WHEN THE LIGHTNING STRUCK
"Hurry up Bev! You'll be late for breakfast. You've done some sleeping
since ten o'clock last night," called Sally, pounding upon the door of
bedroom A, but getting no response.
Aileen had already knocked and called without eliciting a reply, and both
the girls were worried but tried not to show it. When ten more minutes
passed in silence Aileen looked troubled and asked:
"Do you think she is ill? Ought we to call Miss Stetson?"
"Miss Stetson!" snapped Sally. "If she is ill she would rather see the
old Nick himself than Miss Stetson. I'll run and get Mrs. Bonnell."
In spite of her anxiety Aileen laughed. True enough, Miss Stetson was not
exactly the person to call in when one was ill. "That's true, Mrs.
Bonnell will be the one to call. But I wish Bev _would_ answer. It scares
me almost to death. And I'd like right well to know what happened last
night. Beverly Ashby is not the sort of girl to go up in the air over
nothing, believe me, but she was pretty high up last night. Do go for
Bonny, Sally. I'm too nervous to wait another minute."
"All right," and away sped Sally down the corridor. As she reached the
foot of the stairs she almost ran into Wesley.
"Has yo' heard what done happen las' night, Miss Sally?" he asked
excitedly.
"No. What was it?" asked Sally eagerly.
"Miss Bev'ly's hawse done been stole f'om de stable; saddle, bridle an'
all."
"Never!" cried Sally.
"Yas ma'am, dey done been! Jeff'son yonder in de study a-tellin' Miss
Woodhull 'bout it right dis minute," and Wesley hurried away to the
dining room.
"Apache stolen! Oh----" Sally gasped. She recalled the words which
Beverly had spoken the very first hour of their acquaintance: "It would
take very little to make me light out for Woodbine."
Six months had passed since those words had been spoken, and during those
months Beverly had known some lonely hours as well as happy ones; she had
been made miserable more than once by Miss Bayliss, Miss Stetson and Miss
Woodhull, who seemed to have conceived a most unmerited dislike for the
girl. Sally knew nothing of Miss Woodhull's dislike for Admiral Seldon
because he had presumed to question her policy, nor could a girl of
Sally's sweet nature possibly understand the smallness of one which would
take out upon a defenceless young girl the resentment which she harbored
toward her older relative. Nevertheless, that was precisely the
situation, and Miss Stetson and Miss Bayliss were Miss Woodhull's
mirrors.
Sally soon found Mrs. Bonnell and together they hurried up stairs. But
Mrs. Bonnell was no more successful in getting a response to her calls
than the girls had been.
"Sally, can you climb?" she asked.
"Yes, Mrs. Bonnell," answered Sally wholly bewildered.
"Then crawl through your window and along the roof to Beverly's. I'm not
going to stir up a fuss unless I am compelled to. Look in and tell me
what you see. Be careful, dear," she ended as Sally scuttled over the
window sill. They leaned out to watch her. She gave a little cry when she
discovered that the room was empty.
"What is it?" they asked in a breath.
"She--she isn't there at all," gasped Sally.
"Not there! Raise the window and go in and unfasten the door, Sally. Be
quick for the breakfast bell will ring in a few minutes."
Sally did as bidden. The room was as undisturbed as it had been twelve
hours before.
Aileen ran to the closet. "Her riding things are gone!" she cried.
"And Wesley just told me that Apache had been stolen in the night,"
wailed Sally.
"There is more to this than we thought," said Mrs. Bonnell considerably
perturbed. "Now I _must_ report to Miss Woodhull."
She turned and hurried from the room but had not gone ten steps down the
corridor when she met that lady with wrath and fire in her eye.
"What is this fresh annoyance concerning Beverly Ashby? Jefferson has
just told me that her horse was stolen in the night. A likely story! It
is some new deception upon her part. Such duplicity it has never been my
misfortune to encounter. I wish to speak to her at once," stormed the
principal, striding into the study.
Now to be responsible for a young girl not yet sixteen years of age, and
one whose family is widely known throughout the entire state, and to
discover that said young lady has been missing from beneath one's roof
all night, is, to say the least, disconcerting. For the first time in her
domineering life the Empress was thoroughly alarmed. Alarmed for
Beverly's safety, the reputation of the school, and, last, but by no
means least, for what such a denouement might bring to pass in the future
financial outlook for her business. The school had paid well, but how
long would its patronage continue if the facts of this case became widely
known?
Miss Woodhull was an alien in the land of her adoption. She had never
tried to be anything else. She had established herself at Leslie Manor
because she wished to acquire health and wealth, and she had achieved her
objects to a wonderful degree. But she had made no friends. She did not
wish to make friends among the Southerners. She despised them and all
their customs, and though in the beginning they had made many gracious
overtures of friendship she had repulsed them at every turn. Consequently
they soon began to regard her with indifference if not with contempt.
There was absolutely nothing in common between them. She was merely a
business proposition in their midst. Their children could acquire beneath
her roof the education they desired for them, and there it ended. If, as
rumor stated, she really came of gentle Northern blood it must have
received a very peculiar infusion in her immediate forebears. They missed
something of the noblesse oblige which was to them as a matter of course.
So with each passing year the gulf had imperceptibly widened until Miss
Woodhull was as much alone in hospitable Virginia as though she lived in
Borneo.
Upon realizing that Beverly was really missing her first impulse was to
phone to Kilton Hall, for, of course, she had risen early and rushed off
to see Athol. Miss Woodhull's blood boiled at the thought! Kilton Hall of
all places the one she detested most. It had been a thorn in her flesh
from the moment she knew of its existence for its policy was
diametrically opposed to her own. Still, inquiries must be made without
further delay, but she would be discreet. So she called the school up by
phone:
"Had they seen anything of a stray horse? One of her pupil's horses had
escaped during the night and she was phoning in every direction in her
endeavors to find it. It was Miss Ashby's horse and he might have made
his way as far as the hall."
"No, there was no stray animal there, but Dr. Kilton would have a
thorough search made in their neighborhood."
But Dr. Kilton was a far cry from being a fool. Why should Miss Woodhull
think a runaway horse had run all that distance? And if he _had_ Dr.
Kilton was fully convinced that he had not run riderless. He had not
forgotten that October runaway. Moreover, he had detected a repressed
excitement in the voice over that phone. He very quietly conferred with
Mrs. Kilton and that lady was quite as quick-witted as her spouse. They
decided to maintain a discreet silence, but to make some quiet inquiries.
A few hours later Smedes, the Doctor's body servant, was sent upon an
errand to the little village nearest Leslie Manor, and Smedes knew every
servant at that school. When he returned Dr. and Mrs. Kilton became
considerably wiser regarding the true facts of the case, but decided to
say nothing to Beverly's brother for the present. But they kept in
constant communication with Leslie Manor, via Smedes and Jefferson.
Far and wide did Leslie Manor send messages and messengers. No horse was
to be found. In the school chaos reigned, and the usual Sunday decorum and
peace went by the board completely. Some of the girls were rebellious,
some hysterical, some scolded and some wept silently, and to a unit they
all blamed Miss Woodhull for the situation. Mrs. Bonnell and several of
the teachers were wholly indignant that she had not instantly communicated
with Beverly's family, as was obviously her duty. Mrs. Bonnell openly
urged it. Miss Woodhull pooh-poohed the idea. "Beverly would come back
when she recovered from her fit of sulks, and would be properly punished
for her conduct by expulsion. She had already transgressed to a degree to
warrant it, and had been warned the evening before to that effect. ("Ah,"
breathed Mrs. Bonnell at this admission). Communicate with Beverly's
people? Absurd! Why magnify such a trivial matter? Girls had made believe
to run away from the school before, and would doubtless do so again. They
invariably ran back again and Beverly would do likewise when she got
ready. She was probably with some friend in the neighborhood. She was in
the habit of forming friendships with all sorts and conditions of people.
That her horse was also gone might be a mere coincidence, or else she was
trying to frighten them all, and would come riding back by sundown. She
was capable of almost any insubordination, and rising at dawn and riding
off somewhere was merely a fresh demonstration of it."
That Miss Woodhull was merely "whistling to keep her courage up" all well
knew.
But sunset failed to bring the runaway, and Kilton Hall knew of this fact
right speedily. Then Athol was called to the Doctor's study and the facts
told him. The boy was thunderstruck, and blurted out:
"It's that old harridan!" then blushed crimson. Dr. and Mrs. Kilton did
not reprove the outbreak, but pardoned it upon the ground of excitement.
"You would better call up your uncle at once, Athol. I do not wish to
interfere, or criticise, but I know what I should wish if it were my
daughter," said Mrs. Kilton.
"Thank you ever so much, Mrs. Kilton, I'll do it right off," and he
hurried into the little room at the end of the hall where the phone
stood, Mrs. Kilton following, while the Doctor wondered what the next
move must be. A moment later he joined them. Athol soon had Woodbine on
the wire and then ensued a funny, one-sided conversation.
"Oh, Uncle Athol, is that you?"
* * * * *
"Say, have you,--that is,--has Bev sent any message to you today? What!
She's there, in bed? Great Scott! When did she come?"
* * * * *
"Three-thirty this morning on Apache? And all in? Gee! But she's all
right now? You have just been hearing the whole story from her? She did
those thirty-five miles in three hours? Jimminy Christmas! Say, she's a
pippin! Bully girl! I knew that pie-face over at her school would queer
the whole show. Say, Uncle Ath, I'd just like to put one over on her for
fair. What did she do to Bev, anyhow?"
* * * * *
"She never! What, told her she _lied_!" Athol very nearly kicked over the
little phone stand.
"And Bev wouldn't stand for it and lit out? Snappy work! I say, Uncle
Ath, let me come home, please, and hear all about it. I'll blow up if you
don't say yes, honest, I shall. The Doctor won't let me? You bet he will.
He and Mrs. Kilton are right here beside me and almost dancing up and
down. They're peaches."
"Oh, I beg your pardon!" he jerked over his shoulder. "But they are all
right. They've been almost worried to death. They heard of it early this
morning and wanted to get word to you right off, but didn't dare butt in,
you see....
"Yes, they have just said I may come and I'll be down on the first train
in the morning. I mustn't say a word to _Arch_. Oh, Uncle Ath! Well, I
won't if you say not but I reckon I'll burst if I don't tell him. You
don't want the old maid to get wise that Bev's at Woodbine? Going to give
her a little dose of discipline? Oh, I say, Uncle Ath, give her all
that's coming to her. She rates it all right, all right. She's made
things just too darned hot for Bev, and a whole bunch of the girls up
there. Everybody hates her."
"Eh?" as Mrs. Kilton's hand was laid warningly upon his shoulder. Dr.
Kilton had turned hastily away. He could not trust his countenance, nor
did he wish to hear too much. The boy which had never died in him was
rebelling in sympathy with Athol.
A few more sentences and Athol hung up the receiver, and sought the
Doctor. He was boiling with rage.
"Brace up, old chap. It's nothing serious, you may be sure of that, or
your uncle would have sent for you at once. And, remember, mum's the
word."
"Yes, sir. I'll remember, sir. And thank you a whole lot, sir, for
letting me phone. I'll hold my jaw--I mean I won't say a single word."
"A pretty state of things, I'll be bound," stormed Dr. Kilton when Athol
had gone. "Why that woman----" he did not complete his sentence.
"I wish she would sell out and go to live in Jericho, or some other
remote place!" cried Mrs. Kilton, petulantly. Then added eagerly: "Oh
Avary, perhaps she will--after all this. It will stir the whole
countryside."