"IF I HAD KNOWN YOU SOONER."
As Maggie was leaving the crowded drawing-room, she came face to face
with Rosalind. One of those impulses which always guided her, more or
less, made her stop suddenly and put her hand on the young girl's
shoulder.
"Will you come home with me?" she asked.
Rosalind was talking gaily at the moment to a very young undergraduate.
"I am obliged to you," she began; "you are kind, but I have arranged to
return to St Benet's with Miss Day and Miss Marsh."
"I should like you to come now with me," persisted Maggie in a grave
voice.
Something in her tone caused Rosalind to turn pale. The sick fear,
which had never been absent from her heart during the evening, became on
the instant intolerable. She turned to the young lad with whom she had
been flirting, bade him a hasty and indifferent "Good-night," and
followed Maggie out of the room.
Hammond accompanied the two girls downstairs, got their cab for them,
and helped them in.
After Rosalind consented to come home, Miss Oliphant did not address
another word to her. Rosalind sat huddled up in a corner of the cab;
Maggie kept the window open, and looked out. The clear moonlight shone
on her white face and glistened on her dress. Rosalind kept glancing at
her; the guilty girl's terror of the silent figure by her side grew
greater each moment.
The girls reached Heath Hall, and Maggie again touched Rosalind on her
arm.
"Come to my room," she said; "I want to say something to you."
Without waiting for a reply she went on herself in front. Rosalind
followed abjectly; she was shaking in every limb.
The moment Maggie closed her room door, Rosalind flung her cloak off her
shoulders, and, falling on her knees, caught the hem of Maggie's dress
and covered her face with it.
"Don't, Rosalind; get up," said Miss Oliphant, in a tone of disgust.
"Oh, Maggie, Maggie, do be merciful! Do forgive me! Don't send me to
prison, Maggie--don't!"
"Get off your knees at once, or I don't know what I shall do," replied
Maggie.
Rosalind sprang to her feet; she crouched up against the door; her eyes
were wide open. Maggie came and faced her.
"Oh, don't!" said Miss Merton, with a little shriek, "don't look at me
like that!" She put up her hand to her neck and began to unfasten her
coral necklace. She took it off, slipped her bracelets from her arms,
took her earrings out, and removed her pins.
"You can have them all," she said, holding out the coral; "they are
worth a great deal more--a great deal more than the money I--_took_!"
"Lay them down," said Maggie. "Do you think I could touch that coral?
Oh, Rosalind," she added, a sudden rush of intense feeling coming into
her voice, "I pity you! I pity any girl who has so base a soul."
Rosalind began to sob freely. "You don't know how I was tempted," she
said. "I went through a dreadful time, and you were the cause--you know
you were, Maggie. You raised the price of that coral so wickedly, you
excited my feelings. I felt as if there was a fiend in me. You did not
want the sealskin jacket, but you bid against me, and won it. Then I
felt mad, and, whatever you had offered for the coral, I should have
bidden higher. It was all your fault; it was you who got me into debt.
I would not be in the awful, awful plight I am in to-night but for you,
Maggie."
"Hush!" said Maggie. The pupils of her eyes dilated curiously; she put
her hand before them.
"The fruits of my bad half-hours," she murmured under her breath. After
a long pause, she said--
"There is some truth in your words, Rosalind; I did help you to get into
this false position. I am sorry; and when I tell Miss Heath the whole
circumstance--as I must to-morrow--you may be sure I shall not exonerate
myself."
"Oh, Maggie, Maggie, you won't tell Miss Heath! If you do, I am certain
to be expelled, and my mother--my mother will die; she is not over
strong just now, and this will kill her. You cannot be so cruel as to
kill my mother, Maggie Oliphant, particularly when you yourself got me
into this."
"I did not get you into this," retorted Maggie. "I know I am not
blameless in the matter; but could I imagine for a moment that any girl,
any girl who belonged to this college, could debase herself to steal,
and then throw the blame on another. Nancy Banister has told me, Rose,
how cruelly you spoke to Priscilla--what agony your cruel words cost
her. I did wrong I own, but no act of mine would have tempted another
girl to do what you have done. Now, stop crying; I have not brought you
here to discuss your wickedness with you. I shall tell the whole
circumstance to Miss Heath in the morning. It is my plain duty to do
so, and no words of yours can prevent me."
With a stifled cry, Rosalind Merton again fell on her knees.
"Get up," said Maggie, "get up at once, or I shall bring Miss Heath here
now. Your crime, Rosalind, is known to Miss Day and to Miss Marsh.
Even without consulting Miss Heath, I think I can take it upon me to say
that you had better leave St Benet's by the first train in the
morning."
"Oh, yes--yes! that would be much the best thing to do."
"You are to go home, remember."
"Yes, I will certainly go home. But, Maggie, I have no money--I have
literally no money."
"I will ask Priscilla Peel to go with you to the railway-station, and I
will give her sufficient money to pay your fare to London--you live in
London, don't you?"
"Yes, at Bayswater."
"What is your address?"
"19, Queen Street, Bayswater."
"Priscilla shall telegraph to your mother, when you start, and ask her
to meet you at. King's Cross."
Rosalind's face grew paler and paler. "What excuse am I to give to
mother?" she asked.
"That is your own affair; I have no doubt you will find something to
say. I should advise you, Rosalind, to tell your poor mother the truth,
for she is certain to hear all about it from Miss Heath the following
morning."
"Oh, what a miserable, miserable girl I am, Maggie!"
"You are a very miserable and sinful girl. It was a wretched day for
St Benet's when a girl such as you are came to live here. But I don't
want to speak of that now, Rosalind; there is something you must do
before you leave."
"What is that?"
"You must go to Priscilla Peel, and humbly beg her pardon."
"Oh, I cannot, I cannot! You have no idea how I hate Priscilla."
"I am not surprised; the children of darkness generally hate those who
walk in the light."
"Maggie, I _can't_ beg her pardon."
"You can please yourself about that: I certainly shall not force you;
but, unless you beg Priscilla's pardon, and confess to her the wicked
deed you have done, I shall lend you no money to go home. You can go to
your room now, Rosalind; I am tired, and wish to go to bed. You will be
able to let me know your decision in the morning."
Rosalind turned slowly away. She reached her room before the other
girls had arrived home, and tossing the coral ornaments on her
dressing-table, she flung herself across her bed, and gave way to the
most passionate, heart-broken sobs that had ever rent her baby frame.
She was still sobbing, but more quietly, for the force of her passion
had exhausted her, when a very light touch on her shoulder caused her to
raise herself, and look up wildly. Prissie was bending over her.
"I knocked several times," she said, "but you did not hear me, so I came
in. You will be sick if you cry like this, Rose. Let me help you to go
to bed."
"No, no; please don't touch me. I don't want you, of all people, to do
anything for me."
"I wish you would let me undress you. I have often helped Aunt Raby to
go to bed when she was very tired. Come, Rose, don't turn away from me.
Why should you?"
"Priscilla, you are the last person in the world who ought to be kind to
me just now; you don't know, you can never, never guess, what I did to
you."
"Yes, I can partly guess, but I don't want to think of it."
"Listen, Prissie: when I stole that money, I hoped people would accuse
you of the theft."
Prissie's eyes filled with tears. "It was a dreadful thing to do," she
said, faintly.
"Oh, I knew you could never forgive me."
"I do forgive you."
"What! aren't you angry? Aren't you frantic with rage and passion?"
"I don't wish to think of myself at all: I want to think of you. You
are the one to be pitied."
"I? Who could pity me?"
"Well, Rosalind, I do," answered Priscilla in a slow voice; "you have
sunk so low, you have done such a dreadful thing, the kind of thing that
the angels in heaven would grieve over."
"Oh, please don't talk to me of them."
"And then, Rosalind," continued Prissie, "you look so unlike a girl who
would do this sort of thing. I have a little sister at home--a dear,
little innocent sister, and her eyes are blue like yours, and she is
fair, too, as you are fair. I love her, and I think all good things of
her. Rosalind, I fancy that your mother thinks good things of you. I
imagine that she is proud of you, and that she loves to look at your
pretty face."
"Oh, don't--don't?" sobbed Rosalind. "Oh, poor mother, poor mother!"
she burst into softened and sorrowful weeping. The hardness of her
heart had melted for the time under the influence of Priscilla's tender
words.
"I wish I had known you sooner," whispered Rose when Prissie bent down
and kissed her before leaving her for the night. "Perhaps I might have
been a good girl if I had really known you sooner, Priscilla Peel."