TILDY'S MESSAGE.
Nothing ever kept Mrs. Martin awake; and, notwithstanding her anxiety
with regard to Maggie, she slept soundly that night. Bo-peep was his
own delightful self. His jokes were really too good for anything! She
regarded him as the wittiest man of her acquaintance. She laughed till
the tears ran down her cheeks. He told her that he would take her to
the theater on the following evening, and further said that he would
engage a cook himself in town, send her out in the course of the
morning, and that Horniman could go.
Horniman came up to interview her mistress soon after Martin's
departure. She was penitent now, and willing to stay; but nothing
would induce Martin himself to forgive her, and, in consequence, Mrs.
Martin did not dare to do so. The woman was paid her wages in full,
and dismissed. Then it occurred to Mrs. Martin that here was her
opportunity to send a short note of warning to Maggie. Why she did not
send it by post it is hard to ascertain; but she thought that it would
go more swiftly and surely if Tildy were the messenger.
Accordingly she sent for Tildy and told her what she expected her to
do.
"Matilda," she said, "cook has gone, and I shall be quite content with
tea and toast and a lightly boiled egg for my lunch. After lunch you
can take the train to London and convey a message from me to Miss
Maggie."
"Oh mum, 'ow beauteous!" said Tildy.
"I will have a letter ready which you are, if possible, to put into
her own hands."
"Yes, 'um; and don't I long to see 'er, jest!"
"Well, this is the address," said Mrs. Martin. "Get everything cosy
and comfortable in the house, and bring me my tea by one o'clock. A
train will take you to Victoria at half-past one, which you ought to
catch. You can easily be back here between four and five; by that time
the new cook will have arrived."
"Things ain't dull a bit to-day'," said Tildy. "They're much more
Shepherd's Bushy, and I like 'em a sight better than I did."
"Well, go now, and attend to your business," said Mrs. Martin.
Having secured a messenger, Mrs. Martin next prepared to write to poor
Maggie:
"MY DEAR CHILD,--Most unfortunately your father has discovered
the letter you wrote to me. He doesn't say much, but I can see
that he is furiously angry. He intends to take me with him to
call on you next Saturday--I presume, some time in the
afternoon. I will try to make him dress in as gentlemanly a
manner as possible, and also will endeavor to prevent his
talking about the shop. You must make the very best of things
you can, dear; for there's no possible way of keeping him from
Aylmer House.--Your affectionate mother,
"VICTORIA MARTIN."
When the letter was finished Mrs. Martin put it into an envelope,
addressed to Miss Maggie Howland, Aylmer House, Randal Square, South
Kensington, and put it into Tildy's care. Tildy caught her train all
in good time, arrived at Victoria, and took a bus to South Kensington.
A very little inquiry enabled her to find Randal Square, and at about
half-past two she was standing on the steps of that most refined and
genteel home, Aylmer House. The look of the place impressed her, but
did not give her any sense of intimidation. When the door was opened
to her modest ring, and the pleasant, bright-looking parlor-maid
answered her summons, Tildy gazed at her with great interest but
without a scrap of shyness.
"I've come from 'er 'ome to see Miss Maggie 'Owland," said Tildy; "and
I've a message for 'er from 'er ma."
The girl, whose name was Agnes, stared for a minute at Tildy. She
recognized her "sort" in a moment. Tildy belonged to the lodging-house
sort of girl. What she could have to do with one of Agnes's young
ladies puzzled that young person considerably. It was the rule,
however, at Aylmer House that no one, however poor or humble, should
be treated with rudeness, and certainly a person bringing a message to
one of the young ladies was entitled to respect. Agnes said,
therefore, in a polite and superior tone, "Step in, will you, miss?
and I will find out if Miss Howland is in."
Tildy stepped into the hall, feeling, as she expressed it, "dream-like
and queer all over." She did not dare to sit down, but stood on the
mat, gazing with her bright, inquisitive eyes at the various things in
this new world in which she found herself.
"How beauteous!" she kept repeating at intervals. "Why, Laburnum Villa
ain't a patch on this. How very beauteous! No wonder Miss Maggie 'ave
the hair of a queen."
Now, it so happened that Maggie Howland was out, and would not be back
for some time. This was the day when she and the other girls belonging
to her kingdom had gone forth to purchase all sorts of good things for
the coming feast. Maggie, as queen, had put a whole sovereign into the
bag. There would, therefore, be no stint of first-class provisions.
Every sort of eatable that was not usually permitted at Aylmer House
was to grace the board--jelly, meringues, frosted cake, tipsy cake, as
well as chickens garnished in the most exquisite way and prepared
specially by a confectioner round the corner; also different dainties
in aspic jellies were to be ordered. Then flowers were to be secured
in advance, so as to make the table really very beautiful.
Maggie, Kathleen O'Donnell, and Janet were the people selected to
arrange about the supper. Not a single thing was to be cooked in the
establishment; this would give extra trouble to the servants, and was
therefore not to be permitted. The girls would make their own
sandwiches; and, oh, what troublesome thoughts they had over these!
Maggie was in the highest spirits, and left the house with her
companions--Miss Johnson, of course, in close attendance--half-an-hour
before Tildy with her ominous letter appeared on the scene.
Now, it so happened that Agnes knew nothing at all of the absence of
the young ladies. They usually went out by a side-door which had been
specially assigned to their use when the house was turned into a
school. As Agnes was going upstairs, however, in order to try to find
Maggie, she met Aneta coming down.
"Oh miss," she said, "can you tell me if Miss Howland is in?"
"No," said Aneta, "I happen to know that she is out, and I don't think
she will be in for some little time."
"Very well, miss; the young person will be sorry, I expect."
"What young person?" asked Aneta, eager in her turn to find out why
Maggie was inquired for.
"A girl, miss, who has called, and has asked very particularly to see
Miss Howland. She's rather a common sort of girl, miss, although I
dare say she means well."
"I will go and see her myself," said Aneta; "perhaps I can convey a
message from her to Miss Howland, for I know she won't be back for
some little time."
Agnes, quite relieved in her mind, turned down the back-stairs and
went to attend to her numerous duties. A few minutes after, Aneta, in
all her slim grace, stood in the hall and confronted Tildy. Aneta was
herself going out; she was going out with Mademoiselle Laplage. They
had some commissions to execute. The day was a foggy one, and they
were both rather in a hurry. Nevertheless, Aneta stopped to say a kind
word to Tildy. Tildy gazed at her with open-eyed admiration. Beautiful
as the house was, this young lady was indeed a radiant and dazzling
vision.
"She made me sort o' choky," said Tildy as she related the
circumstance afterwards to Mrs. Martin. "There was a hair about her.
Well, much as I loves our Miss Maggie, she ain't got the hair o' that
beauteous young lady, with 'er eyes as blue as the sky, and 'er walk
so very distinguishified."
"What can I do for you?" said Aneta now, in a kind tone.
Tildy dropped an awkward curtsy. "I've come, miss," she said, "to see
our Miss Maggie."
"Miss Howland is out," said Aneta.
"Oh, miss!" replied Tildy, the corners of her mouth beginning to
droop, "that's crool 'ard on me. Do you think, miss, if I may make so
bold as to inquire, that Miss Maggie 'll be in soon?"
"I do not think so," replied Aneta; "but I can convey any message you
like to her, if you will trust me."
"Oh miss," said Tildy, worshipping Aneta on the spot, "who wouldn't
trust one like you?"
"Well, what is it? What can I do for you?"
"I was maid, miss--maid-of-all-work--at Shepherd's Bush when Miss
Maggie and 'er ma used to live there; and when Mrs. 'Owland married
Martin the grocer they was that kind they took me to live at Laburnum
Villa. It's a very rich and comfortable 'ouse, miss; and the way they
two goes on is most excitin'. It's joke, joke, and play, play, from
morn till night--that's the ma and steppa of Miss Maggie. I've brought
a letter from Mrs. Martin to be delivered straight to Miss Maggie."
"I can give it to her," said Aneta in her calm voice.
"You'll per'aps mention, miss," said Tildy, taking the letter from her
pocket, "as I called, and as I love our dear Miss Maggie as much as I
ever did. You'll per'aps say, miss, with my dutiful respects, that my
'eart is 'ers, and always will be."
"I will give her a kind message," said Aneta, "and safely deliver her
mother's letter to her. I am afraid there's no use in asking you to
stay, as Miss Howland is very much occupied just now."
"Very well, miss, I've delivered my message faithful."
"You have."
As Aneta spoke she herself opened the hall-door.
"Good-day, miss," said Tildy, dropping another curtsy, "and I wishes
you well."
"Good-day," replied Aneta.
Tildy's little form was swallowed up in the fog, which was growing
thicker each moment, and at that instant Mademoiselle Laplage, profuse
in apologies for her brief delay, entered the hall.
"Pardon me, _ma chere_, that I have caused you to wait. I was just
ready to descend, when--see! the lace of my shoe was broken. But what
will you? You will go out in this dreadful fog?"
Aneta replied in French that she did not think the fog was too thick,
and the French governess and the girl went out together into the
street. But all the time Aneta Lysle was thinking hard. She was in
possession of Maggie's secret. Her stepfather, instead of being
related to the Martyns of The Meadows, was a grocer! Aneta belonged to
that class of persons who think a great deal of good birth. She did
not mind Tildy in the least, for Tildy was so far below her as to be
after a fashion quite companionable; but--a grocer! Nevertheless,
Aneta had a heart. She thought of Maggie, and the more she thought of
her the more pitiful she felt towards her. She did not want to crush
or humiliate her schoolfellow. She felt almost glad that the secret
of Maggie's unhappiness had been made known to her. She might at last
gain a true influence over the girl.
Her walk, therefore, with Mademoiselle Laplage took place almost in
silence. They hastily executed their commissions, and presently found
themselves in Pearce's shop, where Aneta had taken a brooch a day or
two ago to have a pin put on.
The shopman, as he handed her the mended brooch, said at the same
time, "If you will excuse me, miss, you are one of the young ladies
who live at Aylmer House?"
"Yes," said Aneta, "that is true."
"Then I wonder, miss, if"----He paused a minute, looked hard at the
girl, and then continued, "Might my brother speak to you for a minute,
miss?"
"But it make so cold!" said mademoiselle, who knew very little of the
English tongue, "and behold--zee fog! I have such fear of it. It is
not to joke when it fogs in your country, _ma chere. Il faute bien
depecher_."
"I shall be quite ready to come back with you in a minute or two,"
said Aneta.
Just then the man who had bought the brooch from Maggie appeared. "I
am very sorry, miss," he said, "but I thought that, instead of writing
to Miss Howland, I might send her a message; otherwise I should have
to see Mrs. Ward on the matter."
"But what matter is it?" said Aneta. "You want to see Miss Howland, or
you want me to take her a message?"
"Well, miss, it's no special secret; only my brother and I cannot
afford to buy the brooch which she sold us the other day."
"But I don't understand," said Aneta. "Miss Howland sold you a brooch?
Then if she sold it, you did buy it."
"The fact is, miss," said young Pearce, coloring rather deeply, "I was
not myself quite aware of its value at the time, and I gave the young
lady much too small a sum of money for it. I want her to return me the
money, and I will give her back the brooch. My brother and I have been
talking it over, and we cannot do an injustice to one of the ladies at
Aylmer House--it is quite impossible."
"I will give your message," said Aneta coldly. "Please do not purchase
anything else from Miss Howland. She will doubtless call to see you
to-morrow."
"Thank you, miss; then that is all right," said the man, looking much
relieved.
Aneta hastened home. She felt perplexed and alarmed. She must see
Maggie, and as soon as possible. It was a strange fact that while
Maggie was in no danger at all, while everything seemed to be going
right with her, and as long as she held an undeniable position in the
school as one of the queens, Aneta could scarcely endure her; that now
that Maggie Howland, was, so to speak, at her mercy, this girl, whose
nature was fine and brave and good, felt a strong desire to help
her.
There were, however, very strict rules at Aylmer House, and one of
them was that no girl on any account whatsoever was to sell any of her
possessions in order to make money. This was one of the unwritten
rules of the school; but the idea of an Aylmer House girl really
requiring to do such a thing was never contemplated for an instant.
There were broad lines of conduct, however, which no girl was expected
to pass. Liberty was allowed to a great extent at Aylmer House; but it
was a liberty which only those who struggle to walk in the right path
can fully enjoy. Crooked ways, underhand dealings, could not be
permitted in the school.
Maggie had done quite enough to cause her to be expelled. There had
been times when Aneta almost wished for this; when she had felt deep
down in her heart that Maggie Howland was the one adverse influence in
the school; when she had been certain that if Maggie Howland were
removed all the other girls would come more or less under her own
gentle sway, and she would be queen, not of the greater number of the
girls at Aylmer House, but of all the girls, and very gentle, very
loving, very sympathetic would be her rule. Her subjects should feel
her sympathy, but at the same time they should acknowledge her power.
Maggie's was a counter-influence; and now there was a chance of
putting a stop to it.
Aneta knew well that, kind as Mrs. Ward was to Maggie, she did not in
her heart absolutely trust her. Therefore, if Maggie left it would
also be a relief to Mrs. Ward. Miss Johnson might be sorry, and one or
two of the girls might be sorry; in particular, dear little Merry.
Aneta had a great love for Merry, and was deeply sorry to feel that
Merry was under Maggie's spell; that was the case, although she did
not openly belong to Maggie's party. So Merry too would be saved if
Maggie left the school. Oh! it was most desirable, and Aneta held the
key of the position in her hand. She also had in her pocket Mrs.
Martin's letter. That did not perhaps so greatly matter, for Maggie's
father, whatever her mother had done, was himself a gentleman; but the
fact of Maggie's slipping out of doors alone to sell an ornament was a
sufficiently grave offense to banish her from such a school as Aylmer
House.
Yes, Aneta could send her away, but it might be managed dexterously.
Maggie might stay till the end of the present term and then go,
knowing herself that she would never return, whereas the girls would
know nothing about it until the beginning of the next term, when they
would no longer see her familiar face or hear her pleasant voice. A
few of them might be sorry, but they would quickly forget. The school
would be the better for her absence. The thing could be done, and it
would be done, if Aneta used that knowledge which she now possessed.
The girls all met at tea, and Maggie was in the highest spirits. She
knew nothing whatever of all the information which Aneta had gathered
in her absence. She knew nothing of Tildy's arrival, of Tildy's
departure, nor of the letter which Aneta had put into one of her
drawers. Still less did she know anything of Pearce and his betrayal
of her. She and her companions had had a very pleasant time, and
immediately after tea, in the "leisure hours," they were to meet in
the girl's private sitting-room to discuss matters officially.
The Aneta girls had, by common consent, given up the room to them
during these last important days. There were plenty of nooks and
corners all over the cheerful house where they could amuse themselves
and talk secrets, and have that sort of confidence which schoolgirls
delight in.
As soon as tea was over Maggie jumped up and said, "Now, Kitty"--she
turned to Kathleen O'Donnell as she spoke--"you and I, and Rosamond
and Jane, and Matty and Clara, and the Tristrams will get through our
work as quickly as possible.--I suppose, girls"--here she glanced at
Aneta in particular--"you will let us have the sitting-room as usual
during the leisure hours?"
"Of course we will," said Sylvia St. John in her gentle tone; but she
had scarcely uttered the words before Aneta rose.
"Of course you can have the sitting-room," she said; "but I want to
talk to you, Maggie."
"You can't, I am afraid, just now," said Maggie. "I am much too
busy.--We have to go into accounts, girls," she added. "There are no
end of things to be done, besides, at the rehearsal." Here she dropped
her voice slightly.
"The rest of you can go to the sitting-room and do what is necessary,"
continued Aneta. "I want you, Maggie, and you had better come with
me." She spoke very firmly.
A dogged look came into Maggie's face. She threw back her head and
glanced full at Aneta. "I go with you," she said, "just because you
ask me, forsooth! You forget yourself, Queen Aneta. I also am a queen
and have a kingdom."
"My business with you has something to do with a person who calls
herself Tildy," said Aneta in her gravest voice; and Maggie suddenly
felt as though a cold douche had been thrown over her. She colored a
vivid red. Then she turned eagerly to Kathleen.
"I won't be a minute," she said. "You all go into the sitting-room and
get the accounts in order. You might also go over that tableaux with
Diana Vernon.--Kathleen, you know that you must put a little more life
into your face than you did the other day; and--and--oh dear, how
annoying this is!--Yes, of course I will go with you, Aneta. You won't
keep me a minute?"
Maggie and Aneta left the room.
Merry turned to her sister and said in a troubled voice, "I can't
imagine why it is that Aneta doesn't care for poor Maggie. I love
Aneta, of course, for she is our very own cousin; but I cannot
understand her want of sympathy for dearest Maggie."
"I am not altogether quite so fond of Maggie as you are, Merry; and
you know that," said Cicely.
"I know it," said Merry. "You are altogether taken up with Aneta."
"Oh, and with school generally," said Cicely, "it is all so splendid.
But come, we are alone in the room, and losing some of our delightful
leisure hours."
The Maggie-girls had meanwhile retired into the sitting-room, where
they stood together in groups, talking about the excitement which was
to take place on the following Saturday (it was now Thursday), and
paying very little heed to Maggie's injunctions to put the accounts in
order.
"Don't bother about accounts," said Kitty; "there's heaps of money
left in the bag. Wasn't it scrumptious of old Mags to put a whole
sovereign in? And I know she is not rich, the dear old precious!"
"She is exactly the sort of girl who would do a generous thing," said
Clara Roache, "and of course, as queen, she felt that she must put a
little more money into the bag than the rest of us."
"Well, she needn't," said Kathleen. "I'd have loved her just as much
if she hadn't put a penny in. She is a duck, though! I can't think why
I care so much about her, for she's not beautiful."
"Strictly speaking, she is plain," said Janet Burns; "but in a case
like Maggie's plain face doesn't matter in the least."
"She has got something inside," said Matty, "which makes up for her
plain features. It's her soul shining out of her eyes."
"Yes, of course," said Kathleen O'Donnell; "and it fills her voice
too. She has got power and--what you call charm. She is meant to rule
people."
"I admire her myself more than Aneta Lysle," said Janet Burns,
"although of course all the world would call Aneta beautiful."
"Yes, that is quite true," said Kathleen; "but I call Aneta a little
stiff, and she is very determined too, and she doesn't like poor old
Mags one single bit. Wasn't it jolly of Mags to get up this glorious
day for us? Won't we have fun? Aneta may look to her laurels, for it's
my opinion that the Gibsons and the Cardews will both come over to our
side after Saturday."
While this conversation was going on, and Maggie's absence was
deplored, and no business whatever was being done towards the
entertainment of Saturday, Maggie found herself seated opposite to
Aneta in Aneta's own bedroom. Maggie felt queer and shaken. She did
not quite know what was the matter. Aneta's face was very quiet.
After a time she drew a letter from her pocket and put it into
Maggie's hand.
"Who brought this?" asked Maggie.
"A person who called herself Tildy."
Maggie held the letter unopened in her lap.
"Why don't you read it?" said Aneta.
Maggie took it up and glanced at the handwriting. Then she put it down
again.
"It's from my mother," she said. "It can keep."
"I cannot imagine," said Aneta, "anybody waiting even for one moment
to read a letter which one's own mother has written. My mother is
dead, you know."
She spoke in a low tone, and her pretty eyelashes rested on her softly
rounded cheeks.
Maggie looked at her. "Why did you bring me up here, Aneta, away from
all the others, away from our important business, to give me this
letter?"
"I thought you would rather have it in private," said Aneta.
"You thought more than that, Aneta."
"Yes, I thought more than that," said Aneta in her gentlest tone.
Maggie's queer, narrow, eyes flashed fire. Suddenly she stood up. "You
have something to say. Say it, and be quick, for I must go."
"I don't think you must go just yet, Maggie; for what I have to say
cannot be said in a minute. You will have to give up your leisure
hours to-day."
"I cannot. Our entertainment is on Saturday."
"The entertainment must wait," said Aneta. "It is of no consequence
compared to what I have to say to you."
"Oh, have it out!" said Maggie. "You were always spying and prying on
me. You always hated me. I don't know what I have done to you. I'd
have left you alone if you had left me alone; but you have interfered
with me and made my life miserable. God knows, I am not too
happy"--Maggie struggled with her emotion--"but you have made things
twice as bad."
"Do you really, really think that, Maggie? Please don't say any more,
then, until you hear me out to the end. I will tell you as quickly as
possible; I will put you out of suspense. I could have made things
very different for you, but at least I will put you out of suspense."
"Well, go on; I am willing to listen. I hope you will be brief."
"It is this, Maggie. I will say nothing about your past; I simply tell
you what, through no fault of mine, I found out to-day. You gave the
girls of this school to understand that your mother's husband--your
stepfather--was a gentleman of old family. The person called Tildy
told me about Mr. Martin. He may be a gentleman by nature, but he is
not one by profession."
Maggie clutched one of her hands so tightly that the nails almost
pierced her flesh.
"I won't hurt you, Maggie, by saying much on that subject. Your own
father was a gentleman, and you cannot help your mother having married
beneath her."
Maggie gasped. Such words as these from the proud Aneta!
"But there is worse to follow," continued Aneta. "I happened to go to
Pearce's to-day."
Maggie, who had half-risen, sank back again in her seat.
"And Pearce wants to see you in order to return a brooch which you
sold him. He says that he cannot afford the right price for the
brooch. He wants you to give him back the money which he lent you on
it, and he wants you to have the brooch again in your possession. You,
of course, know, Maggie, that in selling one of your belongings and in
going out without leave you broke one of the fundamental rules of
Aylmer House. You know that, therefore----Why, what is the matter?"
Maggie's queer face was working convulsively. After a time slow, big
tears gathered in her eyes. Her complexion changed from its usual dull
ugliness to a vivid red; it then went white, so ghastly white that the
girl might have been going to faint. All this took place in less than
a minute. At the end of that time Maggie was her old disdainful, angry
self once more.
"You must be very glad," she said. "You have me in your power at last.
My stepfather is a grocer. He keeps a shop at Shepherd's Bush. He is
one of the most horribly vulgar men that ever lived. Had I been at
home my mother would not have consented to marry him. But my mother,
although pretty and refined-looking, and in herself a lady, has little
force of character, and she was quite alone and very poor indeed. You,
who don't know the meaning of the word 'poor,' cannot conceive what it
meant to her. Little Merry guessed--dear, dear little Merry; but as to
you, you think when you subscribe to this charity and the other, you
think when you adopt an East End child and write letters to her, and
give of your superabundance to benefit her, that you understand the
poor. I tell you you _don't_! Your wealth is a curse to you, not a
blessing. You no more understand what people like mother and like
myself have lived through than you understand what the inhabitants of
Mars do--the petty shifts, the smallnesses, the queer efforts to make
two ends meet! You in your lovely home, and surrounded by lovely
things, and your aunt so proud of you--how _can_ you understand what
lodgings in the hot weather in Shepherd's Bush are like? Mother
understood--never any fresh air, never any tempting food; Tildy, that
poor little faithful girl as servant--slavey was her right name; Tildy
at every one's beck and call, always with a smut on her cheek, and her
hair so untidy, and her little person so disreputable; and mother
alone, wondering how she could make two ends meet. Talk of your
knowing what the poor people in my class go through!"
"I don't pretend that I do know, Maggie," said Aneta, who was
impressed by the passion and strength of Maggie's words. "I don't
pretend it for a moment. The poverty of such lives is to me a sealed
book. But--forgive me--if you are so poor, how could you come here?"
"I don't mind your knowing everything now," said Maggie. "I am
disgraced, and nothing will ever get me out of my trouble. I am up to
my neck, and I may as well drown at once; but Mrs. Ward--she
understood what a poor girl whose father was a gentleman could feel,
and she--oh, she was good!--she took me for so little that mother
could afford it. She made no difference between you and me, Aneta, who
are so rich, and your cousins the Cardews, who are so rich too. She
said, 'Maggie Howland, your father was a gentleman and a man of honor,
a man of whom his country was proud; and I will educate you, and give
you your chance.' And, oh, I was happy here! And I--and I should be
happy now but for you and your prying ways."
"You are unkind to me, Maggie. The knowledge that your stepfather was
a grocer was brought to me in a most unexpected way. I was not to
blame for the little person who called herself Tildy coming here
to-day. Tildy felt no shame in the fact that your mother had married a
grocer. She was far more lady-like about it than you are, Maggie. No
one could have blamed you because your mother chose to marry beneath
her. But you were to blame, Maggie, when you gave us to understand
that her husband was in quite a different position from what he is."
"And you think," said Maggie, stamping her foot, "that the girls of
this house--Kathleen O'Donnell, Sylvia St. John, Henrietta and Mary
Gibson, the Cardews, the Tristrams, you yourself--would put up with me
for a single moment if it was known what my mother has done?"
"I think you underrate us all," said Aneta. Then she came close to
Maggie and took one of her hands. "I want to tell you something," she
added.
Maggie had never before allowed her hand to remain for a second in
Aneta's grasp. But there was something at this moment about the young
girl, a look in her eyes, which absolutely puzzled Maggie and caused
her to remain mute. She had struggled for a minute, but now her hand
lay still in Aneta's clasp.
"I want to help you," said Aneta.
"To--help me! How? I thought you hated me."
"Well, as a matter of fact," said Aneta, "I did not love you
until"----
"Until?" said Maggie, her eyes shining and her little face becoming
transformed in a minute.
"Until I knew what you must have suffered."
"You do not mean to say that you love me now?"
"I believe," said Aneta, looking fixedly at Maggie, "that I could love
you."
"Oh!" said Maggie. She snatched her hand away, and, walking to the
window, looked out. The fog was thicker than ever, and she could see
nothing. But that did not matter. She wanted to keep her back turned
to Aneta. Presently her shoulders began to heave, and, taking her
handkerchief from her pocket, she pressed it to her eyes. Then she
turned round. "Go on," she said.
"What do you mean by that?" asked Aneta.
"Say what you want to say. I am the stepdaughter of a grocer, and I
have broken one of the strictest rules in the school. When will you
tell Mrs. Ward? I had better leave at once."
"You needn't leave at all."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," said Aneta, "that if you will tell Mrs. Ward everything--all
about your stepfather, and all about your selling that jewel and going
out without leave--I am positively sure that dear Mrs. Ward will not
expel you from the school. I am also sure, Maggie, that there will not
be one girl at Aylmer House who will ever reproach you. As to your
stepfather being what he is, no girl in her senses would blame you for
that. You are the daughter of Professor Howland, one of the greatest
explorers of his time--a man who has had a book written about him, and
has largely contributed to the world's knowledge. Don't forget that,
please; none of us are likely to forget it. As to the other
thing--well, there is always the road of confession, and I am quite
certain that if you will see Mrs. Ward she will be kind to you and
forgive you; for her heart is very big and her sympathies very wide;
and then, afterwards, I myself will, for your sake, try to understand
your position, and I myself will be your true friend."
"Oh Aneta!" said Maggie.
She ran up to Aneta; she took her hand; she raised it to her lips and
kissed it.
"Give me till to-morrow," she said. "Promise that you won't say
anything till to-morrow."
Aneta promised. Maggie went to her room.