The Nun's Walk
The Saxon family agreed that whatever might be the drawbacks of
Wynch-on-the-Wold in wintry weather, it was an idyllic spot in the month
of May. The wall-flowers which Ingred had transplanted were now in their
prime, the apple trees were in blossom, clumps of lilies were pushing up
fast, and pink double daisies bordered the front walk. The woods in the
combe below the moor were a mass of bluebells, and here and there those
who searched might find rarer flowers, orchises, lily of the valley, and
true lover's knot. Friends who had shirked the journey while the winds
blew cold, now began to drop in at the bungalow and take tea under the
apple trees. Ingred, returning home on Friday afternoons, would find
bicycles stacked by the gate and visitors seated in the garden. She
greeted them with enthusiasm or the reverse, according to her individual
tastes.
"Really, Ingred, they don't seem to teach manners at the College now!"
said Quenrede one day. "The way you scowled at Mrs. Galsworthy and
Gertrude was most uncivil. You didn't look in the very least pleased to
see them."
"I wasn't! They're the most stupid people on the face of the earth! And
they stayed such ages. I thought they'd never go. Just when I wanted a
nice private talk with you and Mother before the boys came back. Why
should you look glad to see a person when you're not?"
"For the sake of manners, my dear!"
"Then manners really mean humbug," declared Ingred, who loved to argue.
"To say you're glad to see people, when you're not, is telling
deliberate fibs. Most hypocritical, I call it! Why can't people tell the
truth?"
"Because it would generally be offensive and unkind to do so," put in
Mother, who happened to overhear. "There's another side to the question,
too. When you say--against your will--that you are glad to see somebody,
you mean that all the _best_ part of you is glad--the kind, generous
part that likes to give pleasure, not the selfish lower part that only
thinks of its own convenience. So you are not really telling a fib, but
being true to your nobler self. A great deal of what people call 'plain
speaking' is simply giving rein to their most uncharitable thoughts. As
a rule, I say Heaven defend me from those ultra-truthful souls who enjoy
'speaking their minds.'"
"But are we to gush over every bore?" asked Ingred.
"There are limits, of course. We can't let all our time be frittered
away by idle friends, but we can generally manage tactfully without
offending them. Don't look so woe-begone, childie! Nobody else is coming
to-night, and I promise you tea in the woods to-morrow."
"By ourselves?"
"Unless anyone very nice comes over to join us," put in Quenrede
quickly.
"You girls shall give the invitations. I won't bring any middle-aged
people," laughed Mother, with a sly glance at Quenrede.
The party in the bluebell woods on Saturday was entirely a family one,
with the exception of Mr. Broughten, who rode over on a motor-bicycle
ostensibly to lend some microscopic slides to Athelstane, though Ingred
suspected there was another attraction in the visit. Quenrede, who
professed great surprise, gave him a guarded welcome.
"After all the fuss you made about my manners yesterday, you might have
seemed more glad to see him," sniffed Ingred critically.
"Might I? Well, really, I think I'm going to hang a label round my neck:
'Pleased to meet you! Let 'em all come!' It would save trouble. Stick
tight to me when we're gathering bluebells. Three's better company
sometimes than two. Don't I like him? Oh yes, he's all right, but I'm
not keen on a _tête-à-tête_."
After which hint, Ingred, who had some acquaintance with the perversity
of Quenrede's feminine mind, did exactly the opposite, and, abandoning
her basket to the custody of Mr. Broughten, left him helping her sister
to gather bluebells, and took herself off with Hereward.
"He's not half bad!" she ruminated laughingly. "Not of course a fairy
prince exactly, or even a Member of Parliament, but the bubbles on the
pool by the whispering stones certainly came to 'J,' and his name is
'John,' for I asked Athelstane. There's the finger of fate about it, and
Queenie had better make up her mind."
With Ingred, however, school matters were at present much more
interesting than speculating about her sister's possible future. It was
an interesting term at the College. Cricket and tennis were in full
swing, and she took an active part in both. The best of being at the
hostel was that the boarders had the benefit of the tennis courts in the
evening, and so secured an advantage in the matter of practice over any
girls who did not possess a private court at home. So far the College
had not competed in tournaments, but Blossom Webster was hopeful that
later on in the term some champions might be chosen who would not
disgrace the Games Club. Meantime she urged everybody to practice, and
coached her favorites with the eye of an expert. Nora was particularly
marked out for future distinction. She had made tremendous strides
lately, and her swift serves were the terror of her opponents. The
hostel felt justly proud of her achievements, and would collect in the
evening, after prep., to watch her play a set of singles with Susie
Wakefield, who, though older and taller, almost invariably lost.
Susie had good points of her own, however, and with Nora as partner
could beat even Blossom and Aline occasionally. No doubt the future
credit of the school was in their hands.
One evening it happened that Nora was in a particularly slashing and
reckless mood, and she sent no less than three balls flying straight
over the wall that bordered the tennis courts. They fell into the
premises of old Dr. Broadfield, whose garden adjoined that of the
school. They were not the first that had done so, indeed so many balls
had gone over lately that the loss was growing serious. At one time the
girls had been wont to ring Dr. Broadfield's front-door bell and beg
permission to pick up their property, but they had been received so
sourly by his elderly housekeeper, that they hardly dared to ask again.
"Three good balls gone in half an hour!" grieved Verity. "There'll soon
be none left at this rate. I believe there must be a dozen at least
lying on the grass over there, only that stingy old thing won't throw
them back. It's really too bad."
"How could we possibly get them?" ruminated Doreen.
"Sham ill, get Dr. Broadfield to attend, and coax them out of him,"
suggested Fil.
Doreen shook her head.
"He's not the school doctor, unfortunately. When Millie sprained her
ankle, Miss Burd sent for Dr. Harrison. We might fish for them with a
butterfly net tied to the end of a drilling pole, if they're anywhere
near enough."
"They're not. I peeped over the wall and they've rolled quite a long way
off."
"How weak! What are we to do?"
"There's nothing for it," said Ingred slowly, "but to make a sally into
the enemy's trenches and fetch them back!"
"Oh! I dare say! But who's going to do the sallying business?"
"_I_ will, if you like."
"_You!_"
"Yes; I don't mind a scrap."
"You heroine!"
"Don't mensh!"
"But suppose you're caught?"
"I shall have to risk that, of course. I'll reconnoiter carefully
first."
The boundary between the College premises and the property of Dr.
Broadfield was part of the old Abbey wall. The mortar had crumbled away
from the stones, leaving large interstices, so it was quite easy to
climb. With a little boosting from Verity and Nora, Ingred successfully
reached the top, and peered over into the neighboring garden. Just below
her was a rockery, which offered not only an easy means of descent, but
a quick mode of egress in the case of the necessity of beating a hasty
retreat.
Beyond the flower-bed, and lying on the lawn, were no less than seven
tennis balls, marked with the unmistakable blue cross that claimed them
for the College. The sight was enough to spur on the faintest heart.
Apparently there was nobody in this part of the garden, and no watchful
face peered from any of the windows. It was certainly an opportunity
that ought not to be missed. Ingred slipped first one foot and then the
other over the wall, and dropped on to the rockery. It was the work of a
minute to pick up the balls and throw them back to rejoicing friends. If
she herself had followed immediately there would have been no sequel to
the episode. But happening to look under the bushes, she noticed another
ball, and went in quest of it. It seemed a shame to return until she had
found any that might have strayed farther afield, so she dived under the
rhododendron bushes, and was rewarded with two more balls. She had
issued out on to another part of the lawn, and was on the very point of
retreating, when she suddenly heard voices on the path between the
bushes. To run to the wall would be to cross open country, so, with an
instinctive desire to seek cover, she dived into a summer-house close
by, and shut the door. The footsteps came nearer. Were they going to
follow her into her retreat, and catch her? It would be too ignominious!
Peeping warily through a small window of the summer-house, she saw two
young people, apparently much interested in each other, strolling
leisurely up. To her immense relief they did not attempt to enter, but
sat down on a seat outside the window. They were so near that she could
perforce hear every word, and was an unwilling but compulsory
eavesdropper.
At first the conversation consisted mostly of tender nothings: "He"
certainly called her "Darling!"; "She" replied: "Oh, Donald, don't!" and
a sound followed so suspiciously like a kiss that Ingred, only a few
feet away from them, almost giggled aloud. She wondered how long they
were going to keep her a prisoner. It might be very pleasant for
themselves to sit "spooning" in the garden on a mild May evening, but if
they prolonged their enjoyment beyond eight o'clock, the hostel
supper-bell would ring, and any girl not in her place at the table would
lose a mark for punctuality.
"He" on the other side of the window, was waxing sentimental about old
times and bygone days.
"I'm glad you're not a nun, darling!" he remarked fatuously. "If you had
lived in the ancient Abbey, I shouldn't have been able to walk about the
garden with you, should I?"
"I suppose not," she ventured, "especially if you'd been a monk."
"I dare say some of them _did_ manage to do a little love-making
sometimes, though. What's that story about the ghost?"
"The White Nun, do you mean? The one that haunts the College gardens?"
(Ingred pricked up her ears at this).
"Yes. Isn't there some legend or other about her?"
"I believe there is, but I've forgotten it. I only know she walks on
moonlight nights, down the steps by the sun-dial, and then disappears
into the wall near the Abbey. At least she's supposed to. I've never met
anybody who's seen her. Don't talk of such shuddery things! You make me
feel creepy!"
Apparently he offered masculine protection, for another suggestive sound
was followed by a giggle and a remonstrance. The hostel bell was
ringing, and the Abbey clock was striking eight. Were they going to stay
talking all night? Ingred was growing desperate. She wondered how she
was going to explain her absence to Mrs. Best. She even debated whether
it would be advisable to open the summer-house door, bolt across the
lawn, and trust to luck that the matter was not reported at the College.
She had her hand on the latch when the feminine voice outside remarked:
"It's getting chilly, Donald!"
"Don't catch cold, darling!" with tender solicitude. "Would you rather
go indoors?"
"Hooray!" triumphed Ingred inwardly, though she did not dare to utter a
sound.
It took a little while for the lovers to get under way and finally
stroll back along the path among the bushes. Ingred gave them time to
walk out of sight and hearing, then made a dash for the rockery,
scrambled over the wall, tore across the tennis courts, and entered the
dining-room nearly ten minutes late for supper. Mrs. Best looked at her
reproachfully, and Doreen, who was monitress for the month, took a
notebook from her pocket and made an entry therein. Nora and Verity and
Fil went on eating sago blanc-mange with stolid countenances that
betrayed no knowledge of their room-mate's doings, but that night, when
The Foursomes met in the privacy of Dormitory 2, they demanded an
account of her adventure.
She certainly had a piece of interesting news to confide.
"Did you know that a ghost haunts the garden?"
"No! Oh, I say, where?"
"That part by the sun-dial. I've heard it called 'The Nun's Walk!'"
"So have I; but I never knew there was a ghost!"
"It's supposed to walk on moonlight nights."
"How fearfully thrillsome!"
"I've never seen a ghost!" shivered Fil.
"No more have I--and I've never met anyone who exactly has. It's
generally their cousin's cousin who's told them about it."
"There's a moon to-night," remarked Nora.
"So there is!"
The four girls looked at one another, hair brushes in hand. Each had it
on the tip of her tongue to make a suggestion.
"I _dare_ you to go!" said Verity at last.
"Not alone?"
Fil was clutching already at Nora's hand.
"Well, no! Hardly alone. I vote we all go together and try if we can see
anything."
"It would be rather spooksomely jinky!"
"Well, look here, don't let's undress properly, but get into bed, and
cover ourselves up until Nurse has been her rounds, then we'll slip
downstairs and out through the side door into the garden. Are you game?"
"Who's afraid?" said Ingred valiantly.
Upstairs in their bedroom, with the gas turned on, it was easy enough to
feel courageous. Their spirits rose indeed at the prospect of such an
adventure. Nurse Warner, who came into the room a little later, looked
round at the four beds, turned out the gas, and departed without a
suspicion. She had not been gone five minutes when a surreptitious
dressing took place, and four figures in dark coats stole down the
stairs. Though the building of the College might be absolutely modern,
the garden was a relic of mediæval days. It had formerly belonged to the
nunnery of St. Mary's, and had adjoined the Abbey. Parts of the
crumbling old wall were still left, and a flagged path led from a
sun-dial to some ruins. In the day-time it was a cheerful place, and a
blaze of color. The girls had never before seen it in its night aspect.
On this May evening it had a quiet beauty that was most impressive. The
full moon shone on the great dark pile of the Abbey towers and the beech
avenue beyond. There was just light enough in the garden to distinguish
bushes as heavy masses, and to trace the paths from the grass. The air
was sweet with the scent of flowers.
It is amazing how different conditions can alter a scene: at noon, with
the hum from the busy streets, it was commonplace enough; by moonlight
it became a mystic bower of enchantment. The girls walked along very
quietly, treading on the grass so as to make no noise. A slight mist was
rising from the ground near the Abbey; in the rays of the moon it
resembled a lake. Everything, indeed, was altered. The outline of the
sumach bush was like a crouching tiger; the laburnum tassels waved like
skeleton fingers. It seemed a witching, unreal world.
Four rather scared girls crept along, clasping hands for moral support.
Each secretly would have been relieved to abandon the quest, but did not
like to be the first to turn tail. They had determined to walk from the
sun-dial to the Abbey wall and back again. So far the garden, though
mysterious, showed no signs of anything supernatural. They began to
pluck up courage, and even to talk to one another in low whispers. At
the ruins they turned and looked back towards the sun-dial. The
moonlight streamed along the flagged path, and shimmered on the clumps
of early yellow lilies.
What was that, stealing from under the shelter of the hawthorn tree? The
girls gasped and almost stopped breathing.
[Illustration: A TALL FIGURE, CLOTHED IN SOME WHITE GARMENT, WAS GLIDING
TOWARDS THEM.]
A tall figure, clothed in some long white garment, was gliding towards
them. It kept in the shadow, and they could see no details, only a light
mass that was slowly and steadily advancing apparently straight to where
they were crouching beside the wall. Fil was trembling like a leaf, Nora
declared afterward that her hair stood on end, Ingred and Verity felt
shivers run down their spines. Nearer and nearer came the white figure.
Its approach was more than flesh and blood could stand. With a wild
shriek Fil dashed across the lawn, followed closely by Nora, Ingred, and
Verity.
"Girls!" cried a clear and well-known voice. "Girls! Stop! What are you
doing here?"
There was no mistaking the tone of command of the head-mistress. Four
amazed and crestfallen damsels halted and turned back, to find Miss
Burd, attired in a white dressing-gown, standing in the moonlight on the
grass.
"What is the meaning of this?" she asked. "And why aren't you all in
bed?"
It is always difficult to give explanations, and (to such a
matter-of-fact person as Miss Burd) it seemed particularly silly to have
to confess that they had come out ghost-hunting, and had mistaken her
for a spirit. She emptied the vials of her scorn upon their dejected
heads.
"Don't let me hear of any more nonsense of this sort!" she finished. "I
should have thought you were too intelligent to believe in such rubbish.
As for leaving your dormitory at this hour, you deserve to be locked in
the cycle-shed for the night. I shall, of course, report you to Mrs.
Best, and none of you will play tennis for a week, as a punishment."
Miss Burd, bristling with anger, swept the delinquents before her to the
door of the hostel, and watched them flee upstairs, then went to lay the
matter before Mrs. Best.
In Dormitory 2, four girls got into bed at topmost speed.
"Of all the ill-luck!" mourned Fil.
"I didn't know Miss Burd prowled about the garden in a dressing-gown,"
exclaimed Ingred.
"She _did_ look exactly like a ghost!" confirmed Verity.
"Tennis off for a whole week! Blossom will be furious! It's too
absolutely grizzly for anything!" groused Nora. "I wish the wretched old
ghost had been at Jericho before we went to look for it!"