Through all these days and weeks, Anne and Honey-Sweet were bearing
about the secret which her uncle had intrusted to her. Sometimes it
perplexed her and weighed heavy on her mind. Sometimes she forgot all
about it for days together. Then with a start there would come, like a
black figure stalking between her and the sunlight, the thought of her
uncle's strange appearance, of the danger which he said was hanging over
him if she told that she had seen him--told anywhere except at Nantes.
One night she dreamed that she told the secret. And the words were
hardly off her lips before she saw her uncle pursued by a crowd, ragged,
loud-voiced, wild-eyed people, like those she and Annette had seen that
day when, falling behind their schoolmates out walking, they had taken
a hurried short-cut and had run frightened along a dingy street. Anne
dreamed that she saw her uncle running--running--running--almost
spent--mouth open--panting breath. A moment more and the outstretched
hands would catch him. They were not hands, they were sharp, cruel claws
about to seize him. She wakened herself with a scream.
"No, no, no!" she sobbed, "I will never, never, never tell!"
The little package was still hidden where Mr. Mayo had put it. Once or
twice when she was alone Anne had opened it, but she always felt as if
some one was looking at her and about to question her, and she put it
hastily away. There were three rings,--one a plain heavy band of yellow
gold, one set with a blazing red stone, one with a cluster of sparkling
white gems. There was a bead purse with a gold piece and a few silver
coins in it. And there was a gold locket containing the portrait of a
high-bred old gentleman with soft, dark hair falling in curls about his
shoulders.
One gray morning early in November, Anne was wakened by an uncomfortable
lump against her side. Sleepily she put her hand down to find out what
it was. Her fingers closed on something hard, and opening them she saw
rings, locket, and purse. The string around the packet had worn in two,
the packet had come open and spilled its contents. Anne started up in
bed, wide awake now, and glanced fearfully around. Honey-Sweet, snuggled
down under the pillow, lay peacefully unaware that she had lost the
treasure intrusted to her. All the girls were asleep. But at any moment
one of them might wake. And it was almost time for Louise to come,
bringing water and towels. Anne sprang out of bed, and with hurrying,
trembling fingers tied the trinkets in the corner of a handkerchief and
thrust them in the bottom of her box.
Her thoughts wandered many times during the long routine of the long
day--recitations, practice, exercise, study periods. Suppose Louise
should open the box to put away clothes or to set its contents in order,
find the packet, and report her to Mademoiselle. The rules required that
all jewelry be given in charge to one of the teachers. How would
she--how could she--explain having these things? In the afternoon
play-time, Anne ran to the dormitory, took out her workbox, and began
with hurried, awkward stitches to sew a handkerchief into a bag to
contain the jewels. How the thread snarled and knotted! How slowly the
work progressed!
And then all at once, "Anne!" said a surprised voice.
Anne gave a great start and tried to hide her work.
"Anne, it is forbidden to come to the dormitory at this hour." It was
Mademoiselle Duroc that spoke. "Report for a demerit this evening. But
what is it that you do there?"
Anne was silent.
"Anne Lewis! Answer!"
"I was just making a little bag," she murmured.
"For what purpose?" asked the awful voice.
Anne faltered. "To--to put some things in."
"What things?"
Anne clasped her hands imploringly. "I cannot tell you, Mamzelle. I
cannot. I cannot."
"You cannot tell?" repeated Mademoiselle Duroc. "I like not the
mysteries. But I like the less to see you excite yourself into
hysterics. Go downstairs and do not permit yourself to be found here
again at this hour."
Anne dropped the unfinished bag into her box and went slowly downstairs.
Mademoiselle Duroc followed her into the hall, stood there an undecided
moment, then returned to the dormitory and paused beside Anne's box. She
raised the lid, then dropped it, shaking her head.
"It is the most likely some child's nonsense about a string of buttons
or such a matter. It suits not with the sense of dignity for me to
search her box like a dishonest servant maid's," she said and returned
to her room.
That night Anne tossed restlessly about until the other girls were
asleep, then rose with sudden resolve to finish the bag by the moonlight
which poured through the muslin curtains. She laid the trinkets on the
pillow beside Honey-Sweet and stitched away on the bag. A little more, a
very little more, and her work would be done. She would tie the bag
around Honey-Sweet's waist and then surely the troublesome jewels would
be safe. Suddenly there came a piercing scream from the bed beside hers.
Mademoiselle Duroc's door across the hall flew open, admitting a broad
stream of light.
"What is the matter?" demanded Mademoiselle. "Who screamed?"
For a moment no one spoke. Mademoiselle turned on the electric lights
and her sharp black eyes searched the room. Bébé and Annette, wakened by
the turmoil, sat up in bed, blinking at the light. Madge rolled over and
grunted. Elsie continued to snore serenely. But Amelia and Anne were
wide awake. Amelia was sitting bolt upright, staring about her. Anne had
not moved; she held the needle in her right hand, the unfinished bag in
her left; beside her on the pillow gleamed the jewels. Mademoiselle's
eyes took in every detail.
"I demand to know who screamed," she repeated.
Amelia spoke sheepishly. "I was so sound asleep," she said. "And then I
waked up. I can't help being 'fraid of ghosts and burglars and things.
I saw--it's Anne--but I didn't know. I just saw something between me and
the window, and the hand went up and down--up and down. It frightened
me. I screamed."
"It is the misfortune to be a so fearful coward," commented
Mademoiselle, dryly. "And you, Anne Lewis, you also are due to explain."
Anne sat pale and wordless.
"You will have the goodness to give me those things from your pillow
which belong not there," said Mademoiselle, taking possession of them.
"Now you will please to put on your slippers and your dressing-gown, and
we will have the interview in my room. This dormitory needs no more
disturbance. I commend you to sleep, young ladies. I suggest, Amelia,
that you cultivate repose and courage."
Anne entered Mademoiselle Duroc's room with one thought in her
bewildered brain. "I must not tell. I must not tell," she said over and
over to herself. She stood with downcast eyes before Mademoiselle Duroc
who examined the trinkets one after another.
"These rings are, I judge, of considerable value," she said. "This is an
exquisite little ruby. The locket is quaintly enamelled. The miniature
is of masterful workmanship; whose portrait is it?" she asked, raising
her eyes to Anne's frightened face.
Anne shook her head. Her voice failed her. And she did not know that the
stately old gentleman was her mother's grandfather.
"And you so disregard the rules as to have jewels in your open box--and
money of this value," continued Mademoiselle, emptying the coins out of
the bead purse and putting her finger on the gold piece.
"Is that money?" asked Anne, in amazement.
Mademoiselle looked up. "Do you mean to tell me that you were unaware
that this is a twenty-dollar coin?" she asked.
"I never thought," answered Anne. "Of course I ought to have known. It
was stupid. But I had never seen gold money before."
"Where did you get it?" demanded Mademoiselle. "And the other things?"
It was the question that Anne dreaded.
"I cannot tell you, Mamzelle," she answered, in a low voice.
"Anne! I demand to know whose things these are," said Mademoiselle, in
her most awful voice.
"Mine, mine," cried Anne. "But I cannot tell you about them, Mamzelle.
Indeed I cannot--not if you kill me. I promised. I promised."
In vain did Mademoiselle Duroc question. At last she dismissed Anne who
crept back to bed, and, holding Honey-Sweet tight, sobbed herself to
sleep.