AFTERWARDS
When Betty had made her confession, and had left Susie Rushworth's room,
she went straight to bed; she went without leave, and dropped
immediately into profound slumber. When she awoke in the morning her
head felt clear and light, and she experienced a sense of rejoicing at
what she had done.
"I have told them, and they know," she said to herself. "I have given
them the whole story in a nutshell. I don't really care what follows."
Mingled with her feeling of rejoicing was a curious sense of defiance.
Her sisters asked her what was the matter. She said "Nothing." They
remarked on her sound sleep of the night before, on the early time she
had retired from the Specialities' meeting. They again ventured to ask
if anything was the matter. She said "No."
Then Sylvia began to break a very painful piece of information:
"Dickie's gone!"
"Oh," said Betty, her eyes flashing with anger, "how can you possibly
have been so careless as to let the spider loose?"
"He found a little hole just above the door in the attic, and crept into
it, and we couldn't get him out," said Sylvia.
"No, he wouldn't come out," added Hetty, "though we climbed on two
chairs, one on top of the other, and poked at him with a bit of stick."
"Oh, I dare say he's all right now," said Betty. "You will probably find
him again to-day. He's sure to come for his raw meat."
"But don't you care, Bet? Won't it be truly awful if our own Dickie is
dead?"
"Dead! He won't die," said Betty; "but there's quite a possibility he
may frighten some one. I know one person I'd like to frighten."
"Oh Bet, who do you mean?"
"That horrid girl--that cousin of ours, Fanny Crawford."
"We don't like her either," said the twins.
"She'd be scared to death at Dickie," said Betty. "She's a rare old
coward, you know. But never mind, don't bother; you'll probably find him
this morning when you go up with his raw meat. He's sure to come out of
his hole in order to get his food."
"I don't think so," said Hester in a gloomy voice; "for there are lots
and lots of flies in that attic, and Dickie will eat them and think them
nicer than raw meat."
"Well, it's time to go downstairs now," said Betty.
She was very lively and bright at her lessons all day, and forgot Dickie
in the other cares which engrossed her mind. That said mind was in a
most curious state. She was at once greatly relieved and rebellious.
Sylvia and Hetty watched her, when they could, from afar. Betty's life
as a member of the Specialities separated her a good deal from her
sisters. She seldom saw them during the working-hours; but they were
quite happy, for they had made some friends for themselves, and the
three were always together at night. Betty was not specially reproachful
of herself on their account. She could not help being cleverer than
they, more brilliant, more able on all occasions to leap to a right
conclusion--to discover the meaning of each involved mystery as it was
presented to her. All the teachers remarked on her great intelligence,
on her curious and wonderful gift for dramatization. The girls in her
form were expected once a week to recite from Shakespeare; and Betty's
recitations were sufficiently striking to arrest the attention of the
entire room. She flung herself into the part. She was Desdemona, she was
Portia, she was Rosalind. She was whatever character she wished to
personate. Once she chose that of Shylock; and most uncanny became the
expression of her face, and her words were hurled forth with a defiance
worthy of the immortal Jew.
All these things made Betty a great favorite with the teachers as well
as with the girls. She was, as a rule, neither cross nor bad-tempered.
She was not vain for her gifts. She was always ready to help the others
by every means in her power.
During recess that day Betty received a small three-cornered note in
Margaret Grant's handwriting. She opened it, and saw that it was a
brief request that she, Betty Vivian, should meet Margaret and the other
members of the Speciality Club in Margaret's room at half-past seven
that evening. "Our meeting will be quite informal, but we earnestly beg
for your attendance."
Betty slipped the note into her pocket. As she did so she observed that
Fanny Crawford's eyes were fixed on her.
"Are you going to attend?" asked Fanny.
"You will know," replied Betty, "when you go into the room to-night at
half-past seven and find me there or not there. Surely that is enough
for you!"
"Thanks!" replied Fanny. Then, summoning a certain degree of courage,
she came a step nearer. "Betty, if I might consult with you, if I might
warn you----"
"But as you may not consult with me, and as you may not warn me, there
is nothing to be done, is there?" said Betty. "Hallo!" she cried the
next minute, as a schoolgirl whose friendship she had made during the
last day or two appeared in sight, "I want to have a word with you,
Jessie. Forgive me, Fan; I am very much occupied just at present."
"Her fall is certain," thought Fanny to herself. "I wonder how she will
like what lies before her to-night. I at least have done my best."
Punctual to the hour, the Specialities met in Margaret's room. There was
no supper on this occasion, nor any appearance of festivity. The pretty
flowers which Margaret usually favored were conspicuous by their
absence. Even the electric light was used but sparingly. None of the
girls dressed for this evening, but wore their usual afternoon frocks.
Betty, however, wore white, and walked into the room with her head well
erect and her step firm.
"Sit down, Betty, won't you?" said Margaret.
"Thanks, Margaret!" answered Betty; and she sank into a chair. She chose
one that was in such a position that she could face the six girls who
were now prepared to judge her on her own merits. She looked at them
very quietly. Her face was pale, and her eyes not as bright as usual.
"I am deputed by the others to speak to you, Betty," said Margaret. "We
will make no comment whatsoever with regard to what you told us last
night. It isn't for us to punish you for having told a lie. We have
ourselves done very wrong in our lives, and we doubtless have not been
tempted as you have been; and then, Betty Vivian, I can assure you that,
although you have been but a short time in the school, we all--I think I
may say all--love you."
Betty's eyes softened. She hitched her chair round a little, so that she
no longer saw Fanny, but could look at Margaret Grant and Martha West,
who were sitting side by side. Susie's pretty face was fairly shining
with eagerness, and Olive's eyes were full of tears. The Bertrams
clasped each other's hands, and but for Margaret's restraining presence
would have rushed to Betty's there and then and embraced her.
"But," said Margaret, "although we do love you--and I think will always
love you, Betty--we must do our duty by the club. You confessed a sin to
us--not at the time, as you ought to have done, but later on. No one
compelled you to confess what you did last night. There was no outside
pressure brought to bear on you. It must have been your conscience."
"I told you so," said Betty.
"Therefore," continued Margaret, "your conscience must be very
wide-awake, Betty, and you have done--well, so far--very nobly; so nobly
that nothing will induce us to ask you to withdraw from our club,
provided----"
Betty's eyes brightened, and some of the tension in her face relaxed.
"I have taken the votes of the members on that point," Margaret
continued, "therefore I know what I am speaking about. What we do most
emphatically require is that you carry your confession to its logical
conclusion--that what you have said to us you say to the kindest woman
in all the world, to dear Mrs. Haddo, and that you put the little packet
which has cost you such misery into Mrs. Haddo's hands. Don't speak for
a minute, please, Betty. We have been praying about you, all of us; we
have been longing--longing for you to do this thing. Please don't speak
for a minute. It is not in our power to turn you from the school, nor to
relate to Mrs. Haddo nor to any of the teachers what you have told us.
But we can dismiss you from the Speciality Club--that does lie in our
province; and we must do so, bitterly as we shall regret it, if you do
not carry your confession to its logical conclusion."
"Then I must go," said Betty very gently.
"Oh Betty!" exclaimed Olive; and she burst into a flood of weeping.
"Dear, dear, dear Betty, don't go--please don't go!"
"We will all support you if you are nervous," continued Margaret. "I
think we may say we will all support you, and Mrs. Haddo is so sweet;
and then, if you want to see him, there's Mr. Fairfax, who could tell
you what to do better than we can. Don't decide now, dear Betty. Please,
please consider this question, and let us know."
"But I have decided," said Betty. "I told you what I thought right. I
love the club, and every single member of it--except my cousin, Fanny
Crawford. I don't love Fanny, and she doesn't love me--I say so quite
plainly; therefore, once again, I break Rule I. You see, girls, I cannot
stay. I must become again an undistinguished member of this great
school. Don't suppose it will hurt my vanity; but it will touch deeper
things in me, and I shall never, never forget your kindness. I can by no
possibility do more than I have done. Good-bye, dear Margaret; I am
more than sorry that I have given you all this trouble."
As Betty spoke she unclasped the little silver true-lover's knot from
the bosom of her dress and put it into Margaret's hand. Then she walked
out of the room, a Speciality no longer.
When she had gone, the girls talked softly together. They were terribly
depressed.
"We never had a member like her. What a pity our rules are so strict!"
said Olive.
"Nonsense, Olive!" said Margaret. "We must do our best, our very best;
and even yet I have great hopes of Betty. She can be re-elected some
day, perhaps."
"Oh, she is like no one else!" said one girl after another.
The girls soon dispersed; but as Fanny was going to her room Martha West
joined her. "Fanny," she said, "I, as the youngest member of the
Specialities, would like to ask you a question. Why is it that your
cousin dislikes you so much?"
"I can't tell," replied Fanny. "I have always tried to be kind to her."
"But you don't cordially like her yourself!"
"That is quite true," said Fanny; "but then I have seen her at home,
when you have not. She has great gifts of fascination; but I know her
for what she really is."
"When you speak like that, Fanny Crawford, I no longer like you,"
remarked Martha; and she walked away in the direction of her room.
All the Speciality girls, including Betty, were present at prayers in
the chapel that evening. Betty sat a little apart from her companions,
she stood apart from them, she prayed apart from them. She seemed like
one isolated and alone. Her face was very white, her eyes large and dark
and anxious. From time to time the girls who loved her looked at her
with intense compassion. But Fanny gave her very different glances.
Fanny rejoiced in her discomfort, and heartily hoped that she would now
lose her prestige in the school.
Until the advent of Betty Vivian, Fanny was rather a favorite at Haddo
Court. She was certainly not the least bit original. She was prim and
smug and self-satisfied to the last degree, but she always did the right
thing in the right way. She always looked pretty, and no one ever
detected any fault in her. Her mistresses trusted her, and some of the
girls thought it worth their while to become chums with her.
Fanny, however, now saw at a glance that she was in the black looks of
the other Specialities. This fact angered her uncontrollably, and she
made up her mind to bring Betty to further shame. It was not sufficient
that she should be expelled from the Speciality Club; the usual formula
must be gone through. All the girls knew of this formula; and they all,
with the exception of Fanny, wished it not to be observed in the case of
Betty Vivian. But Fanny knew her power, and was resolved to use it. The
Speciality Club exercised too great an influence in the school for its
existence to be lightly regarded. A member of the club, as has been
said, enjoyed many privileges besides being accorded certain exemptions
from various irksome duties. It was long, long years since any member
had been dismissed in disgrace; it was certainly not within the memory
of any girl now in the school. But Fanny had searched the old annals,
and had come across the fact that about thirty years ago a Speciality
had done something which brought discredit on herself and the club, and
had therefore been expelled; she had also discovered that the fact of
her expulsion had been put up in large letters on a blackboard. This
board hung in the central hall, and generally contained notices of
entertainments or class-work of a special order for the day's programme.
Miss Symes wrote out this programme day by day.
On the morning after Betty had been expelled from the Specialities,
Fanny ran up to Miss Symes. "By the way," she said, "I am afraid you
will have to do it, for it is the rule of the club."
"I shall have to do what, my dear Fanny?"
"You will just have to say, please, on the blackboard that Betty Vivian
is no longer a member of the Specialities."
Miss Symes stopped writing. She was busily engaged notifying the hour of
a very important German lesson to be given by a professor who came from
town. "What do you mean, Fanny?"
"What I say. By the rules of the club we can give no reasons, but must
merely state that Betty Vivian is no longer a member. It ought to be
known. Will you write it on the blackboard?"
Miss Symes looked at Fanny with a curious expression on her face. "Thank
you for telling me," she said. She then crossed the great hall to where
Margaret and some other girls of the Specialities were assembled. She
told Margaret what Fanny had already imparted to her, and asked if it
was true.
"It is true, alas!" said Margaret.
"But I thought Betty was such a prime favorite with you all," said Miss
Symes; "and she really is such a sweet girl! I have never been more
attracted by any one."
"I cannot give you any particulars, Miss Symes; but I think we have done
right," said Margaret.
"If you have had any hand in it, dear, I make no doubt on the subject,"
replied Miss Symes. "It is a sad pity. Fanny says it is one of your
rules that an expelled member has her name published on the blackboard,
the fact being also stated that she has been expelled."
"Oh," said Margaret, "that is a very old rule. We don't want it to be
carried into effect in Betty's case."
"But if it is a rule, dear, and if it has never been abolished----"
"It has not been abolished," said Margaret. "It would distress Betty
very much."
"Nevertheless, Margaret, if it is right to expel Betty it is right to
publish that fact on the blackboard, always provided it is a rule of the
Specialities."
"I am afraid it is a rule," said Margaret. "But we are all unhappy about
her. We hate having her expelled."
"Can I help you in any way, dear Margaret?"
"No, Miss Symes; no one can help us, and the deed is done now."
Miss Symes went very slowly to the blackboard, and wrote on it simply:
"Betty Vivian has resigned her membership of the Speciality Club."
This notice caused flocks of girls to surround the blackboard during the
morning, and the news flew like wildfire all over the school. Betty
herself approached as an eager group were scrutinizing the words, saw
her name, read it calmly (her lips curling slightly with scorn), and
turned away. No one dared to question her, but all looked at her in
wonder.
Betty went through her lessons with her accustomed force and animation,
and there was no difference to be observed between her manner of to-day
and that of yesterday. After school she very simply told her sisters
that she had withdrawn from the Specialities, and then begged of them
not to pursue the subject. "I am not going to explain," she said, "so
you needn't ask me. I shall have more time to devote to you in the
future, and that'll be a good thing." She then left them and went for a
long walk by herself.
Now, it is one of those dreadful things which most surely happen to weak
human nature that when an evil and jealous and unkind thought gets into
the heart, that same thought, though quite unimportant at first,
gradually increases in dimensions until it overshadows all other
thoughts and gains complete and overwhelming mastery of the mind. Had
any one said to Fanny Crawford a fortnight or three weeks before the
Vivians' arrival at the school that she would have felt towards Betty as
she now did, Fanny would have been the first to recoil at the monstrous
fungus of hatred which existed in her mind. Had Betty been a very plain,
unattractive, uninteresting girl, Fanny would have patronized her, kept
her in her place, but at the same time been kind to her. But Fanny's
rage towards Betty now was almost breaking its bounds. Was not Fanny's
own father educating the Vivians? Was it not he who had persuaded Mrs.
Haddo to admit them to the school? She herself was the only daughter of
a rich and distinguished man. The Vivians were nobodies. Why should they
be fussed about, and talked of, and even loved--yes, loved--while she,
Fanny, was losing her friends? The thought was unbearable! Fanny had
managed by judicious precaution to get Betty to reveal part of her
secret, and Betty was no longer a member of the Specialities. Betty's
name was on the blackboard too, and by no means honorably mentioned. But
more things could be done.
For Fanny felt that the school was turning against her--the upper
school, whose praise she so prized. The Specialities asked her boldly
why she did not love Betty Vivian. There would be no peace for Fanny
until Mrs. Haddo knew everything, and dismissed the Vivians to another
school. This she would, of course, do at once if she knew the full
extent of Betty's sin. Fanny felt that she must proceed very warily.
Betty had hidden the packet, and boldly declared that she would not give
it up to any one--that she would rather leave the Specialities than tell
her story to Mrs. Haddo and put the little sealed packet into her
keeping. Fanny's present aim, therefore, was to find the packet. She
wondered how she could accomplish this, and looked round her for a
ready tool. Presently she made up her mind that the one girl who might
help her was Sibyl Ray. Sibyl was by no means strong-minded. Sibyl was
unpopular--she pined for notice. Sibyl adored Betty; but suppose--oh,
suppose!--Fanny could offer her, as a price for the dirty work she
wanted her to undertake, membership in the Speciality Club? Martha West
would be on Sibyl's side, for Martha was always friendly to the plain,
uninteresting, somewhat lonely girl. Fanny felt at once that the one
tool who could further her aims was Sibyl Ray. There was no time to
lose.
Sibyl had been frightfully perturbed at seeing Betty's name on the
blackboard, and she was as eager to talk to Fanny as Fanny was pleased
to listen to her.
"Oh Fan!" she said, running up to her on the afternoon of that same day,
"may I go for a very little walk with you? I do want to ask you about
poor darling Betty!"
"Poor darling Betty indeed!" said Fanny.
"Oh, but don't you pity her? What can have happened to cause her to be
no longer a member of the Specialities?"
"Now, Sibyl, you must be a little goose! Do you suppose for a moment it
is within my power to enlighten you?"
"I suppose it isn't; but I am very unhappy about her, and so are we all.
We are all fond of Betty. We think her wonderful."
Fanny was silent.
"'Tis good of you, Fan, to let me walk with you!"
"I have something to say to you, Sibyl; but before I begin you must
promise me most faithfully that you won't repeat anything I am going to
say."
"Of course not," said Sibyl. "As if I could!"
"I don't suppose you would dare. You see, I am one of the older girls of
the school, and have been a Speciality for some little time, and it
wouldn't be at all to your advantage if you did anything to annoy me. I
should find out at once, for instance, if you whispered a syllable of
this to Martha West, Margaret Grant, or any other member of the
Speciality Club."
"I won't! I won't! You may trust me, indeed you may," said Sibyl.
"I think I may," answered Fanny, looking down at Sibyl's poor little
apology of a face. "I think you are the sort who would be faithful."
Sibyl's small heart swelled with pride. "Betty was kind to me too," she
said; "and she did make me look nice--didn't she?--when she suggested
that I should wear the marguerites."
"To tell you the truth, Sibyl, you were a figure of fun that night.
Betty was laughing in her sleeve at you all the time."
Sibyl colored, and her small light-blue eyes contracted. "Betty laughing
at me! I don't believe it."
"Of course she was, child. We all spoke of it afterwards. Why, you don't
know what you looked like when you came into the room in that green
dress, with that hideous wreath on your head."
"I know," said Sibyl in a humble tone. "I couldn't make it look all
right; but Betty took me behind a screen, and managed it in a twinkling,
and put a white sash round my waist, and--oh, I felt nice anyhow!"
"I am glad you felt nice," said Fanny, "for I can assure you it was more
than you looked."
"Oh Fanny, don't hurt me! You know I can't afford very pretty dresses
like you. We are rather poor at home, and there are so many of us."
"I don't want to hurt you, child; only, haven't you a grain of sense?
Don't you know perfectly well why Betty wanted you to wear the wreath of
marguerites?"
"Just because she was sweet," said Sibyl, "and she thought I'd look
really nice in them."
"That is all you know! Now, recall something, Sibyl."
"Yes?"
"Do you remember when you saw Betty stoop over that broken stump of the
old oak and take something out?"
"Of course I do," said Sibyl. "It was a piece of wood. I found it the
next day."
"Well, it wasn't a piece of wood," said Fanny.
"What can you mean?" asked Sibyl. She stood perfectly still, staring at
her companion. Then she burst into a sort of frightened laugh. "But it
was a piece of wood, really," she added. "You are mistaken, Fanny. Of
course you know a great deal, but even you can't know more than I have
proved by my own eyesight. It looked in the distance like a small brown
piece of wood; and I asked Betty if it was, and she admitted it."
"Just like her! just like her!" said Fanny.
"Well, then, the very next day," continued Sibyl, "several girls and I
went to the old stump and poked and poked, and found it; so, you
see----"
"I don't see," replied Fanny. "And now, if you will allow me, Sibyl, and
if you won't chatter quite so fast, I will tell you what I really do
know about this matter. I don't think for a single moment--in fact, I am
certain--that Betty Vivian did not trouble herself to poke amongst
withered leaves in the stump of the old oak-tree in order to produce a
piece of sodden wood. There was something else; and when you asked her
if it was a piece of wood she told you--remember, Sibyl, this is in
absolute confidence--an untruth. Oh, I am trying to put it mildly; but I
must mention the fact--Betty told you an untruth. Did you observe, or
did you not, that she was excited and looked slightly annoyed when you
suddenly called to her and ran up to her side?"
"I--yes, I think she did look a little put out; but then she is very
proud, is Betty, and I am not her special friend, although I love her so
hard," replied Sibyl.
"She walked with you afterwards, did she not?"
"Yes."
"She went towards the house with you?"
"Of course. I have told you all that, Fanny."
"When you both reached the gardens she suggested that you should wear
the marguerites in your hair?"
"She did, Fanny; and I thought it was such a charming idea."
"Did it not once occur to you that she wanted to get you out of the way,
that she did not care one scrap how you looked at the Speciality
entertainment?"
"That certainly did not occur to me," answered Sibyl; then she added
stoutly, for she was a faithful little thing at heart, "and I don't
believe it either."
"Well, believe it or not as you please; I know it to have been a fact.
And now I'll just tell you something. You must never, never repeat it;
if you do, I sha'n't speak to you again. I know what I am saying to be a
fact: I know the reason why Betty Vivian is no longer a Speciality."
"Oh! oh!" said Sibyl. She colored deeply.
"No longer a Speciality," repeated Fanny; "and I know the reason why;
only, of course, I can never say. But there's a vacancy in the
Speciality Club now for a girl who is faithful and zealous, and who can
prove herself my friend."
Sibyl's heart began to beat very fast. "A vacancy in the Specialities!"
she said in a low tone.
Fanny turned quickly round and faced her. "I could get you in if I
liked," she said. "Would it suit you to be a Speciality?"
"Would it suit me?" said Sibyl. "Oh Fanny, it sounds like heaven! I
don't know what I wouldn't do--I don't know what I wouldn't do to become
a member of that club."
"And Martha West would second any suggestions I made," continued Fanny.
"Of course I don't know that I could get you in; but I'd have a good
try, provided you help me now."
"Fanny, what is it you want me to do?"
"I want you, Sibyl, to use your intelligence; and I want you, all alone
and without consulting any one, to find out where Betty Vivian has put
the treasure which she told you was a piece of wood and which she hid in
the old oak stump. You can manage it quite well if you like."
"I don't understand!" gasped Sibyl.
"If you repeat a word of this conversation I shall use my influence to
have you boycotted in the school," said Fanny. "My power is great to
help or to mar your career in the school. If you do what I want--well,
my dear, all I can say is this, that I shall do my utmost to get you
into the club. You cannot imagine how nice it is when you are a member.
Think what poor Betty has lost, and think how you will feel when you are
a Speciality and she is not."
"I don't know that I shall feel anything," replied Sibyl. "Somehow or
other, I don't like this thing you want me to do, Fanny."
"Well, don't do it. I will get some one else."
"And, in the second place," continued Sibyl, "even if I were willing to
do it, I don't know how. If Betty chooses to hide things--parcels or
anything of that sort--I can't find out where she puts them."
"You can watch her," said Fanny. "Now, if you have any gumption about
you--and it is my strong belief that you have--you will be able to tell
me this time to-morrow something about Betty Vivian and her movements.
If by this time to-morrow you know nothing--why, I will relieve you of
the task, and you will be as you were before. But if, on the other hand,
you help me to save the honor of a great school--which is, I assure you,
at the present moment in serious peril--I shall do my utmost to get you
admitted to the Speciality Club. Now, I think that is all."
As Fanny concluded she shouted to Susie Rushworth, who was going towards
the arbor at the top of the grounds, and Sibyl found herself all alone.
Fanny had taken her a good long way. They had passed through a
plantation of young fir-trees to one of the vegetable-gardens, and
thence through an orchard, where the grass was long and dank at this
time of year. Somehow or other, Sibyl felt chilled to the bone and very
miserable. She had never liked Fanny less than she did at this moment.
But she was not strong-minded, and Fanny was one of the most important
girls in the school. She was rich, her father was a man of great
distinction; she might be head-girl of the school, and probably would
when Margaret Grant left; she was also quite an old member of the
Specialities. Besides Fanny, even Martha West seemed to fade into
insignificance. It was as though the friend of the Prime Minister--the
greatest possible friend--had held out a helping hand to a struggling
nobody, and offered that nobody a dazzling position. Sibyl was that poor
little nobody, and Fanny's words were weighted with such power that the
girl trembled and felt herself shaking all over.
Sibyl's love for Martha was innocent, pure, and good. Her admiration for
Betty was the generous and romantic affection which a little schoolgirl
gives to another girl older than herself who is both brilliant and
captivating. But, after all, Betty had lost her sceptre and laid down
her crown. Betty, for some extraordinary reason, was in disgrace, and
Fanny was in the zenith of her power. It would be magnificent to be a
Speciality! How those girls who thought little or nothing of Sibyl now
would admire her when she passed into that glorious state! She thought
of herself as joining the other Specialities in arranging programmes, in
devising entertainments; she thought of the privileges which would be
hers; she thought of that delightful private sitting-room into which she
had once dared to peep, and then shot out her little face again,
half-terrified at her own audacity. There was no one in the room at the
moment; but it did look cosy--the chairs so easy and comfortable, and
all covered with such a delicate shade of blue. Sibyl knew that blue
became her. She thought how nice she would look sitting in one of those
chairs and being hail-fellow-well-met with Margaret Grant, and Martha
her own friend, and all the others. Even Betty would envy her then. She
and Betty would change places. It would be her part to advise Betty what
to do and what to wear. Oh, it was a very dazzling prospect! And she
could gain the coveted distinction--but how?
Sibyl felt her heart beating very fast. She had not been trained in a
high school of morals. Her father was a very hard-working clergyman with
a large family of eight children. Her mother was dead; her elder sisters
were earning their own living. Mrs. Haddo had heard of Sibyl, and had
taken her into the school on special terms, feeling sure that charity
was well expended in such a case. Mr. Ray was far too busy over his
numerous duties to look after Sibyl as her mother would have done had
she lived. The little girl was brought up anyhow, and her new life at
Haddo Court was a revelation to her in more ways than one. She was not
pretty; she was not clever; she was not strong-minded; she was very
easily influenced. A good girl could have done much for her--Martha had
done her very best; but a bad girl could do even more.
While Sibyl was dallying with temptation, thinking to herself how
attractive it would be to feel such an important person as Fanny
Crawford, she looked down from the height where she was standing and saw
Betty Vivian walking slowly across the common.
Betty was alone. Her head was slightly bent, but the rest of her young
figure was bolt upright. She was going towards the spot where those
sparse clumps of heather occupied their neglected position at one side
of the "forest primeval."
When first Sibyl saw Betty her heart gave a great throb of longing to
rush to her, to fling her arms round her, to kiss her, to cling to her
side. But she suppressed that impulse. She loved Betty, but she was
afraid of her. Betty was the last sort of girl to put up with what she
considered liberties; Sibyl was a person to whom she was utterly
indifferent, and she would by no means have liked Sibyl to kiss her.
From Sibyl's vantage-ground, therefore, she watched Betty, herself
unseen. Then it suddenly occurred to her that she might continue to
watch her, but from a more favorable point of view.
There was a little knoll at one end of the orchard, and there was a very
old gnarled apple-tree at the edge of the knoll. If Sibyl ran fast she
could climb into the apple-tree and look right down on to the common. No
sooner did the thought come to her than she resolved to act on it.
Knowledge is always power, and she need not tell Fanny anything at all
unless she liked. She could be faithful to poor Betty, who was in
disgrace, and at the same time she might know something about her. It
was so very odd that Betty was expelled from the Specialities. She could
not possibly have resigned, for had she done so there would have been a
great fuss, and everything would have been explained to the satisfaction
of the school; whereas that mysterious sentence on the blackboard left
the whole thing involved in darkest night. What had Betty done? Had she
really told a lie about what she had found in the old stump of oak? Was
it not a piece of wood after all? Had she really sent Sibyl into the
flower-garden to gather marguerites and make herself a figure of fun at
the Specialities' entertainment? Had she done it to get rid of her just
because--because she wanted--she wanted to remove something from the
stump of the old oak-tree? Oh, if Betty were that sort--if it were
possible--even Sibyl Ray felt that she could not love her any longer! It
was Fanny, after all, who was a noble girl. Fanny wanted to get to the
bottom of things. Fanny herself could not do what an unimportant little
girl like Sibyl could do. After all, there was nothing shabby in it. If
it were shabby, Fanny Crawford, the last girl in the school to do wrong,
would not have asked her to attend to the matter.
Sibyl therefore climbed into the old apple-tree and perched amongst its
branches, and gazed eagerly down on the bit of common land. She was far
nearer to Betty than Betty had the least idea of. She saw her walk
towards the pieces of heather, but could not, from her point of view,
see what the plants were. She had really no idea that there was any
special heather in the grounds; she was not interested in a stupid thing
like heather. But she did see Betty go on her knees, and she did see her
pull up a root of some sort or other, and she did see her take something
out and look at it and put it back again. Then Betty returned very
slowly across the common towards the house.
Sibyl was fairly panting now with excitement. Was there ever, ever in
all the world, such an easy way of becoming a Speciality? Betty had a
secret; and she, Sibyl, had found it out without the slightest
difficulty. Betty had hidden something in the old oak, and now she had
buried it under some plants at the edge of the common. Sibyl forgot
pretence, she forgot honor, she forgot everything but the luring voice
of Fanny Crawford and her keen desire to perfect her quest. At that time
of year few girls troubled themselves to walk across the "forest
primeval." It was a sort of place that was pleasant enough in warm days
of summer, but damp and dull and dreary at this season, when the girls
of Haddo Court preferred the upper walks, or the hockey-ground, or the
different places where the various games were played. Certainly the
"forest primeval" did not occupy much of their attention.
It was getting a little dusk; but Sibyl, too excited to care, scrambled
down from her tree, and a few minutes later had dashed across the
common, and had discovered by the loosened earth the exact spot where
Betty had stooped. She was now beside herself with excitement. It was
her turn to go on her knees. She was doing good work; she was, according
to Fanny Crawford, saving the honor of the school. She poked and poked
with her fingers, and soon got up the already loosened roots of the
piece of heather. Down went her hard little hands into the cold clay
until at last they touched the tiny packet, which was sealed and tied
firmly with strong string.
"Eureka! I have found it!" was Sibyl's exclamation. She slipped the
packet into her pocket, put the heather back into its place, tried to
give the disturbed earth the appearance of not having been disturbed at
all, and went back to the house. She was so excited she could scarcely
contain herself.
The days were getting shorter. Tea was at half-past four, and a kind of
light supper at seven o'clock. The girls of the lower school had this
meal a little earlier. Sibyl was just in time for tea, which was always
served in the great refectory; and here the various members of the upper
school were all assembled--except the Specialities, who had tea in their
own private room.
"Well, Sibyl, you are late!" said Sarah Butt. "I wanted to take a long
walk with you. Where have you been?"
"I have been for a walk with Fanny Crawford," replied Sibyl with an
important air.
Betty, who was helping herself to a cup of tea, glanced up at that
moment and fixed her eyes on Sibyl. Sibyl colored furiously and looked
away. Betty took no further notice of her, but began to chat with a girl
near her. Soon a crowd of girls collected round Betty, and laughed
heartily at her remarks.
On any other occasion Sibyl would have joined this group, and been the
first to giggle over Betty's witticisms. But the little parcel in her
pocket seemed to weigh like lead. It was a weight on her spirits too.
She was most anxious to deliver it over to Fanny Crawford, and to keep
Fanny to her word, in order that she might be proposed as a Speciality
at the next meeting. She knew this would not be until Thursday. Oh, it
was all too long to wait! But she could put on airs already, for would
she not very soon cease to be drinking this weak tea in the refectory?
Would she not be having her own dainty meal in the Specialities' private
room?
"How red you are, Sibyl!" was Sarah Butt's remark. "I suppose the cold
wind has caught your cheeks."
"I wish you wouldn't remark on my appearance," said Sibyl.
"Dear, dear! Hoity-toity! How grand we are getting all of a sudden!"
"You needn't snub me in the way you do, Sarah. You'll be treating me
very differently before long."
"Indeed, your Royal Highness! And may I ask how and why?"
"You may neither ask how nor why; but events will prove," said Sibyl.
She raised her voice a little incautiously, and once again Betty looked
at her. There was something about Betty's glance, at once sorrowful and
aloof, which stung Sibyl. Just because she had done Betty a wrong she no
longer loved her half as much as she had done. After a pause, she said
in a distinct voice, "I am a very great friend of Fanny Crawford, and I
am going to see her now on special business." With these words she
marched out of the refectory.
Some of the girls laughed. Betty was quite silent. No one dared question
Betty Vivian with regard to her withdrawal from the Speciality Club,
nor did she enlighten them. But when tea was over she went up to Sylvia
and Hetty and said a few words to them both. They looked at her in
amazement, but made no kind of protest. After speaking to her sisters,
Betty left the refectory.
"What can be the matter with your Betty?" asked one of the girls,
addressing the twins.
"There's nothing the matter with her," said Sylvia in a stout voice.
"Why are your eyes so red, then?"
"My eyes are red because Dickie's lost."
"Who's Dickie?"
"He is the largest spider I ever saw, and he grows bigger and fatter
every day. But he is lost. We brought him from Scotland. He'd sting any
one who tried to hurt him; so if any of you see him in your bedrooms or
hiding under your pillows you'd best shriek out, for he is a dangerous
sort, and ought not to be interfered with."
"How perfectly appalling!" said the girl now addressed. "You really
oughtn't to keep horrid pets of that sort. And I loathe spiders."
"Oh, well, you're not Scotch," replied Sylvia with a disdainful gesture.
"Dickie is a darling to those he loves, but very fierce to those he
hates."
"And is that really why your eyes are so red?" continued the girl--Hilda
Morton by name. "Has it nothing to do with that wonderful sister of
yours, and the strange fact that she has been expelled from the
Speciality Club?"
"She hasn't been expelled!" said Sylvia in a voice of fury.
"Don't talk nonsense! The fact was mentioned on the blackboard. If you
don't believe it, you can come and see for yourself."
"She has left the club, but was not expelled," said Sylvia. "And I hate
you, Hilda! You have no right to speak of my sister like that."
Meanwhile two girls were pursuing their different ways. Betty was going
towards that wing of the building where Mr. Fairfax's suite of rooms was
to be found. She had never yet spoken to him. She wished to speak to him
now. The rooms occupied by the Fairfaxes formed a complete little
dwelling, with its own kitchen and special servants. These rooms
adjoined the chapel; but his family lived apart from the school. It was
understood, however, that any girl at Haddo Court was at liberty to ask
the chaplain a question in a moment of difficulty.
Betty now rang the bell of the little house. A neat servant opened the
door. On inquiring if Mr. Fairfax were within, Betty was told "Yes," and
was admitted at once into that gentleman's study.
The clergyman rose at her entrance. He recognized her face, spoke to her
kindly, said he was glad she had come to see him, and asked her to sit
down. "Is anything the matter, my dear? Is there any way in which I can
help you?"
"I don't know," answered the girl. "I thought perhaps you could; it
flashed through my mind to-day that perhaps you could. You have seen me
in the chapel?"
"Oh yes; yours is not the sort of face one is likely to forget."
"I am not happy," said Betty.
"I am sorry to hear that. But don't you agree with me that we poor human
creatures think too much of our own individual happiness and too little
of the happiness of others? It seems to me that the golden rule to live
by in this: Provided my brother is happy, all is well with me."
"That is true to a certain extent," said Betty; "but--" She paused a
minute. Then she said abruptly, "I am not at all the cringing sort, and
I am not the girl to grumble, and I love Mrs. Haddo; and, sir, there
have been moments when your voice in chapel has given me great
consolation. I also love one or two of my schoolfellows. But the fact
is, there is something weighing on my conscience, and I cannot tell you
what it is. I cannot do the right thing, sir; and I do not see my way
ever to do what I suppose you would say was the right thing. I will tell
you this much about myself. You have heard of our Speciality Club?"
"Of course I have."
"The girls were very good to me when I came here--for I am a comparative
stranger in the school--and they elected me to be a Speciality."
"Indeed!" said Mr. Fairfax. "That is a very great honor."
"I know it is; and I was given the rules, and I read them all carefully.
But, sir, in a sudden moment of temptation, before I came to Haddo
Court, I did something which was wrong, and I am determined not to mend
my ways with regard to that matter. Nevertheless, I became a Speciality,
knowing that by so doing I should break the first rule of the club."
Mr. Fairfax was too courteous ever to interrupt any one who came to him
to talk over a difficulty. He was silent now, his hands clasped tightly
together, his deep-set eyes fixed on Betty's vivid face.
"I was a Speciality for about a fortnight," she continued--"perhaps a
little longer. But at the last meeting I made up my mind that I could
not go on, so I told the girls what I had done. It is unnecessary to
trouble you with those particulars, sir. After I had told them they
asked me to leave the room, and I went. They had a special meeting of
the club last night to consult over my case, and I was invited to be
present. I was then told that, notwithstanding the fact that I had
broken Rule No. I., I might continue to be a member of the club if I
would give up something which I possess and to which I believe I have a
full right, and if I would relate my story in detail to Mrs. Haddo. I
absolutely refused to do either of these things. I was then _expelled_
from the club, sir--that is the only word to use; and the fact was
notified on the blackboard in the great hall to-day."
"Well," said Mr. Fairfax when Betty paused, "I understand that you
repent, and you do not repent, and that you are no longer a Speciality."
"That is the case, sir."
"Can you not take me further into your confidence?"
"There is no use," said Betty, shaking her head.
"I am not surprised, Miss Vivian, that you are unhappy."
"I am accustomed to that," said Betty.
"May I ask what you have come to see me about?"
"I wanted to know this: ought I, or ought I not, being unrepentant of my
sin, to come to the chapel with the other girls, to kneel with them, to
pray with them, and to listen to your words?"
"I must leave that to yourself. If your conscience says, 'Come,' it is
not for me to turn you out. But it is a very dangerous thing to trifle
with conscience. Of course you know that. I can see, too, that you are
peculiarly sensitive. Forgive me, but I have often noticed your face,
and with extreme interest. You have good abilities, and a great future
before you in the upward direction--that is, if you choose. Although you
won't take me into your confidence, I am well aware that the present is
a turning-point in your career. You must at least know that I, as a
clergyman, would not repeat to any one a word of what you say to me. Can
you not trust me?"
"No, no; it is too painful!" said Betty. "I see that, in your heart of
hearts, you think that I--I ought not--I ought _not_ to come to chapel.
I am indeed outcast!"
"No, child, you are not. Kneel down now, and let me pray with you."
"I cannot stand it--no, I cannot!" said Betty; and she turned away.
When she had gone Mr. Fairfax dropped on his knees. He prayed for a long
time with fervor. But that night he missed Betty Vivian at prayers in
the beautiful little chapel.
Meanwhile Betty--struggling, battling with herself, determined not to
yield, feeling fully convinced that the only wrong thing she had done
was telling the lie to Sir John Crawford and prevaricating to Sibyl--was
nothing like so much to be pitied as Sibyl Ray herself.
Sibyl had lingered about the different corridors and passages until she
found Fanny, who was talking to Martha West. Sibyl was so startled when
the two girls came out of the private sitting-room that she almost
squinted, and Fanny at once perceived that the girl had something
important to tell her. She must not, however, appear to notice Sibyl
specially in the presence of Martha.
Martha, on the contrary, went up at once to Sibyl and said in her
pleasant voice, "Why, my dear child, it is quite a long time since we
have met! And now, I wonder what I can do for you or how I can possibly
help you. Would you like to come and have a cosy chat with me in my
bedroom for a little? The fact is this," continued Martha: "we
Specialities are so terribly spoilt in the school that we hardly know
ourselves. Fancy having a fire in one's bedroom, not only at night, but
at this hour! Would you like to come with me, Sib?"
At another moment Sibyl would have hailed this invitation with rapture.
On the present occasion she was about to refuse it; but Fanny said with
a quick glance, which was not altogether lost on Martha, "Of course go
with Martha, Sibyl. You are in great luck to have such a friend."
Sibyl departed, therefore, very unwillingly, with the friend she had
once adored. Martha's bedroom was very plain and without ornaments, but
there were snug easy-chairs and the fire burned brightly. Martha invited
the little girl to sit down, and asked her how she was.
"Oh, I am all right," said Sibyl.
Martha looked at her attentively. "I don't quite understand you, Sib.
You have rather avoided me during the last day or two. Is it because I
am a Speciality? I do hope that will make no difference with my old
friends."
"Oh no," said Sibyl. "There's nothing so wonderful in being a
Speciality, is there?"
Martha stared. "Well, to me it is very wonderful," she said; "and I
cannot imagine how those other noble-minded girls think me good enough
to join them."
"Oh Martha, are they so good as all that?"
"They are," said Martha; and her tone was very gloomy. She was thinking
of Betty, whom she longed to comfort, whom she earnestly longed to help.
"It's so queer about Betty," said Sibyl after a pause. "She seemed to be
such a very popular Speciality. Then, all of a sudden, she ceased to be
one at all. I can't understand it."
"And you are never likely to, Sibyl. What happens in the club is only
known to its members."
Sibyl grew red. What was coming over her? Two or three hours ago she was
a girl--weak, it is true; insignificant, it is true--with a passion for
Martha West and a most genuine love and admiration for Betty Vivian. Now
she almost disliked Betty; and she could not make out what charm she had
ever discovered in poor, plain Martha. She got up impatiently. "You will
forgive me, Martha," she said; "but I have lots of things I want to do.
I don't think I will stay just now. Perhaps you will ask me to come and
talk to you another day."
"No, Sibyl, I sha'n't. When you want me you must try to find me
yourself. I don't understand what is the matter with you to-day."
Sibyl grew that fiery red which always distressed her inexpressibly. The
next minute she had disappeared. She ran straight to Fanny's room,
hoping and trusting that she might find its inmate within. She was not
disappointed, for Fanny was there alone; she was fully expecting Sibyl
to come and see her. To Sibyl's knock she said, "Come in!" and the girl
entered at once.
"Well?" said Fanny.
"I have done what you wanted," said Sibyl. "I watched her, and I saw.
Afterwards I went to the place where she had hidden it. I took it. It is
in my pocket. Please take it from me. I have done what you wished. I
want to get rid of it, and never to think of it again. Fanny, when shall
I be elected a Speciality?"
But Fanny did not speak. She had snatched the little packet from Sibyl's
hand and was gazing at it, her eyes almost starting from her head.
"When shall I become a Speciality?" whispered Sibyl.
"Don't whisper, child! The Vivians' room is next to mine. Sibyl, we must
keep this a most profound secret, I am awfully obliged to you! You have
been very clever and prompt. I don't wish to ask any questions at all.
Thank you, Sibyl, from my heart. I will certainly keep my promise, and
at the next meeting will propose you as a member. Whether you are
elected or not must, of course, depend on the votes of the majority. In
the meanwhile forget all this. Be as usual with your schoolfellows. Rest
assured of my undying friendship and gratitude. Keep what you have done
a profound secret; if anything leaks out there is no chance of your
becoming a Speciality. Now, good-bye Sibyl. I mustn't be seen to take
any special notice of you; people are very watchful in cases of this
sort. But remember, though I don't talk to you a great deal, I shall be
your true friend; and after you have become a member of our club there
will, of course, be no difficulty."
"Oh, I should love to be a member!" said Sibyl. "I do so hate the tea in
the refectory, and you do seem to have such cosy times in your
sitting-room."
Fanny smiled very slightly. "May I give you one word of warning?" she
said. "You made a very great mistake to-day when you did not seem
willing to pay Martha West a visit. Your election depends far more on
Martha than on me. Between now and Thursday--when I mean to propose you
as a member in place of Betty Vivian, who has forfeited her right for
ever--Martha will be your most valuable ally. I do not say you will be
elected--for the rules of the club are very strict, and we are most
exclusive--but I will do my utmost."
"But you promised! I thought I was sure!" said Sibyl, beginning to
whimper.
"Nonsense, nonsense, child! I said I would do my best. Now, keep up your
friendship with Martha--that is, if you are wise."
Sibyl left the room. Her momentary elation was over, and she began to
hate herself for what she had done. In all probability she would not be
elected a Speciality, and then what reward would she have for acting the
spy? She had acted the spy. The plain truth seemed now to flash before
her eyes. She had been very mean and hard; and she had taken something
which, after all, did not belong to her at all, and given it to Fanny.
She could never get that something back. She felt that she did not dare
to look at Betty Vivian. Why should not Betty hide things if she liked
in the stump of an old oak-tree or under a bit of tiresome heather in
the "forest primeval?" After all, Betty had not said the thing was wood;
but when Sibyl had asked her she had said, "Have it so if you like." Oh!
Sibyl felt just now that she had been made a sort of cat's-paw, and that
she did not like Fanny Crawford one bit.