MATILDA'S OPPORTUNITY.
THE first week in the country passed off without flaw or disturbance of
any kind. Matilda was true to her promise; no one could catch her even
attempting to eavesdrop; she interfered with none of the arrangements
of the others, but plodded along, not adding her quota of merriment or
joy, but still behaving much better than anyone expected.
"It is too good to last," thought Kate, who knew her well.
But Cecil and Molly began to believe that they had been overhard on
Matilda. As the days wore on they tried to draw her out. They were
intensely happy themselves, and they wanted all their companions to
share their pleasure. Christmas had passed delightfully, and New Year's
day drew on, arrived, and sank into the annals of the past. A day or
two after the new year, Maurice was much delighted to receive a letter
from Mr. Danvers, to tell him that he had taken rooms in the next
terrace to theirs, and might be expected to arrive that evening.
"I do not wish you to pay any attention to this letter," said the
schoolmaster. "I am simply coming to St. Jude's because I have heard
of the famous air of the place, and I really want to get braced up a
little. Do not on any account acquaint the ladies of your party of my
intended arrival. You can drop in to see me if you like some evening,
and if we should happen to meet in any of our walks, I shall, of
course, be pleased to see you. I hope the other lads are well. By the
way, you might coach Teddy up a little in his Latin; we ought to get
him into Cæsar next term; do your best, Maurice.
"Your sincere friend,
"JOHN DANVERS."
"Who is your letter from, Maurice?" asked Molly.
"He said I wasn't to tell you anything about it," said Maurice, looking
up with sparkling eyes.
"Oh, we know what that means," said Cecil. "Mr. Danvers is coming at
last--how glad I am!"
"You really must not force yourself on him," said Maurice, a pucker
coming between his brows; "he honestly hates all women, and poor old
chap, his prejudices must be humored. He didn't wish me to let you know
that he was coming. I may drop in on him some day, if I fancy."
"I say!" exclaimed Teddy; "much chance he has of getting rid of us in
that style."
"He wants you to attack your Cæsar," said Maurice, fixing his eyes on
his brother.
"Oh, perhaps, after all, we'd better not bother him too much," was the
quick reply. "I say, Charlie and Jimmy, let's run off for a scamper;
it's a splendid day. How the wind does blow!"
"It's snowing as fast as ever it can," said Matilda, shivering as she
spoke. "If you call this a splendid day, I must say I don't admire
your taste; for my part, I am going to sit over the fire. Mother
sent me down a copy of 'The Golden Butterfly' this morning; it looks
interesting, and I shall spend my time reading it."
"It is not a bit too cold for a walk," said Cecil. "Who will come with
me?"
"I, for one," cried Molly. "Are you coming, Kate?"
"No," answered Kate; "my head aches."
When she said this, Matilda raised her eyes and gave her a quick and
furtive glance, which nobody noticed. Molly and Cecil ran off to put
on their warmest wraps, and were presently seen battling with the
wind, and going off in the direction of the sea. The four boys had
all disappeared, and Kate and Matilda found themselves alone in the
snug little parlor. Matilda piled coal on the fire until it blazed and
crackled merrily; she then drew forward the only really comfortable
chair, seated herself in it, put her feet on the fender, rested her
head against the cushions, opened her novel, and prepared to read. Kate
collected some books, sat down by the center table, leaned her elbows
upon it, pressed one of her hands against her cheek, and tried, with
the help of a lexicon, to translate, as best she could, a somewhat
difficult passage of Homer. She soon became absorbed in her task; her
brow cleared, her eyes grew full of light, her lips moved softly as the
beautiful meaning of the grand old text began to unfold itself before
her. Matilda, who was no reader, who was incapable of even thoroughly
enjoying a novel, uttered a profound yawn, slightly turned her head,
and looked at Kate.
"What in the world are you doing?" she said, in an abrupt voice.
"Don't speak to me for a minute," said Kate.
"I do believe you are studying, and that is forbidden!" cried Matilda.
"I wish you would stop talking," cried Kate. She turned the pages of
her lexicon quickly, found the word she required, shut up her Homer,
and looked at Matilda with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.
"Now you'll have a headache. How awfully silly you are!" said Matilda.
"And you are breaking the rules, too; it was arranged that none of us
were to study."
"I am doing nothing underhand," said Kate. "I have been feeling much
better, and we agreed that a very little study in the morning could not
hurt me."
"For my part," said Matilda, "I wonder you do not grasp the opportunity
of having a real rest. If you knew how _I_ detest work?"
"You see, I love it," said Kate. "Perhaps you will allow me to go on
with it now. Is not your book interesting?"
"Pretty well; it's about a girl who didn't know anything at all; but
all the same she seemed to have an uncommonly jolly time of it. I can't
make out what is the use of grinding: it spoils your eyes, and your
figure, and your temper, and men don't think a bit the more of you for
it. After all, women are sent into the world just to please the men."
"I should like to ask you a question," said Kate. "Why, with your
views, did you trouble to come to Redgarth?"
"Simply and entirely," replied Matilda, "because it is the fashion just
at present for girls to be educated. Mother took it into her head that
I must be in the fashion. I am just going to scrape through somehow,
just to please mother. I do hope she will let me leave at the end of
the summer term."
"I sincerely hope so, too," answered Kate.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because girls like you are a disgrace to a place like Redgarth."
"Don't you think you are very rude?" said Matilda, flushing deeply.
"I am sorry if I am, but you force me to speak plainly, now and then.
Will you stop talking now and let me return to my Homer."
"Yes, I will, after I have said something. I am truly sorry for you,
although you are spiteful and unkind to me."
"I don't need your sympathy, thanks," answered Kate.
"All the same, you can't help my giving it to you. I am sorry for
you, because it is important for you to work, and I fear, after that
bad accident, you won't be fit for much for some time. I had a cousin
who fell on her head when she was a girl; she was never any good
afterward--she developed epileptic fits. Her brain was badly injured,
but not so badly as yours. Now, I won't say any more, but if I were
you, I wouldn't work at that dull old Homer longer than I could help.
I am giving you a piece of sensible advice; you can take it or not, as
you please."
Kate did not utter a word. Matilda sighed, fidgeted, and resumed
her novel. She was feeling deeply annoyed. If Kate had flown into a
passion, or show any disturbance at her taunting words, she would have
felt that she had had her revenge; but Kate was calmness itself; she
was once more deep in her books; the poetry of the king of poets was
enchanting her: her noble brow looked full of intellect, her lovely
eyes were sparkling, her lips were like roses.
"Yes, she's clever," thought Matilda as she watched her. "I don't
suppose her brain is much injured--I doubt if it is injured at all.
And she's beautiful, too; there's no sort of sense in denying it.
How I wish she were ugly, and--yes, and stupid! but she's not--she's
graceful, too; she never does an ungraceful thing. How I detest
her! how I hate her! What right has a girl of that sort to be at St.
Dorothy's? Why, she's nothing whatever but a peasant girl--an Irish
peasant girl; but, of course, no one cares for that, just because she
happens to have a good-looking face. Oh, dear! I can't stand any more
of this stupid novel. I wonder if it is too cold to go out; it isn't
snowing at present, the sun is shining. I think I'll go for a run."
Matilda rose to her feet; she yawned and stretched herself as she did
so.
"Hadn't you better come out?" she said, fixing her eyes on the student.
"No, thanks!"
"I am going."
"Very well."
"You are sure you would not like to come with me?"
"Yes, quite sure; do you mind shutting the door when you leave the
room?"
Matilda had just approached the door, when it was suddenly opened by
the rosy-cheeked maid-servant, and a little man with red hair, and
spectacles pushed up on his forehead, was ushered into the room.
"I think Mr. Maurice is out, sir, but I will go and look for him," said
the maid.
Mr. Danvers--for of course it was he--found himself almost in the arms
of Matilda. Matilda backed: she did not admire the little man with his
red head and somewhat startled eyes.
"Oh, horrors!" she said, under her breath.
"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Danvers. "I called to see Maurice Ross; I
traveled last night instead of waiting until this morning. I wanted to
leave Maurice my address. Will you have the goodness to give it to him?
I"--he backed rapidly until he nearly reached the door--"I--I will call
another time."
"No, indeed, you must not do anything of the kind," said Kate, rising
suddenly.
She came a step or two forward as she spoke; she held her copy of
Homer in one hand. The book was somewhat heavy; as Kate pushed a chair
forward it slipped and fell.
"Excuse me," said Mr. Danvers, "but that is not the way to treat a
valuable book."
He stooped, placed it on the table, then looked full at Kate.
"You don't mean to say you are reading Greek?" he said.
"Yes, indeed I am," answered Kate; "and I have just come to a most
difficult passage; I am making an awful mess of it. Maurice tells me
that you are devoted to the classics; perhaps, while you are waiting,
you will construe this passage for me."
"With pleasure; show me your translation."
"Oh, it is too poor for you to look at!"
"Show it to me; I can soon tell you if you have gone wrong."
Kate held up her exercise book.
"Take a chair, won't you?" she said.
Without a word Mr. Danvers dropped into the one she had been using.
He absolutely forgot that she was a girl; he began to read her
translation, pursing up his lips as he did so.
"Good, so far," he said. "Oh, here is a wrong quantity; disgraceful,
careless! Aren't you ashamed of yourself to do work of this sort? What
will the boys of England come to?"
"But you are scolding a girl of Ireland," said Kate, in a gentle tone.
Mr. Danvers glanced up at her.
"I beg your pardon, miss," he said; "really, women ought not to meddle
in matters too deep for them."
"But you will be good-natured and help me, won't you? You may as well
do that as nothing, while you are waiting for Maurice; I felt sure I
had gone wrong in that line. Will you show me? I shall be so grateful."
"Well, I can't see Homer murdered," exclaimed Mr. Danvers; "so here
goes."
"Matilda," said Kate, facing round and looking at Matilda, who was
standing in some perplexity near the door, "you are going out, are you
not?"
"Yes," said Matilda.
"If you see Maurice, will you kindly tell him that Mr. Danvers has
come?"
"Yes," replied Matilda again. She left the room, shutting the door
behind her.
"What an awkward, hideous little oddity!" she said to herself. "If
people grow like that from the study of Greek, preserve me from
wearing myself out with it. What a flirt Kate O'Connor is! pretending
she wants to be helped with her stupid, musty old Homer! she just
dropped the book on purpose. Well, I wish her joy of her prize in that
old scarecrow. Yes, I may as well go out. I could not read 'The Golden
Butterfly' in the same room with that parchment creature. To see Kate
pretending to be so eager, and that old man falling into the trap so
easily, is too much for my nerves. Perhaps he would not if he knew that
she was only a peasant girl; perhaps he will know it some day. Now
then, to find Maurice, and put a stop to this flirtation."
Matilda hastily donned a handsome sealskin jacket, and, wrapped from
head to foot in the warmest furs, sallied forth into the cold January
atmosphere. She walked as far as the shore, but, look to right and
look to left as she would, she could not see a sign of any of her
companions. The short gleam of sunshine had long ago disappeared; fresh
banks of heavy clouds had come up from the north, and were covering
the entire sky. Presently the snow began to fall; it fell faster and
faster, thicker and thicker; it covered Matilda's sealskin jacket; it
beat pitilessly against her cheeks, and even got into her eyes. She had
forgotten to bring out an umbrella, and was therefore exposed to the
full fury of the weather; she was quite a mile from home, too. What was
to be done?
She by no means liked her present predicament; physical hardship of
any sort was repellent to her. She walked on, buffeted by the weather,
and feeling herself a truly wretched girl, when, to her relief, she
saw a little shelter which had been put up along the shore, and which
she had forgotten all about. She ran to it, sat down inside the
glass-covered inclosure, and drew a long breath of relief. Part of this
shelter was under repair, and was covered with scaffolding, canvas, and
heavy boards. Matilda had scarcely seated herself in the glass part
of the shelter before she heard footsteps approaching. She also heard
voices which she immediately recognized; they were those of Maurice,
Jimmy, and the other boys.
Now, Matilda had not made friends with the Ross boys. Maurice she would
have tolerated had he shown her any special attention; the other three
she cordially detested. She did not at all wish them to find her now,
covered with snow, and looking blue, and miserable. She knew that Jimmy
would immediately speak about her nose. Matilda's nose was a source of
anxiety to herself, for the slightest thing made it red and swollen;
the horror of a chilblain on this prominent portion of her face had
been one of her terrors since her early childhood. Jimmy would be sure
to tell her that the first signs of a chilblain were approaching.
Scarcely considering what she was doing, she rushed into the dark
part of the shelter, pulled forward some tarpaulin and matting, and,
crouching down behind some boards, was completely lost to view. She
resolved to stay in this hiding-place until the boys had left the
shelter. She had scarcely made herself secure before they all entered.
They stood by the entrance watching the storm and chattering hard to
one another.
"How jolly!" said Jimmy; "we'll be able to snowball if this snow goes
on much longer. I'm glad we are in for a downright good fall of snow.
Isn't it fine to see it scudding as it does right across the sea? I
should not be a bit surprised if we had a wreck to-night!"
"Oh, I say!" exclaimed Charlie, "if that isn't Molly and Cecil just
turning the promontory; what a long walk they have taken! Do look at
Cecil; see how her dress is blown by the wind--oh, and Molly's umbrella
is inside out. What a mess they'll be in; why, this snow will wet them
through. What is it, Maurice? Did you say anything?"
"I am going to meet them," said Maurice; "you stay quiet, if you can,
you three, and don't be up to any larks. I'll bring the girls in here;
they'll be sure to miss this little shelter if I don't point it out."
"Let me go with you," said Charlie.
"No, no! stay where you are; you are wet through as it is."
Thrusting his hands deep into his pockets, Maurice ran as fast as
he could in the direction from where his sister and her friend were
approaching him.
Meanwhile, the three younger boys were alone in the shelter--that is,
they supposed themselves to be alone but they little knew that Matilda,
breathing hard and feeling terrified, was within earshot. She had
scarcely concealed herself in her little shelter before she repented of
her own rash act. Suppose by any chance she was discovered! Those awful
boys would think as little of reconnoitering the dark part of the shed
as they would of breathing or whistling. The three younger boys were
about the most mischievous, most restless creatures Matilda had ever
come across--they were never still for an instant. Oh, suppose they
discovered her! Cruelly as Matilda hated both Cecil and Kate, she also
feared them. She knew that no words of hers would prevent the rest of
her companions believing that she had hidden herself for the purpose
of eavesdropping. They would certainly keep their word if she were
discovered, and boycott her on the spot.
Matilda would not have minded being boycotted by such girls as Kate and
Cecil were she at school. But here at St. Jude's this state of things
would make her a very miserable girl indeed; she reflected that, under
such circumstances, she might have had a better time with the cook
and housemaid at St. Dorothy's. Well, there was no help for it now:
she must stay as mute as a mouse, and take her chance of not being
discovered.
[Illustration: A LITTLE MAN WITH RED HAIR, AND SPECTACLES PUSHED UP ON
HIS FOREHEAD, WAS USHERED INTO THE ROOM.]
Luckily for her, Jimmy, with a shout, suddenly discovered a large
crab, which had found its way into the shelter. He dropped on his knees
and began eagerly to examine his captive. Soon the three boys began to
wrangle over their prey, and Matilda breathed a gentle sigh of relief.
The noise of approaching footsteps was again heard above the gale, and
Maurice and the two girls entered the little shelter. The entire party
now stood by the entrance watching the snow and commenting about it.
By Cecil's request, Jimmy ran out with the poor crab, and deposited it
in the nearest pool of water; he then returned to the shelter. They
all remained there until the heavy snow-shower had slightly abated;
then the boys decided to go to the house to fetch Cecil's and Molly's
waterproofs. They ran off quickly, and the girls seated themselves on
the bench at the back of the shelter.
"You might as well read me that letter now, Cecil," said Molly.
"Very well," answered Cecil; "there are sure to be no eavesdroppers
about to-day, are there?"
"Scarcely, seeing that we left Matilda snugly ensconced at home with
her book."
"Oh, did you?" muttered that young lady, from her hiding-place.
"I think it is awfully kind of Miss Forester to write to me. Don't you,
Molly?" said Cecil.
"Yes; but, after all, it is just the thing she would do. She takes an
immense interest in you; she is very proud of you."
"I intend to make her proud of me," said Cecil, drawing herself up
and looking straight ahead of her. "If ever a girl has made up her
mind simply to grind, to find no obstacle too difficult to overcome, I
am that girl. Miss Forester suggests that I should try for the great
scholarship in June. I mean to try."
"Well, I wish you success," said Molly; "you are clever enough for
anything. Now, then, do read the letter; those boys will be back in no
time."
Cecil took it out of her pocket; she opened it, drew a little closer to
Molly, and began to read aloud:
"MY DEAR CECIL:
"I wish to consult you and Molly about your friend
Kate. I know, in doing so, that you will regard every
word I say as absolutely sacred, and not breathe the
contents of this letter to any of your companions.
You know that poor dear Kate O'Connor has lost her
little money; you also know that at the present moment
she is quite unaware of the sad fact that she is
practically penniless. Having regard to her peculiar
temperament, to a certain pride which in many ways is
scarcely wrong, and which she inherits, doubtless, from
her Irish ancestors, I am inclined to believe that
the wisest course to pursue would be to keep her in
ignorance of the calamity which has fallen upon her.
The other day I had the pleasure of a long interview
with a great friend of mine, a Mrs. Percival. She is
very rich, and has often given large donations toward
the expenses here. I told her Kate's story, and she
suggested the scheme which I now write to you about.
It is simply this, that Kate is not to be told that
her money is gone, and that Mrs. Percival will pay her
fees here, and allow her sufficient money to dress
properly, and also for minor expenses. Fortunately,
Kate's little money in London has always been paid into
my bank, and I can still provide her with funds without
arousing her suspicion in any way. Hers is a very
peculiar temperament; she has many of the attributes of
genius, but I doubt if she has the capacity, or even
mental power, for a sustained strain of hard work.
"I regard you, Cecil, and Kate O'Connor, as quite the
cleverest girls at present at St. Dorothy's; but,
although you are both undoubtedly brilliant, you are
essentially different; you have got the capacity for
work. If you avail yourself of the privileges which are
now accorded to you, you can acquire knowledge to a
great extent, and use that knowledge very brilliantly
in the future. Kate, on the other hand, has a more
delicate organism; hers are more the gifts of fancy.
She is endowed with imagination of a high order; she
is intellectual without being logical. In the future,
it is possible that she may earn her bread by writing;
she may either take up fiction or some other branch of
literature. If she avails herself of the advantages
of this school, she will do her work in the future,
whatever it is, well--even brilliantly; but I do not
think she will ever be profound in argument or very
deep in thought. Be that as it may, she is sufficiently
above the common to have an assured future, if nothing
happens to wreck her prospects at the present juncture.
Her accident has weakened her, and her working-powers
will not return to their old strength for a year, or
even two years. To shock her pride and hurt her now
might injure her fatally. I am inclined, therefore,
although it is contrary to my usual rule, to act on
Mrs. Percival's advice, to allow her to assist Kate
without telling Kate anything about it. When that part
of her education which can be conducted at Redgarth is
over, she will be strong enough and brave enough to
learn the truth. I will then propose to her a scheme
by which she can pay Mrs. Percival back the debt which
she will owe her. You two girls are Kate's greatest
friends, and I honor your friendship for her and one
another sufficiently to consult you on this point. I
shall be glad to get your unreserved opinions. Write to
me to my London address, which heads this paper.
"Yours, with affection,
"JANET FORESTER."
"What do you think of it?" said Cecil, when she had finished reading.
"There is only one thing to think," answered Molly. "Miss Forester's
scheme must be carried out. There can be no second opinion, surely, on
that point. All through these happy days, when I have looked at Kate,
and listened to her merry laugh, and seen the health coming back to her
cheeks and brightness to her eyes, I could never forget the shock which
was awaiting her. Now, that shock need never come. Oh, what a good,
splendid woman Miss Forester is!"
"Nearly as good as your grandmother, Molly," replied Cecil.
"I meant to apply to grannie as a _dernier ressort_," said Molly; "but
this is much better. Of course, Cecil, you and I have only one thing to
say--we think the scheme first-rate. Let us write to Miss Forester in
time to catch the mail for London."
"The snow is nearly over; we may as well go back now," said Cecil. "We
need not wait for Maurice. But oh, there he is--and how fast he is
running! What can be the matter?"
"I say, girls, what do you think?" exclaimed Maurice, rushing up to
the two as he spoke, and laughing heartily. "I found that charming
Irish Kitty _tête-à-tête_ with Mr. Danvers. There was the old boy,
with his hair redder than I have ever seen it, pushed up like a brush
from his forehead, his eyes sparkling, his glasses stuck awry on his
nose, gesticulating and arguing and scolding Kate O'Connor at the top
of his voice. He said that she was a disgrace to any English school;
that no boy of ordinary capacities would construe so shamefully; that
her quantities were false, her accent vile; that, in short, as a lad of
spirit, she ought to give up murdering poor Homer in the future. And
there stood Kate in front of him, arguing also, and defending herself.
You never heard such a noise as the two were making in all your life.
We four lads burst in on the scene, and the fact of our presence woke
Mr. Danvers up. He got out of the room somehow, without so much as
looking at Kate. When he reached the street, he mopped his forehead and
said to me: 'Tell me, Maurice,--for really, in the confusion of the
moment, and the cruelty of seeing one of the finest passages in Homer
absolutely riddled through with errors, I can't be certain of what I
said,--but did I speak to that young person as if she were a boy?'
"'You certainly did, sir,' I replied.
"'Merciful Heavens!' he answered; 'I have a respect for ladies. I
respect them _in the distance_. It is unworthy and ungentlemanly of
any man to be rude to a lady; but when a woman puts herself out of
her place, when she wounds a scholar, even a humble scholar, in his
tenderest sensibilities---- Maurice; my lad, the air of this place is
not what it was. I doubt that St. Jude's will agree with me. Can you
get me a time-table?'
"'Nothing of the kind,' I answered. 'You've come here now, and you
shall stay. There's another girl of our party,--Iphigenia, you'll
compare her to,--she shall read a passage of Homer translated into
better and purer English than any fellow at Hazlewick could attempt.
Now, look here, sir; you've come and you must stay! Jimmy and Charlie
and Teddy, come along here this minute!'
"I got them to surround him, Cecil," continued Maurice; "so there is no
fear of his escaping; and now do hurry home."
They all set off at a quick pace, and Matilda, icy cold, was able to
creep out of her hiding-place. She was very white when she did so,
and was trembling a good bit. She had had a narrow escape of a very
unpleasant adventure, and at first all her feelings were simply those
of congratulation. After a time, however, as her frozen blood began to
circulate once more in her veins, other thoughts came to visit her.
"So Kate is not to know," she said to herself. "Kate is to be educated
on charity. The peasant girl, who is truly now a pauper, and whom I
cordially hate, is to receive the bounty of a complete stranger, and to
know nothing about it. Perhaps I can put a spoke into that delightful
little arrangement. I must work cautiously. I hate Kate, I hate Cecil!
I have no special love for Molly; my turn has come, I fancy, to pay off
some old scores."
Matilda hurried back to the house. She crept softly upstairs, reached
her bedroom without anyone seeing her, and came down to early dinner
looking subdued and dull.
"Did you enjoy your walk?" asked Kate, as she helped her to some soup.
"It was so cold that I did not care to go out," said Matilda, without a
moment's hesitation.
"And did you really spend the last couple of hours in your room! You
must be simply frozen."
"I did not wish to disturb you and Mr. Danvers," said Matilda, with one
of her sly looks.
Kate burst into a fit of laughter.
"Oh, my dears," she said, turning to the rest of the party, "I never
had such a completely jolly time in the whole course of my life; the
awful way that little man did rate me! 'You are a young scoundrel,
sir!' he said. 'How dare you profane your lips with the words of the
greatest scholar, the most magnificent intellect of all time, when
your gross ignorance----' Oh, but I need not go on, I was annihilated,
simply annihilated, and I could not stop him. He kept on glaring at
me, and assuring me that I was worthy of being expelled from any boys'
school in the kingdom. It was a relief when Maurice came in. But oh,
how funny he was, and how thoroughly I like him, notwithstanding the
fact that I never was so scolded before in the whole course of my
life!"