A STARTLING DISCOVERY.
All through her dreams that night Daisy sobbed and moaned. Primrose,
lying awake by her side, felt more and more alarmed and concerned.
What was the matter with her little sister? She felt completely
puzzled. The bright little castle in the air she and Jasmine had been
building; the cheerful thought of the cosy rooms which the girls were
to share together in their friend's house; the dear delight of having
furniture of their very own again; all these very healthful and
natural dreams were fading and fading, for whenever Primrose even
alluded to their leaving their present quarters Daisy clutched her
hand, and looked at her with such pleading eyes, and used hurried
words of such anguished entreaty, that at last the eldest sister felt
obliged to say--
"We will stay where we are, Daisy, until you wish to leave."
Then the poor little thin face relaxed into a wan smile, the lids
drooped over the tired blue eyes, and the child slept more
peacefully.
When Primrose felt her head, however, it was feverish, and her little
hands burned to the touch. She went into the next room and called
Jasmine.
"Jasmine," she said, "I am going round to Mrs. Egerton's; I am going
to tell her all about Daisy's alarm and terror. I am going to consult
her, for I know she means to be a good friend to us. Jasmine, promise
me one thing--don't leave Daisy alone while I am out. I cannot in the
least understand how it happened, but I feel sure she must have got
some fright when you were out last night."
"Oh, she couldn't have," answered Jasmine--"I locked the door after
me. I never leave Daisy alone without locking the door. I won't leave
her now, of course, Primrose--I will take my little writing table
close to her bedside, and if she wakes I can read her a part of my
novel."
Primrose gave one or two more directions, and then hurried out, and
Jasmine, after she had washed up the breakfast things, and put the
little sitting-room perfectly tidy, moved her small writing-table into
the bedroom, and sat down by Daisy's side. She was in the scribbling
stage of her great work, and with her head bent low, her cheeks
flushed, and her fingers much stained with ink, was writing away with
great rapidity, when she was startled by some very earnest words from
the little sleeper.
"Oh, no, indeed, Mr. Dove--oh no, you may be quite certain. I know
where I'd go if I told a lie, of course, Mr. Dove. Yes, yes, you are
my friend, and I'm your friend--yes, yes."
"Daisy, do wake up," said Jasmine; "you are talking such rubbish about
Mr. Dove, and about telling lies, and Mr. Dove being your friend--open
your eyes, Daisy, and let me give you such a nice little breakfast."
"Is that you, Jasmine?" said Daisy--"I thought you were Mr. Dove--I
was asleep, and I was dreaming."
"Yes, Eyebright, and talking in your dreams," said Jasmine, stooping
down and kissing her.
Daisy held one of Jasmine's hands very tightly.
"Did I say anything, Jasmine--anything that you shouldn't
hear--anything about--about sticky sweetmeats, Jasmine?"
"No, you silly pet, not a word. Now sit up in bed, and let me give you
your breakfast. Daisy, I really do think my novel is going to be a
great success. I am going to put Mr. Dove into it, and Mrs. Dove, and
Tommy Dove, and our dear old Poppy, and of course ourselves. One
reason why I feel so confident that the novel will be a success is
that _all_ the characters will be sketched from the life."
"But please don't put in about the Doves," said Daisy. "I think they
are such dread--I mean, of course, they are my friends, particularly
Mr. Dove, he's my real, real friend, but I mean that I don't think
they'd come well into a book, Jasmine--I don't think they're book
people a bit--book people should be princes and knights and lovely
ladies, and there should be no houses, and no attics, only there might
be fairy palaces, and all the little girls should be happy, and kept
safe from ogres--the little girls in the books shouldn't even have an
ogre for a friend. Oh, Jasmine, Jasmine! I'm so very miserable!"
Daisy again broke into weak sobs, and poor Jasmine could scarcely
soothe her.
A little before noon Primrose and Miss Egerton, and a tall, grave,
kind-looking man, who went by the name of Dr. Griffiths, and was a
great friend of Miss Egerton's, came up the stairs.
Both Dove and his wife saw them go, and Dove shook his hand at Dr.
Griffiths, as that gentleman walked up the stairs. They all three went
into the attics, and the doctor had a long talk with the little
patient--he felt her pulse and her head, and looked into her eyes, and
tried to induce her to laugh, and did succeed in getting one little
startled and half-frightened sound from the child; then he went back
into the sitting-room, and had a long talk with Primrose and Miss
Egerton. The upshot of this was that Miss Egerton went sorrowfully
away, for the doctor absolutely forbade the girls to move from their
present quarters for another week or fortnight. At the end of that
time he said Daisy would be better, and might have got over the
foolish fancy which now troubled her, but for the time being she must
be yielded to, and at any risk kept easy in her mind.
Miss Egerton went very sorrowfully away, and upstairs to the rooms she
meant to make so pretty.
"There is no special hurry about the furnishing, Bridget," she said to
her servant. "Little Miss Daisy is too ill to be moved for the
present."
"The men have come round to be paid for the bits of furniture,
leastways, ma'am," answered Bridget, "and the foreman from the other
shop is standing in the hall, and wants to know if you'll settle with
him now, or if he shall call again."
"I'll settle with him now, Bridget. Dear Miss Primrose left some money
in my charge yesterday morning, and I can pay the man at once."
One of the rules of Miss Egerton's life was never to leave a bill
unpaid for twenty-four hours, if possible--she hated accounts, and
always paid ready money for everything. She now ran downstairs, and
unlocking her desk, took out Mr. Danesfield's envelope. Primrose had
begged of her to open it when the bills came in, and pay for the
furniture--Primrose seemed to have an absolute prejudice against
unfastening that envelope herself.
Miss Egerton opened it slowly now, smiling as she did so at the quaint
inscription on the cover. A folded sheet of paper lay within--she
spread the paper before her, expecting to see the three five-pound
notes folded within its leaves--blankness and emptiness alone met her
view--no money was inside the envelope--the whole thing was a cruel
fraud. The poor governess fairly gasped for breath--there lay the bill
for six pounds nineteen shillings which she had incurred, making sure
that she could meet it out of Primrose's money. Primrose had spoken so
confidently about her little nest-egg, and behold, she had not
any!--the envelope was a fraud--the girl had been subjected to a cruel
practical joke.
Miss Egerton was extremely poor--it was with the utmost difficulty she
could make two ends meet. She thought hard for a minute--then her brow
cleared, and she rose to her feet.
"Better I than those orphan girls!" she said, under her breath, and
then she went to her desk again, and filled in a cheque for the
amount.
"I can do without my winter cloak, and my black merino dress will last
me for some weeks longer if I sponge it with cold tea, and re-line the
tail," she said to herself. "Any little privation is better than to
hurt the hearts of the orphan girls."
She paid the man, who signed the receipt, and then she let him out
herself. As she did so a young man came hastily up the steps--he had a
bright face, and running up to the governess, he seized both her hands
in his.
"Oh, Arthur, how glad I am to see you!" said Miss Egerton.