ABOUT half past eleven o'clock, when all was quiet in the house, Delia
and Emily slipped on their frocks and cloaks, and taking a pitcher, to
serve as an excuse if they happened to be caught, they stole quietly
down stairs, and out at the school-room door into the garden. The moon
was full, and shone with extraordinary brilliancy.
Not a sound was to be heard except the babble of the brook, and the
distant barking of a dog; not a mouse seemed to stir in all the long
range of buildings belonging to the Seminary, yet Emily felt strangely
timid, as setting her pitcher on the well, she walked with Delia down
one of the long alleys. She could not help peeping uneasily into every
shadowy nook by the side of the path. The evergreen shrubs took strange
and suspicious shapes; there were unaccountable rustlings in the
hedges, and their footsteps echoed so strangely upon the flags that she
could not help glancing behind her more than once, under the impression
that they were followed by something.
Delia did not seem inclined for conversation, so that Emily had full
leisure to work herself up to the highest state of excitement, and
she nearly screamed aloud when the tall cloaked figure of a man rose
abruptly from behind the group of arbor vitæ bushes, which shaded a
rustic garden seat near the end of the long alley.
Delia grasped her arm hard.
"Hush, you little fool! Don't you see that it is Mr. Hugo?"
"Apparently Miss Emily is timid," remarked Mr. Hugo, seeming by no
means pleased at seeing her. "I think, Delia, you would have been much
wiser to have left her behind. She has clearly no taste for adventure."
"I did not wish to come without a companion," replied Delia. "Emily is
in my confidence, and I have no reason to distrust her."
Mr. Hugo did not seem quite satisfied, and murmured something which was
lost in his overhanging moustache. He then gave his arm to Delia, and
they walked away together, leaving Emily struck dumb with consternation
and shame.
To what a transaction had she made herself a party? It was clearly no
accidental meeting. Delia had contrived the whole affair before hand,
and it was doubtless her failure to meet her engagement of the evening
before, which had put Mr. Hugo so out of temper in the morning. If
she had guessed at the object of this stolen expedition, she thought
she would have refused, at all hazards, to have any participation
in the matter. And yet, what good would that have done? Delia would
have come alone, which would have been much worse, and she might have
precipitated her own disgrace.
She looked anxiously after the promenaders, and felt much relieved to
see that they had reached the limit of the walk and turned back, for at
first she had been in dread of an actual elopement.
She walked up and down uneasily for a while, and then sat down on
the garden seat—that very seat where she had once been accustomed
to come on Sunday afternoons to read her Bible, and tried to enjoy
the prospect. There was the village spread out before her, with its
peaceful homes sleeping in the moonlight, its graceful spires and
towers pointing the way to heaven—nearer lay the still more peaceful
city of the dead, the grave-stones and monuments glistening in the
moonlight, and, conspicuous among them the tall white marble pillar,
surmounted by a cross, which marked that portion of the ground
appropriated to the Seminary. Far away stretched the lake, blue and
beautiful, closed in by high hills, which might almost be called
mountains.
But "all these things pleased not her eye," for it is only to the pure
heart and tranquil spirit that great nature unveils her fair and awful
beauty, and neither of these were Emily's. The wonderful creation might
as well have been a blank for all her enjoyment of its glories, and the
holy quiet of the hour brought her no peace, for there is no peace,
saith God, to the wicked.
For a long, long hour, she sat in the arbor, or walked backward and
forward upon the stones, shivering with the cold, terrified at every
rustle of the branches, and wondering when the conference would be
finished. At last, to her great delight, the pair separated. Mr. Hugo
departed, and was heard softly to close the garden gate, and Delia
returned to her companion, with something in her hand, which she
slipped hastily into her pocket.
"You poor child!" said she, kissing Emily. "What a stupid time you have
had here by yourself. It was too bad to serve you so, but I did not see
how to help it, for come I must, and I dared not come alone."
"If I had had any idea of your object," Emily began, but Delia
interrupted her—
"Do you mean to say that you really had no idea? Did you think I was
going to take all that trouble only for the sake of a walk? Oh, Emily,
what a little goose you are!"
"But how dare you do such a thing? If Mrs. Pomeroy should find you out—"
"Nothing venture, nothing have," said Delia. "Besides, I don't mean
that she shall find me out. I wish I were as sure of another person as
I am of her."
"Who do you mean?"
"Mr. Fletcher! I do fear that man in spite of myself. He never turns
his eyes upon me, but I feel as though he could read me through and
through. I wish he were a thousand miles off. Mr. Hugo fears him as
much as I do, and hates him, too; I believe he would kill him, if he
dared."
"Oh, Delia,—kill Mr. Fletcher!" exclaimed Emily, in horror.
"My dear child, you need not take every word one says so absolutely
literally. I do not suppose he would kill him outright, but he wishes
him out of his way. But come, we must hurry in, and remember if we meet
any one, we have only been out for some water."
They filled their pitcher accordingly, and returned by the same way
they had come out, but on opening the garden door they were confronted
by Miss Thomas, in her wrapper and with a lamp in her hand. Her hair
was decidedly disordered, and the want of her front teeth, which she
had forgotten in her hurry to make sure of the culprits, did not add to
the dignity of her appearance.
"So, Miss Mason!" was her salutation. "I have caught you at last, have
I!"
"So it seems, Miss Thomas," was the cool reply. "But are you not afraid
of taking cold with no shoes or stockings, on these cold floors?"
"Umph!" returned Miss Thomas, rather taken aback by the calmness of
the culprit, whom she had supposed would be too much abashed to utter
a word. "I should like to know what has taken you out at this time of
night?"
"I went to get some water," replied Delia, holding up her pitcher! "It
is against rules I know, but the salt beef made me so thirsty that—"
"That you had to walk up and down the garden for an hour with a
gentlemen," interrupted Miss Thomas. "Go to your room, both of you, and
don't leave it till you have permission. I shall tell Mrs. Pomeroy all
about it, and see what she says to such goings on."
"I propose to tell her the story myself, Miss Thomas," said Delia, with
a dignity which might have become the Queen of Sheba herself. "If I
have committed a fault, I have no intention of concealing it. Meantime,
let me advise you not to make slanderous assertions, which you have no
means of sustaining, lest you get into trouble yourself."
"Go to your room without another word," said the angry teacher. "We
shall see whether I can sustain my accusation or not!"
Delia made no answer, except to shut the door in her face, when she
attempted to enter the room, for the purpose of continuing her lecture.
Emily had not spoken one word. She was no adept at making excuses, and
she perceived that Delia was perfectly competent to sustain the warfare
with Miss Thomas, but her heart sank as she thought of being summoned
to Mrs. Pomeroy's presence on the morrow.
"Oh, Delia, what shall we do now?" were her first words, after the door
had closed upon Miss Thomas and her exhortations. "I don't see but we
are ruined outright."
"We are in a scrape, certainly," replied Delia, beginning to undress.
"But I have been as badly off before, and I think I see my way out."
"That is more than I do," said Emily. "What can we possibly say to Mrs.
Pomeroy? Who would have thought Miss Thomas could see so far?"
"She did not see, she only guessed," returned Delia. "I saw how she
winced when I told her she had no proof. Every one in the house knows
that she is as near-sighted as a bat, besides being old. I shall tell
Mrs. Pomeroy frankly, that after filling our pitcher, we were tempted
by the beauty of the night to take a walk in the garden, and stayed
longer than we intended. Then we shall get a lecture, and a long piece
of French or Latin to learn by heart, and perhaps be forbidden to go
out two or three weeks, and that will be the end of the matter. Miss
Thomas is not such a favorite with Mrs. Pomeroy that she will be a very
partial judge where she is concerned. Oh no, it is not nearly as bad as
you think.
"Dear me, if you knew some of the things the girls used to do at the
Gymnasium—this is not a circumstance. The rules there were ten times
more strict than they are here, and I am sure there was forty times as
much mischief going on. The girls were forbidden even to raise their
eyes when they passed a man in the street, and they were not allowed to
walk in front of the house at all. It was perfectly ridiculous, and did
no good either. But come, dear, go to sleep, and leave the whole to me.
I promise you it shall all go right, yet."
Delia's confidence restored some degree of courage to Emily, though she
could not keep her heart from sinking, as she thought of meeting Mrs.
Pomeroy's eye in the morning. Of that other Eye, from which no secrets
are hid, she had almost ceased to think. She had silenced the voice of
conscience so long and so determinedly, that the inward monitor now
seldom made itself heard, though there was all the time a dull, heavy
pain pressing on her heart, and paralyzing her energies. She turned and
tossed, and finally fell into an unquiet slumber, which seemed to have
lasted only a few minutes, when the rising bell rung, and reminded her
of all that was before her.
As the girls were forbidden to leave their rooms, they did not go down
to breakfast. No sooner were prayers over, than the monitress appeared
with the much dreaded summons to attend Mrs. Pomeroy in the library.
Why is it, that the study or the library must always be the place of
fear in every boarding school? So it almost invariably is, and so it
was at Mrs. Pomeroy's, and few were they who entered its precincts
on any special summons without a shudder. The lady principal now sat
enthroned in awful state upon her velvet covered chair, dignified as
usual, but evidently somewhat ruffled. Near her sat Miss Thomas, her
cheeks flushed, and her little black eyes sparkling, clearly not in a
very sweet humor.
"Good morning, young ladies," said Mrs. Pomeroy, with dignity. "Be
pleased to sit down."
The girls curtseyed, and obeyed in silence, and she proceeded. "I am
sorry to say, I am informed by Miss Thomas of great misconduct upon
your part. I am told that you, or one of you, was walking in the garden
at a late hour last night, and in very improper company." She paused a
moment, and then went on. "It would be much better for you to confess
your fault at once, than to make any attempt to conceal it."
"I have no desire for concealment, Mrs. Pomeroy," answered Delia,
respectfully, "nor has Emily. That we did very wrong, I acknowledge,
and I am ready to tell you the whole story, as I should have done to
Miss Thomas last night, but she did not seem disposed to listen."
"How dare you—" began Miss Thomas, but Mrs. Pomeroy waived her hand.
"Allow me, Miss Thomas—Proceed, Delia. I presume you speak for your
companion, as well as for yourself."
"I do," said Delia. "Emily and I both ate a good deal of dried beef for
tea, which made us very thirsty. We had no water in the room except the
cistern water, which, you know, is not quite fit to drink at present."
"It is true!" assented Mrs. Pomeroy. "The cisterns are to be cleaned
to-day, but go on, my dear."
"My dear," was always a sign of approaching fine weather with Mrs.
Pomeroy.
Miss Thomas moved uneasily in her chair, and Delia went on modestly,
but steadily.
"I proposed to Emily, that rather than suffer from thirst all night,
we should go down and get some water. We should have asked permission,
but it was late, and Miss Thomas was asleep, and knowing how much she
has lately suffered from toothache, we were unwilling to disturb her.
So we put on our clothes and went down as quietly as we could, and when
we got out, the night was so fine that we were tempted to take a ramble
in the garden. We got talking down by the arbor, and stayed out longer
than we intended. It was very wrong, and we are ready to apologize, and
submit to the penalty. I am sure, Emily, I may speak for you as well as
myself."
Emily, who had hidden her face in her handkerchief; murmured assent.
"But Miss Thomas declares, that standing at her bed-room window, she
saw you walking up and down the garden with a gentleman," said Mrs.
Pomeroy. "How was that?"
"Courage!" thought Delia. "If she came no nearer than the bed-room
window, we are safe and she has cornered herself." Such was her
thought, but she answered as modestly as before—
"If I might be permitted to ask Miss Thomas a few questions, without
being considered disrespectful—"
"Certainly," said Mrs. Pomeroy, as she paused for a reply. "It is but
just that you should have every opportunity of defending yourself."
"Will Miss Thomas please to tell me how many people she saw walking in
the garden, from her bed-room window?"
"I saw two people," said Miss Thomas.
"That is to say, myself or Emily, and a gentleman in a cloak."
"Of course!" returned the teacher, evidently much irritated by Delia's
questions, and her studiedly respectful manner. "A gentleman in a long
cloak. Have you done?"
"Not quite," replied Delia, in the same even tone. "Will you have the
goodness, Miss Thomas, to read, from where you are sitting the third
row of figures upon that blackboard?" Pointing to one which had been
used in a recitation, and left with the figures upon it.
"Nonsense!" said Miss Thomas, coloring deeply, and looking just ready
to explode with anger. "I shall do no such thing."
Delia looked at Mrs. Pomeroy, and was delighted to see the first dawn
of a smile on her countenance. She began to see what Delia was aiming
at, and could not help being amused at her ingenuity.
"Read the figures, if you please, Miss Thomas," said she mildly. "What
possible objection can you have to doing so? They are very plainly
written."
"I can't see them," said Miss Thomas, bursting out at last. "I cannot
tell one line from another, at this distance, and you know I can't."
"I have but little more to say," continued Delia, without manifesting
any triumph at the success of her experiment. "Miss Thomas says that
she only two people walking in the garden, and we have both confessed
to being there. She cannot see to read a line of large white figures
on a black ground at the distance of four yards, so it is no great
wonder that she should mistake poor Emily, in her long black cloak and
fur cap, for a gentleman, especially as she seemed to have made up her
mind that there must be a beau in the case, any how. I do not mean to
say any thing disrespectful, but I must say I think she should furnish
herself with more substantial proofs, before bringing such accusations
against young ladies of good character. I do not think either my
father, or Emily's, would be at all pleased to think that we had been
subjected to such suspicions."
Delia spoke with a propriety and dignity which might have prepossessed
the sternest judge in her favor, and the apparently free confession
of her real fault, had great weight with Mrs. Pomeroy, who valued
frankness above all things. Miss Thomas' defective vision was well
known to every one, notwithstanding the absurd pains she took to
conceal it. She was, moreover, extremely suspicious in her temperament,
and apt to draw conclusions from what she imagined, than from what she
really saw; and consequently her word had less weight with Mrs. Pomeroy
than that of any other teacher in the school. This being the case, Mrs.
Pomeroy was quite willing to give the girls the benefit of the doubt
which evidently existed, and consider the whole matter as nothing more
than a girlish frolic. So she gave them due praise for their openness,
and a kind admonition to do better in future, appointed them an act of
Athalie to learn by heart, (she always gave punishment lessons out of
Athalie), and dismissed them to their duties. Emily was crying too much
to speak, but Delia said, and this time with real feeling:
"You are very kind, Mrs. Pomeroy. I shall try to act in such a manner,
in future, that you shall never regret your goodness to me to-day. Miss
Thomas, I am sorry that I spoke disrespectfully to you last evening,
and I beg your pardon."
Miss Thomas received this apology with a kind of snort, making no other
reply, but the moment the door closed behind the girls, she opened her
fire upon Mrs. Pomeroy.
"So this is the reward I get for my faithfulness in your behalf,
ma'am—losing my rest, and endangering my health, to be browbeaten and
put down in your very presence, ma'am, by those who can pull the wool
over your eyes by a few fine speeches. But this is the last time I
shall expose myself in your service—" She paused for lack of breath.
"You are exposing yourself now, without doing any one service, least of
all, yourself," answered Mrs. Pomeroy, calmly. "I appreciate your good
qualities, Miss Thomas, and desire to bear with your infirmities—"
"Infirmities! ma'am—infirmities. I should beg respectfully to know what
they are? I know I am a sinful mortal, of course, like every one else,
but I should like to know what fault you, or any one else, have to find
with me?"
"But I must beg to remind you, that I am always accustomed to be
mistress in my own house," pursued Mrs. Pomeroy, with a slight smile.
"As to your implied threat of leaving, you are at liberty to fulfil
it at any day or hour you choose, though I should advise you to think
well, before taking such a step, where you are likely to meet with
another engagement. The clock is striking ten, and my history class
will be in directly. I advise you to go to your room, and endeavor to
compose yourself before returning to the school-room!"
Miss Thomas obeyed, determined at first to seek another home, without
delay, but before dinner, cool reflection came, and convinced her that
she had better be quiet. Not one person in twenty, she well knew, would
have as much patience with her as her present principal, to whom she
was at heart deeply attached, and, as Mrs. Pomeroy had hinted, another
engagement would probably not be attainable at that time of the year.
So she swallowed her resentment, apologized for her violence, and fell
again into her usual train of school duties.
"Well," said Emily, after they had reached their room, "we really have
got off a good deal better than I expected. I never believed that even
you could have managed matters so cleverly, though, after all, that
French lesson is no joke. It will take all our play time for ever so
long."
"I think you might be thankful that there was nothing worse," said
Delia. "Mrs. Pomeroy was so kind, and so ready to believe me, that it
made me feel more ashamed than ever I did before in my life, to think
she should trust me, when I was deceiving her so. When a person is
always watching and spying, and seems to take pleasure in finding one
out in mischief, as Miss Thomas does, I don't at all mind setting my
wits against her, but I must say, I could not help feeling very mean
and contemptible, in my own mind, to think of the confidence I was
betraying."
"What can you think of Mr. Hugo then?" Emily ventured to ask. "I am
sure he is betraying Mrs. Pomeroy's confidence in the very worst way
possible."
"I know it," said Delia in a low voice, and after a little silence, she
continued: "I thought of that very thing this morning, and what surety
have I that he will not serve me in the same way?"
"Oh, Delia, if you would only think so," exclaimed Emily overjoyed.
"If you would only give him up! Then the whole thing would be past and
gone, and we should be so happy."
"You might be happy, but I never could," returned Delia, shaking her
head. "There is the trouble of playing with edge tools! I cared for
nothing but the fun at first, but it is very different now." She walked
to the window as she spoke, and stood a few minutes looking out. "But
I might refuse to have any more secret meetings or correspondence with
him," said she presently returning. "I shall leave school pretty soon,
and then there will be nothing to prevent the affair going on openly.
I have property of my own, left me by my mother, and there will be
nothing to prevent his marrying, if we are so disposed."
"I don't believe you would be," said Emily. "You would feel differently
by that time."
"Possibly!" returned Delia. She mused for some time, and then said
suddenly, "That is what I will do, Emily. I am resolved. I must see him
once more to tell him of my determination, and after that I will have
nothing more to do with the matter for the present. He will be very
angry, I know, and I cannot blame him, but I cannot help it."
"Then you ought to give him back his presents and his letters," said
Emily, anxious to bring the whole affair to a conclusion at once.
"Of course!" said Delia. "And so I will. We agreed to burn each other's
letters, and so they are disposed of, but I will return the ring and
bracelet, and the book he gave me last night."
She rose as she spoke, and took down the dress she had worn the evening
before, but on putting her hand into the pocket, it was empty. The book
was gone!
"What is the matter?" asked Emily surprised and terrified at Delia's
sudden change of countenance. "What has happened?"
"I have lost that book," said Delia, sitting down in the chair that
Emily hastily placed for her. "I must have dropped it, instead of
putting it into my pocket. If it is found, I am ruined."
"What was the book?" asked Emily. "Was your name in it?"
"I don't even know the title of it," replied Delia, "nor whether my
name was in it or not. He gave it to me and told me to read it. How
careless I was! What shall I do?"
"I don't see that you can do any thing just now," said Emily after some
consideration. "If you dropped it on the walk, or in the arbor, it
must have been found long before this time. If your name is not in it,
you are not obliged to know any thing about it, since you can say with
truth that you never read even the title."
"Upon my word, Emily, for a young lady who was afraid to tell even a
white lie a few months ago, that is a pretty fine calculation. I should
say you had made pretty good progress in your education."
"If I have, you are the very last person to reproach me with it," said
Emily, with bitterness. "I am your pupil, and you have spared no pains
to teach me, either by precept or example."
"We will neither of us reproach the other, Emily. If I have harmed you,
you have done as much for me. I believe Lucy Spencer and Mr. Fletcher
would have converted me before this time, if your example had not
always been before my eyes, to show me how much religious professions
are worth. But as I said, reproaches are useless. I have now only to
await my fate with as much philosophy as I can."
"Don't give up in despair," said Emily. "I will go out and look as soon
as the French class is dismissed, and it is possible after all that I
may find it. You need not go."
"Thank you, but there would be more risk than good in doing so. Most
likely some one has found it before this time, and the very fact of
your being seen searching for any thing will excite suspicion."
"But I really did lose something yesterday, Delia—a lead pencil with an
ivory head. If any one asks me a question, I can say I am looking for
that."
"Just as you please," was the reply, "but don't accuse me of asking
you to tell lies for me. I don't mean to be ungracious, dear, but I am
so tired and sick of the whole concern. I shall manage to see Mr. Hugo
when class is out, and do you wait for me up here. Heigho! I wish it
was over. I know he will be so angry."
As soon as class was over, Delia approached Mr. Hugo with a paper,
and requested him to look over and correct a French letter, which she
had been writing to a former schoolmate. He took the hint at once,
dismissed the other young ladies, and Emily went up to her room to
dispose of her books.
She could not help hoping that the worst of her troubles was over.
Delia was evidently heartily sick of the part she had been playing
and seriously desirous of throwing it up. The loss of the book was
unfortunate, but after all her name might not be in it, and then no one
need know to whom it had belonged. She put on her bonnet and went down
to the garden, which she found quite deserted, for the morning was raw
and cold. She was walking slowly along, looking carefully on each side
the path, when she almost ran against some one, and looking up, she
beheld Mr. Fletcher. She would rather have seen almost any one else.
"What are you searching for, Emily?" said he, rather sternly.
"For my pencil, sir," replied Emily, quietly, for she had, as Delia
remarked, made great progress in the art of lying. "I think I dropped
it here, yesterday, when I was walking and here it is, sure enough,"
she added, stooping down and picking it up. "It lies between the stones
as nicely as if it had been put there for safe keeping."
She turned to go into the house, but Mr. Fletcher detained her.
"Do you know any thing about this book?" he asked, holding up a small
volume elegantly gilded and ornamented, which he took from his pocket.
"No sir, I never saw it before," replied Emily. So far as words went,
she spoke truth, for she had never seen the book at all. "What is it?"
"It is a book I should be very sorry to see in the hands of any young
lady in this school," replied Mr. Fletcher, holding out the volume as
if it had been a cock-roach, or something worse. "It is a French novel,
of the very worst class. I cannot conceive who should have brought such
a thing here."
"Is there no name in it?" asked Emily, trembling at her own boldness in
putting the question.
"None whatever, but quite a tender inscription, as though it had been
presented to some one. Grip found it under one of the currant bushes,
and brought it to me in his mouth. I only hope it won't poison him."
"Mr. Hugo often walks in the garden, between the classes," Emily
ventured to suggest. "Perhaps it belongs to him!"
"Perhaps so!" said Mr. Fletcher, putting the offending volume in his
pocket again. "If so, I must give him a hint not to sow such poisonous
weeds in our grounds."
He detained her a moment with some remarks as to the propriety of
carefulness in reading, and then went into the house, followed by
Cornelius Agrippa, who certainly showed no signs of being poisoned.
With a light heart, Emily returned to her room, where she found Delia
standing by the window, apparently absorbed looking out.
"Good news, Delia!" she exclaimed, joyfully. "The book is found, but
no harm is done. Grip discovered it, and carried it to his master, but
there is no name in it, and Mr. Fletcher has not the least suspicion,
except that he thinks it may belong to Mr. Hugo. So don't let us
trouble ourselves any more about that."
Delia turned round, as Emily spoke. She was ashy pale, and seemed
unable to speak, though she tried, but as Emily went up to her in
alarm, she put her arm round her neck, and laying her head on her
shoulder, burst into a passionate fit of weeping. It was the first time
Emily had ever seen her shed a tear.