EMILY'S good resolution lasted at least a week after school commenced.
It opened on Wednesday, and Delia did not return till the following
Monday, so that she had her room to herself for that time. She had
succeeded in lulling her conscience into a certain degree of quietness,
and the exact performance of the routine of religious observances which
she had imposed upon herself, gave her a feeling of self-righteousness,
so that she found herself, upon the whole, more comfortable than she
had been for a long time back. Still there was all the time, at the
bottom of her heart, an uneasy consciousness that all was not as it
should be.
Her lesson upon Sunday was thoroughly learned and well recited, which
was not the case generally in the class, and Emily rather expected
some particular commendation, but Mr. Fletcher only said, "Very well,
Emily," and she could not help thinking that his tone and manner were
both sad and severe.
"If he knows anything about the matter, why don't he tell of it and
have done?" she thought, rather impatiently. "I believe I should be
almost glad to have it come out by accident. Almost anything would be
better than to have it hanging over one's head forever."
Several of the girls noticed how serious Emily seemed, and, after they
returned to their rooms, one of them remarked upon it, adding, "I
wonder how long it will last?"
"Till Delia Mason comes back, and no longer," said Bella Faushane.
"Delia can twist Emily round her finger, and she does it too."
"Perhaps Emily may have more stability about her than you think,"
remarked Lucy, who had always a kind word for every one. "She is very
persevering about some things."
"That is true," said Bella, "and I may do her injustice; but I have
noticed that there is nothing Emily dreads so much as ridicule. The
mere making a little blunder in class, if it is noticed, seems to
render her miserable for all day. I do not believe she will have the
courage to say her prayers once if Delia laughs at her, and laugh at
her she will, unless I am very much mistaken. Now here is Annette, who
was afraid to go down the other night, lest Mr. Hugo should ask her a
question in French, and who cries if she happens to make a mistake in
repeating her text at the table. Yet, if it were a case of conscience,
I believe she would be no more afraid of the den of lions than Daniel
himself."
"Oh, well! That is different," said Annette. "Saying one's prayers is a
thing one ought to do, and so one has to do it, whether one is afraid
or not."
"A grand sentiment, awkwardly expressed, my dear child, as Mr. Fletcher
would remark," said Bella, who was very fond of Annette, though she
laughed, as all the girls did, at her simplicity. "But, tell me,
Annette, is it not also a duty to improve in French, so long as our
parents send us here especially for that purpose?"
"I suppose it is," said Annette, after some consideration.
"But in order to improve, is it not necessary to practice speaking at
every proper opportunity?"
Annette assented after a little more thought.
"Well then," continued Bella, pursuing her Souatic method of reasoning,
"does it not plainly follow that it is your duty to speak French,
whether you are afraid or not, or whether you like it or not?"
"I believe it is," said Annette, "but I never thought of it in that way
before. Thank you, Bella."
"Annette has a new idea," said Janet Graves, as Annette left them, and
went to her own room.
"And she will practice upon it, too," said Bella. "Notice her at the
breakfast table, and see if she does not speak French."
Contrary to the expectation of the girls, that unpopular institution,
the French table, had not been abolished, and the rule remained in
force. Even as Bella had predicted, Annette made a heroic effort, and
not only asked for all she wanted in French, but actually came out with
several sentences of original conversation in that language, which
had evidently been carefully meditated beforehand. The girls who had
been present at the conversation the day before, looked at each other
and smiled; but there was no expression of ridicule in the smile, for
they respected the strength of principle which prompted Annette to do
bravely that which she so much disliked, so soon as she was convinced
that it was her duty.
Delia returned on Monday, full of spirits, boasting of the "grand times
she had had," and pitying Emily for her dull holidays.
"What did you do with yourself all the time?" she asked.
"Oh, I read and walked, and helped take care of Kitty," said Emily;
"and then I spent four days with Abby Carson, which I enjoyed very
much. On the whole, it was not so tiresome as I expected."
"Did you have any lessons?" asked Delia.
"Only reading Latin with Mr. Fletcher. He says I improve very fast, and
I never took so much interest in it before. What an excellent teacher
he is!"
"He is well enough," said Delia. "I never could discover any of the
extraordinary things about him that the other girls see or imagine; but
I confess to being a little afraid of those black eyes of his. But how
do the girls like Mr. Hugo?"
"We have not had a recitation yet," replied Emily.
She had been dreading the introduction of this topic, for she had
fully made up her mind that she ought to tell Delia that she would
have nothing more to do with the matter. Unlike Annette, however, to
acknowledge an obligation and to fulfil it were with Emily two very
different things. To do her justice, she did make an effort, but
instead of speaking boldly at once, she began by saying,—
"I wish you would not go on with that, Delia. I am sure you will be
sorry some day, and then it will be too late."
"I will be the judge of that, my dear," returned Delia. "You know I
told you that, before."
"But your father—"
"My father knows nothing about it, and need not know. It may very
likely never come to anything, and then there will be no harm done.
Moreover, my father has not been so very careful of my comfort or
interest, that I should submit all my affairs implicitly to his will.
He need not have brought a strange woman into the house to tyrannise
over me, if he had wanted me to stay at home. She has trained Ron
and Alice so that I cannot do anything with them, and Alice had the
impudence to tell me that I had no business to speak so to my mother.
Mother, indeed!"
"Mrs. Carson said she used to know your mother, and always thought her
a very nice woman," remarked Emily.
"Mrs. Carson is a step-mother herself, and of course she is bound
to stand up for the whole tribe," returned Delia. "But, now tell
me, who has come back, and whether there are any new scholars? I
have not seen any as yet. And how is Kitty? I have brought her some
beautiful preserved strawberries from home. Mrs. Mason is an excellent
housekeeper. I will say that much for her. I don't know but I might get
to like her after all, if it were not for the pride of the thing."
Emily answered these questions and a batch of others, such as always
come up at such times, and the tea bell rang before any further
allusion was made to Mr. Hugo.
Delia might have been excused from evening study, it being the custom
of the house to require no duties from new comers on the first day,
but she asked particularly about the lessons, and was soon apparently
busily engaged in writing her exercise. Not far off sat Annette,
working with grammar, dictionary, and phrase book, as laboriously as
though her daily bread depended upon it. The outward actions of the two
girls were very much alike, and even an acute observer might have seen
nothing to choose between them, but how different did they appear in
the eyes of Him who seeth the mind and the heart!
Emily did not feel at all satisfied with herself. After all her
resolutions she had failed in the very first effort to keep them, and
that being the case, what encouragement had she to proceed? She did
not, however, give up at once, but when the nine o'clock bell rang,
sending all to their rooms, she sat down resolutely to the table, and
took up her Bible.
"What in the world are you doing?" asked Delia. "You are not studying
your Sunday lesson so early in the week?"
"No," replied Emily, coloring, and resisting a strong impulse to tell a
falsehood, "but think it is a good plan to read a little every night,
don't you?"
"I don't see any particular use in it, I must say," returned Delia,
"but of course there's no harm in it if you like to do it, but don't be
late, that's all."
"I won't," said Emily, going on with her reading, but very much annoyed
and distracted by the consciousness that Delia was smiling as she
curled her hair, and dreading more and more the ordeal of kneeling down
to say her prayer. She read on, and on, almost without taking the sense
of a single word, until Delia exclaimed,—
"You will certainly be late, Emily. The bed bell will ring directly,
and you have not even begun to undress."
"I will hurry," replied Emily. She closed her book, and added, with a
great effort, "I must say my prayers first."
"Say them, and welcome," returned Delia, "but I am afraid they will
not save you from a mark, and I should not like to be imperfect in
deportment the very first week, if I were you."
Emily knelt down without replying, but, as may be imagined, her mind
was in any thing but a devotional state. She could not at first compose
herself sufficiently to remember even a form of words, and the bell
rang before she had finished the Lord's prayer. She started up and
began to undress as fast as possible, but she had not nearly finished
when the door opened, and Miss Thomas, who was going her rounds in the
regular discharge of her duties, as officer, put her head into the room.
Miss Thomas' passion for neatness and punctuality have been noticed
before. Her temper, never very placid, had already been severely
ruffled by several untoward events, such as finding her own towel
fallen into the slop jar, and various skirts, hoops, etc., belonging
to the young ladies, scattered upon the floors of their respective
apartments, instead of being neatly disposed for the night. She
reproved Emily sharply, would listen to no excuses, telling her that
three-quarters of an hour was time sufficient for any young lady to
prepare for bed, and concluded by saying that she should give her a
mark, which she need not seek to have excused. All this did not, of
course, tend to the increase of Emily's serenity.
"Hateful, cross old thing!" said she, as the door finally closed upon
Miss Thomas and her lecture. "I wish she were in Jericho!"
"And just as you were being so extra good too," returned Delia,
laughing. "But never mind, Emily, you can call it persecution for
righteousness sake, you know."
"You are very provoking, Delia," retorted Emily. "I do believe you are
glad to have me get into a scrape, just that you may have the pleasure
of saying, 'I told you so!'"
"Upon my word, your devotions don't seem to have improved your temper,"
said Delia, not without reason. "I am sure I did all I could to save
you from trouble. I don't object to your saying as many prayers as you
like, only as I have told you before, consistency is a jewel."
Emily felt that Delia had some reason for her remarks, and checked
the sharp answer which rose to her lips, but her frame of mind was
any thing but amiable or Christian. As one goes to sleep at night, so
one is very apt to awake in the morning, and she opened her eyes with
that unpleasant feeling which every one has experienced at one time or
another, that something very disagreeable had happened which she did
not exactly remember.
Delia was already up, curling her hair at the dressing-table, and
looking as neat and bright as ever, while Emily's uncurled locks hung
tangled and uncomfortable around her face—another circumstance to
remind her of course of the night before. Delia made no remark upon
them, however, but assisted Emily to arrange her hair neatly and
comfortably, straightened and smoothed the tumbled collar and sleeves,
and sewed on a missing button. She generally delivered a little lecture
upon neatness upon these occasions, for the most perfect tidiness
was one of her good qualities, and she had already rendered Emily an
essential service in reforming her rather careless habits.
At this time, however, she never even alluded to the subject, but
chatted pleasantly of matters at home, and at which Emily felt grateful
for her forbearance. She hoped that Delia would go out and leave her
alone fur a few minutes, but no such thing occurred, and the breakfast
bell rang before she had quite made up her mind what to do. So the
previous preparations for the day's duties and trials was again lost.
Things had by this time fallen nearly into their usual train, in
which, though as all the girls had not yet returned, it was impossible
to arrange the classes accurately. When will parents learn that it
is quite as important to their daughters as to their sons, to return
regularly and promptly to their duties? Boys are for the most part
sent back to school, or college, on the very day of the opening, but
girls are allowed to linger at home for two, three, or four days, or
even a week or two after the school commences, to the great annoyance
of the teachers and their own equal disadvantage. Mrs. Pomeroy had
waged war on this custom for years, but with little success, and there
were always at least half a dozen behind hand to produce confusion
in classes, and vexation to teachers. On this occasion it was Mr.
Fletcher's Latin class which clashed with Mr. Hugo's French, and of
course Mr. Fletcher gave way to the stranger till matters could be
arranged.
"I am glad the Latin was put aside," said Almira to Emily, as they
gathered up their books, and went down together to the lecture room. "I
would not miss this first recitation for any thing—it will be so odd
to write French to a gentleman. Do you know I don't think Mr. Fletcher
likes him very much!"
Emily had somehow received the same impression, though she could not
tell how, and she asked her companion what made her think so. But
Almira would not tell, only she did not believe he did. The large
class was assembled in the lecture room, quite filling the raised
seats in front of the apartment, before Mr. Hugo made his appearance.
Some of the girls were looking over their lessons, some were occupied
with their personal appearance, some simpering and giggling in that
indescribable flutter which characterizes a certain style of young
women (and some who are not so young) when there is a prospect of
seeing a strange individual of the male sex. Delia sat on one of the
front seats, quite composed and collected, though Emily thought she had
rather more color than usual.
Punctually at the striking of the clock the Professor made his
appearance, and mounted the platform without seeming in the least
disconcerted by the array of young ladies. He did look slightly annoyed
when Mrs. Pomeroy came in and seated herself upon one of the back
benches, and he glanced at her in no very friendly way from under
his bushy eyebrows. But the head of Minerva over the clock was not
more impenetrable than Mrs. Pomeroy, and as she calmly took out her
knitting, as though she had quite made up her mind to hear the lesson
through, Mr. Hugo had no alternative but to proceed.
The lesson began with a general examination upon the principles of
French Grammar, especially the verbs, that having been Mademoiselle's
great hobby. The young ladies did themselves much credit, and Mr. Hugo
not only professed himself satisfied, but paid a graceful compliment to
their former teacher. He then dictated while they wrote, (an admirable
plan by the way,) and then requested to see the exercises.
Only three young ladies beside Delia and Emily were prepared in this
part of the lesson, and to the surprise of every body, one of these
was Annette. She blushed visibly as she gave in her paper, but looked
pleased at receiving a kind "very well, Annette!" from Mrs. Pomeroy,
while Bella whispered to Lucy, who sat beside her, "You were right,
after all. We shall see her a good French scholar yet."
Mr. Hugo glanced at all the papers, said they were very neatly written,
and that he would return them the next morning; requested the young
ladies to be particular in endorsing their names on the outside of
their exercises, to prevent mistakes, and dismissed the class with a
bow. His method of teaching seemed admirable, and as his manners were
quiet and gentlemanly, Mrs. Pomeroy decided that she had done very well
in engaging him, and said as much to Mr. Fletcher.
"I have seen so little of him that I am not prepared to judge, at
present," was Mr. Fletcher's reply. "I cannot say, however, that I am
pleased with the expression of his face."
Though Mrs. Pomeroy often asked Mr. Fletcher's opinion upon matters
connected with the school, she was not apt to attach much importance
to it, unless it coincided with her own. Mr. Fletcher had advised her
to learn more of Mr. Hugo before engaging him, but she had thought the
recommendation quite satisfactory which he had brought from his late
employer in L., and his manners and accent were those of a gentleman.
She could not help thinking that some of Mr. Fletcher's distrust of him
arose from annoyance at his advice having been disregarded, and hinted
es much, but Mr. Fletcher only smiled, and made no reply.
The class next day was very much the same that it had been the day
before, except that Mr. Hugo returned the exercises he had taken the
day before, commenting upon the faults he had marked in each. Poor
Annette's paper was covered with many lines, notwithstanding the pains
she had taken, and Emily felt sorry for her as the Professor handed it
back with the not very encouraging remark, that it did not contain one
perfectly correct sentence. Her own was pronounced "tres bien," and
Delia's also seemed without a flaw, though she did not open it, but
placed it carefully in her book.
When the class was dismissed, Emily lingered a moment to talk to Bella
and Lucy, who were endeavoring to console Annette for her failure, and
on trying the door of her room she found it locked. It was a moment
or more before Delia opened it, and Emily thought she looked a little
confused, but she made no remark.
"Let us go and see Kitty," said Delia, after school was dismissed in
the afternoon. "I have not called on her yet, and I want to take her my
strawberries."
Kitty was dressed and sitting by the fire in Mrs. Pomeroy's room,
wrapped in the warm knitted shawl which had been Emily's Christmas
present to her. She was very grateful for the strawberries, and still
more for the remembrance that prompted the gift.
"Every one is so good to me," said she, "that I don't know how to thank
them. Just see what a beautiful shawl Emily made for me! Aunt says it
is the prettiest one she ever saw." And she ran on about it till Emily
was glad to turn her attention to something else, by asking her how she
contrived to amuse herself. The question only gave the sweet little
girl still farther opportunity of expatiating upon the goodness of
every one about her.
Janet had made her a beautiful picture book, which she could look at
when she was unable to read. Miss Thomas had brought her a lovely
little bird from New York, which sang all day long, and Mr. Fletcher
always came to her as soon as school was out, and told her such
charming stories, and he had taught her kittens to play ball just
as Grip did. Then she returned to the shawl, and displayed all its
beauties, till Delia laughingly declared she was growing jealous, and
carried Emily off.
"What a sweet little creature she is!" she remarked, after they had
left the room. "I should almost be willing to be sick, too, to be so
good and gentle. And she is so cheerful, too, notwithstanding all she
suffers. I don't see how it is that she contrives to keep up such good
spirits, do you?"
Emily thought she could understand the source of Kitty's cheerfulness,
but she felt every day less and less inclined to converse on such
matters with Delia, so she turned the subject by reminding her
companion that if they meant to walk in the yard, it was time they were
about it. Hoods and furs were quickly donned, and they were soon pacing
up and down the sunny walk, in front of the house, where many of their
companions, in twos and threes, were enjoying the same exercise.
"Do look at those girls," said Belle Faushane, as she joined them,
and directed their attention to some three or four young ladies (so
styled by courtesy) who had stopped in their promenade as near to the
gates as rules permitted, and were evidently trying to attract the
attention of some young men who were passing. "What fools they do make
of themselves! Every boy that passes, they stop short and look at him.
If I were so very anxious for a beau, I would not show it quite so
plainly. There is Almira Crosby, a grown up woman, almost."
"Quite grown up, I should say," interrupted Delia, laughing; "at best
it is to be hoped that she would not grow any taller."
"Well, but do see her, shaking her long curls, and simpering at that
little slip from the Academy. And there is Sue Dayton, waving her
handkerchief. What a fool she is!"
"Hush, hush, don't call such hard names!" said Lucy Spencer, while
Delia and Emily laughed at Belle's vehement indignation. "Sue is very
steady sometimes—when she is with steady people. I must allow that she
is something of a chameleon, and takes her color a good deal from her
surroundings. If she were always with good girls, she would be a good
girl herself."
The girls laughed, but Emily had an uneasy feeling that Lucy's remarks
might apply to herself, as well as to Susan.
"I wish Mrs. Pomeroy would make Almira cut off those curls," pursued
Belle, who was apt, when excited, to give more than a sufficient
license to her tongue. "I am sure she would have more in the inside
of her head, if there were less on the outside. It runs to ringlets,
instead of to brains."
"Thank you," said Emily, laughing, as she thought of her own heavy
braids. "I suppose that is partly meant for me."
"Oh, your hair is of a more solid character," returned Belle. "It is
not of the wavy and willowy kind. But see, girls, there is Mrs. Pomeroy
looking out of the library window. She will be out here in a moment,
and then for an explosion. I would not be in Sue Dayton's shoes for
something."
Even as she had prophesied, Mrs. Pomeroy no sooner caught sight of the
group of girls which had so roused Belle's indignation, than her cap
disappeared from the window, and in a moment, more appeared at the
door, while in imperative tones she called—"Almira Crosby, Anne Prior,
Susan Dayton, come into the house!"
Horror-struck, they obeyed, and were seen no more that evening, nor did
they again "take their walks abroad," in the front of the house, for a
long time afterward.
For two or three days every thing went on quietly, and Emily began to
hope that Delia had given up her whims. She still persisted in saying
her prayers at night, though they were often sadly hurried and formal,
and she took great pains with all her daily duties, so that she seemed
in a fair way to recover her original standing in school.
Lucy rejoiced in this apparent amendment, for she had been attached to
Emily from the first, and even Belle, who had less confidence in her
stability, began to think she had done her injustice.
Even Emily herself was more comfortable than she had been for a long
time. She had now become fully convinced that her guilty secret was
confined to her own breast, which was great satisfaction to her, and
her perseverance in saying her prayers (from which, however, Delia
never said a word to dissuade her) gave her a much better opinion of
herself. This went on for some days, when an event occurred which at
once dispelled her fancied security, and showed her her true condition.
It happened one day that Delia awoke with a violent sick head-ache, a
disorder to which she was somewhat subject. She persisted in getting
up to breakfast, and tried to keep about as usual, but with all her
resolution, the pain and sickness overcame her, and she was obliged to
go to bed. Emily would have been excused to wait upon her, but this
Delia would not hear of, assuring her that she should be better alone,
and that it was not worth while for her to lose her lessons.
Emily darkened the room and arranged the pillows for her friend, and
then prepared to go down to the French class.
"Be sure you bring up my exercise!" said Delia, rousing herself as
Emily went out. She seemed about to add more, but a fresh paroxysm of
pain seized her, and she sank back with a groan.
Emily closed the door softly, and went down stairs to the lecture room,
where the class was already assembled, receiving a short and sharp
rebuke from the Professor for being behind hand. She made her excuses
by saying that Delia was sick, which Mr. Hugo graciously accepted, and
then proceeded with the lesson.
Annette's exercise was ready as usual, and Mr. Hugo encouraged her with
the remark that she was making great improvement. To do him justice,
he was really in most respects an excellent teacher, though his temper
and patience were of the shortest. He was not the man to explain and
simplify, and go over a lesson with a dull scholar, as Mr. Fletcher
did. If one did not understand at once, that was the end of the matter,
but then his expositions were remarkably clear, and his manner of
speaking fixed the attention, even in spite of one's self.
"I will take Delia's exercise to her, if you please," said Emily, as
the class was dismissed.
Mr. Hugo looked first surprised, and then doubtful. "Did she tell you
to ask for it?" said he, holding it in his hand, as though undecided
what to do.
"Certainly, sir!" replied Emily, wondering at the question.
Mr. Hugo finally handed it to her, with an injunction not to lose
it, and to give it to no one but Delia herself. Two or three of the
girls were standing round the hall stove, discussing some point in the
lesson, apparently relating to Annette's exercise.
"I am sure Annette is right," said Janet Graves; "I remember talking
over that very thing with Mademoiselle last year. It is too bad, to
charge the poor child with more mistakes than she makes. I will look
back at some of my old books, and see what can find about it."
"Look at Delia's exercise, Emily, and see if he has corrected it
there," said Annette. "Delia and myself are writing in the same place."
Unthinkingly Emily opened the carefully folded paper, and cast her eyes
over it, but a single glance showed her that it was not an exercise at
all, and she hastily refolded it, and turned away, saying that she must
go and see how Delia was.
"Only just look at that one thing, Emily," persisted Annette; "because
I really want to know whether it is right or not."
But Emily was already out of hearing.
"How queerly she acted!" said Almira Crosby. "What possible harm could
it do Delia to have her exercise looked at?"
"I don't believe that was it," said Annette. "She was in a hurry, that
was all. You are always imagining things, Almira."
"I keep my eyes and ears open," said Almira, significantly; "and that
is more than some folks do. There are not many things going on in this
house, that I do not see into."
"Especially when they are none of your business," said Belle. "We all
know what a benevolent interest you take in other people's concerns,
Almira. It is rather a pity you should not devote a little of your
spare time to your own affairs, and so save yourself from disgrace
now and then. I don't believe there has been one Friday since school
commenced, that you have not been deficient in something."
"That is none of your business, any way," retorted Almira. "But as to
Delia Mason, she is very close with her affairs. She thinks she can
turn every one round her finger, as she does Emily, but she may find
herself mistaken some day. You must allow that it was very curious in
Emily to make such a fuss about showing a French exercise."
"What a great quantity of bricks you are making, without any straw at
all," said Belle, impatiently. "What was it, after all? Annette asked
to look at Delia's exercise, and Emily said she was in a hurry, and
must go and see to Delia herself. You all know that Delia is sick, and
what was more natural than that Emily should want to get back to her?"
"Dear me, what did I say? You need not be so angry, Belle. I am sure
I have no ill-will against Emily, but I do think it was odd that she
should not want to show that exercise!"
Emily, meanwhile, had escaped to her room. Delia was now sleeping
heavily, her head-aches usually going off in this way, so she sat down
by the darkened window in silence, and began to consider what she ought
to do.
The hasty glance she had taken at the paper, showed her that it was
certainly not a French exercise—not Delia's hand writing at all. It
was clearly a letter. Emily now saw through several things which had
puzzled her very much of late. Delia's great industry in writing her
French exercise, which she always copied carefully, and about which she
would accept no assistance, though she had always heretofore, been glad
to avail herself of Emily's help in her French lessons—her punctuality
at recitations, being always in the school-room several minutes before
any one else. All these matters now become plain as daylight.
Instead of abandoning her schemes, Delia was prosecuting them with
vigor, and holding a close correspondence with her lover in the very
face of her schoolmates and teachers. Emily could not but wonder at her
boldness.
Then the thought occurred to her, that after all she might be entirely
mistaken in the character of the document. It was probably some private
paper of Mr. Hugo's, which he had given her by mistake. This seemed
such a likely supposition, that she accepted it at once, and was ready
to laugh at herself for her fears, but then the Professor's peculiar
manner, recurred to her memory, and she was again in doubt. Finally,
she wished to take another look and satisfy herself. She opened the
paper and glanced at it. There was no mistake! It was clearly a letter,
addressed to his beloved Delia, and signed with the Christian name of
Mr. Hugo.
She was just folding it again, when the sound of her own name startled
her, and looking round, she beheld Delia setting up in bed, and gazing
at her with pale cheeks and lips, and eyes that flashed fire.
"How dare you look at my papers?" was the question uttered in a voice
of such concentrated anger, that she could hardly believe it to be
Delia's.
"What harm is there in looking at your French exercise?" returned
Emily, with a presence of mind which surprised herself. "There is
nothing private in that, is there?"
Delia recovered herself with a visible effort and said more calmly,
"There is no use in our trying to deceive each other, Emily. You
have seen now, if you did not know before, that that paper is not an
exercise."
"I have," replied Emily, "much to my regret. I hoped you had given up
the whole thing."
"Did I not tell you that I would never give it up?" asked Delia. "I
should be very foolish to do so now, when I have the game in my own
hands."
"You must not expect me to help you about it," said Emily firmly. "I
will have nothing more to do with it."
"What is the matter now?" asked Delia coolly. "Another fit of
conscience, I suppose. They don't last long, that is one comfort."
"You will find it will last this time, however," said Emily with
spirit. "I am determined not to have that on my conscience at any rate,
and so I tell you frankly, that you need not ask me to help you in any
way or shape. I love you, Delia, and I won't have any thing to do with
your ruining yourself, as I am sure you will."
"Thank you," said Delia composedly, "perhaps your affection for me may
lead you to betray me to Mrs. Pomeroy."
"I do not think I shall do that, though I will not promise. I think if
you persist, it will be my duty to do so."
"I hope your duty will lead you to confess your sins at the same time,"
said Delia, betraying no signs of perturbation, but rising from her bed
and beginning to arrange her hair and dress as she spoke.
"About the debts do you mean. That is all settled, and the bills are
paid, so there is no more to be said about it."
"Unless Mrs. Pomeroy should happen to ask you where you get your
money to pay them. I think you would find that rather an embarrassing
question."
"Mrs. Pomeroy knows that Cousin David sent me some money, and I
borrowed some of you. It is against rules to borrow I know, but,—"
"But you know," said Delia, interrupting her; "that your cousin only
sent you ten dollars; and I lent you five, while the bills amounted to
almost twice that amount. Where did the rest of the money come from,
and how did it happen that you did not have it on Wednesday evening,
and did have it on Thursday morning? Isn't it, then, rather a curious
coincidence between that fact and the circumstance that a ten dollar
bill was unaccountably lost about that very time? And wont Mrs. Pomeroy
be very apt to put these circumstances together, even if no body does
it for her? Kitty, poor child, need not have been so very grateful for
her shawl, if she had known whose money paid for it."
Emily did not answer, and Delia turning round to observe the effect of
her words, discovered that her room-mate had fainted away.