shall have some hot gruel. No, not a word. You ate little
or no tea to-night--I watched you from my distant table. Half your
loneliness is caused by want of food--I know it, my love; I am a very
practical person. Now, eat your gruel, and then shut your eyes and go to
sleep."
"You are very kind to me," said Hester, "and so is Mrs. Willis, and so is
Mr. Everard, and I like Cecil Temple--but, oh, I wish Annie Forest was
not in the school!"
"Hush, my dear, I implore of you. You pain me by these words. I am quite
confident that Annie will be your best friend yet."
Hester's lips said nothing, but her eyes answered "Never" as plainly as
eyes could speak.