THE GUILD OF ST. ELIZABETH.
Immediately after dinner that evening, Leslie ran up to her room to make
preparations for her visit to East Hall.
“Come, Annie,” she said to Miss Colchester, who was standing with her
face to the window and her back to Leslie, “had you not better wrap a
shawl about you; it is time to be off.”
“I’m not coming,” said Annie.
“Not coming? But you must. You know it is not only a request; it is an
order from Miss Lauderdale. Every student is to be in East Hall at
half-past eight.”
“It doesn’t matter,” replied Annie, “whether it is an order or not; I’m
not coming. Say nothing about me, please. I shall stay at home
to-night.”
“But why? You will only get yourself into trouble, and there is surely
no use in that. Oh, Annie, I know you are dreadfully unhappy about
something, and I wish I could comfort you. Do—do let me.”
Annie Colchester now turned slowly round; she looked fixedly at Leslie.
There was a strained expression in her eyes, as if she did not quite
know what she was looking at. Leslie approached her, and touched her
hand. It burned as if with fever.
“You are ill,” said Leslie. “I ought not to leave you. You ought to lie
down and see a doctor. Do let me go and tell Miss Frere. I know your
being ill will make all the difference.”
Leslie had scarcely finished her sentence before Annie pushed her away.
“How dare you interfere?” she said, her eyes flashing. “You are to go,
and say nothing about me. Because you happen to be my roomfellow, are
you to control my actions? I am longing for you to leave the room. You
don’t know what a trial it is for me to have you here. Why will you keep
on prying, and fussing, and interfering. I want to be alone—go!”
“I know you don’t quite mean what you say,” said Leslie; “but of course
if you really wish me——”
“Before you came I had liberty,” interrupted Annie. “You fret me beyond
endurance. Since you came I feel myself tied and bound. Yes; you annoy
me more than words can tell.”
Leslie walked to her own side of the room. She had taken a deep interest
in Annie; and Annie’s words cut her to the heart.
“I am quite sure it is because she is so unhappy,” she thought. “She
does not know what she is saying. I ought not to mind her—I mean I ought
not to be really hurt; but there is nothing for it but to leave her for
the present.”
Wrapping a pretty blue shawl round her head and shoulders, she turned to
Annie. “Good-by,” she said; “is there not any message you would like me
to take, Annie?”
“None; only go!”
Annie stamped with her foot.
Leslie was just closing the door behind her, when Annie called after
her.
“By the way,” she said; “there is no key in this lock; do you know where
it is?”
“I took it out,” said Leslie.
“Took it out! And why, may I ask? Have the goodness to find it and put
it back.”
“But don’t lock me out, please, Annie. You know on occasions you are
absent-minded, and one-half of this room is mine when all’s said and
done. I pay for it, and I have a right to it.”
The unexpected words of spirit caused Annie to become a little less
rude.
“Oh, I won’t lock you out,” she said; “but I must have the key. Please
find it before you go.”
Jane Heriot’s voice was heard in the passage.
“If you two are ready,” she called out, “we may as well start.”
“Coming in a moment, Jane,” answered Leslie. She found the key, which
she had put in the top drawer of her wardrobe, and gave it to Annie. As
she walked down the corridor she heard it being turned in the lock.
“What can this mean?” she said to herself.
Jane came up.
“What is it, Leslie?” she said; “you look as if something was worrying
you.”
“Something is,” replied Leslie, “but I don’t know that I ought to tell
tales out of school.”
“Oh, I won’t press you,” replied Jane.
“After all, perhaps you ought to know, Jane. I am unhappy about Annie
Colchester.”
“Oh, my dear,” said Jane, “if you begin to fret about the oddities of
the college you will never know a moment’s peace. I am told that that
extraordinary and most unpleasant girl, Belle Acheson, has begun to take
to you. Now don’t, I beg of you, get into her set.”
“Oh, I shall never do that,” replied Leslie. “I don’t want,” she added,
“to get into any set: but I do wish to be kind to Belle, for I think she
has good points in her. You see, all the girls except Eileen and
Marjorie laugh at her, and that seems to me to make her worse.”
“I don’t quite go the length of laughing at her,” said Jane in a
thoughtful voice. “But there, you are one of the ‘unco good,’ I am
afraid.”
“Please don’t call me that,” said Leslie, tears now visiting her pretty
eyes.
“Oh, I would not say a word to hurt you,” replied Jane, penitent on the
spot. “You are quite the sweetest girl in the college, and so we all
say. Now, listen; I am going to make a confession. There are times when
I am a little jealous of you, for, you know, you are so wonderfully
pretty, and you are so kind to everyone. They say too that you are
exceedingly clever, and yet you have no jealousies and no smallnesses in
you. You are a universal favorite; I envy you your popularity.”
“I don’t know that I am at all what you say; but any girl ought to be
popular and good who was brought up by a mother like mine,” said Leslie
with enthusiasm. “Some day, Jane, you must see her. If you are in London
during the summer, you must come and pay us a visit, will you?”
“I shall be only too delighted,” cried Jane. “But now, Leslie, what is
the trouble? that is, if you care to confide in me.”
“I believe poor Annie is dreadfully unhappy.”
“Poor dear, perhaps she is; but she ought to be on her way to East Hall
by now. Miss Lauderdale will be very angry with anyone who does not
attend.”
“That’s just it, Jane; that is what frightens me. She refuses to come.”
Jane stood still and faced Leslie.
“Refuses to come?” she cried. “She will get into an awful scrape.”
“I believe she is ill, and does not quite know what she is saying,”
continued Leslie. “She was very queer when I left her just now; that was
why I was a little late. I felt her hand too, and it was very hot. I am
sure she is ill. She works too hard, and she—— But there, I don’t know
that I ought to say any more.”
“Don’t say any more,” cried Jane. “I’ll go back and speak to her. It is
my duty to save her from getting into hopeless disgrace.”
“I’ll wait for you here,” said Leslie. “I have had the misfortune to
irritate her a good deal during the last day or two, and you probably
would have better success than I.”
“I won’t keep you a moment,” answered Jane. She turned back, ran down
the corridor, and knocked at Annie’s door.
“Let me come in, Annie,” she called out. “I am Jane Heriot; I want to
speak to you at once. Let me in.”
There was no reply.
Jane rattled the handle impatiently. It wanted but two minutes to the
half-hour; already she and Leslie would be late.
“Aren’t you coming, Annie?” she called out; “aren’t you coming to East
Hall in response to Miss Lauderdale’s orders? You will get into a most
awful scrape if you don’t. Do come, Annie; don’t be such a goose. Why,
they may rusticate you. Do come, Annie, do!”
Still there was no response. Jane stooped, and applied her eye to the
keyhole, but she could see nothing within. In despair she came back and
joined Leslie.
“She seems to have turned both deaf and dumb, and I can do nothing with
her,” she answered. “It is just possible that she may have gone down the
back-stairs, and be already in the hall.”
“Scarcely likely,” replied Leslie; “she told me she was determined not
to come to the meeting. By the way, we ought to meet Marjorie and Eileen
in the center hall.”
But Marjorie and Eileen had already departed, and Leslie and Jane found
themselves among the last students to arrive at the great East Hall.
Miss Lauderdale was standing with the other tutors and principals of the
different halls on a raised platform. One by one the many students filed
in and took their places. Then a roll-call was gone through by one of
the tutors; the only absentee was Annie Colchester. No notice was taken
of this at the time, and the proceedings of the evening were immediately
begun. Miss Lauderdale stepped forward, and began to address the
students. She said that the object of this gathering was to propose the
beginning of a new departure in their lives and work. They were all, she
was glad to know, acquiring knowledge; they were also becoming strong in
body.
“The physical part of your training, and also the mental part, are
abundantly supplied in this great house of learning,” she continued;
“but the spiritual part, it seems to me, ought now to be strengthened. I
want your whole threefold nature to get the best possible training while
you are under my care, and I think that you girls of St. Wode’s ought to
take steps to keep the souls which God has given you, the undying souls,
strong and in health.”
“Hear, hear! and once again, hear!” suddenly said the sharp voice of
Belle Acheson. She uttered her strange remark standing up. Marjorie and
Eileen were close to her.
“Hear, hear!” she repeated, continuing rapidly: “it was but to-day, Miss
Lauderdale, I was speaking of the miserable dead souls which most of the
students of St. Wode’s carry within their breasts.”
“Hush! no more speaking in hall,” said the voice of the indignant
chairwoman. Miss Lauderdale, after a pause, during which her kind eyes
were fixed on Belle’s excited face, spoke:
“I will talk with you, Belle Acheson, presently,” she said. “Now,
please, don’t interrupt again while I continue my short address.—I
propose that the girls of St. Wode’s—that is, those who choose to do
so—should take up an extensive district of the poor in this large town
of Wingfield. I have spoken to our rector on the subject, and he thinks
that they could carry on a thorough work of supervision and of interest
in the poor without endangering their own health in the very least. All
those who choose to become members of our new league, which is to be
called the Guild of St. Elizabeth, can do so. The names of proposed
members are to be submitted to me before this day week. I will then more
fully declare my plans, and show the girls who wish to join our league a
programme which I hope they will approve of.”
Miss Lauderdale said a great deal more. All her words were uttered with
great eloquence and much feeling. She explained to the girls that God
held each of them, with their vast opportunities, their great means of
culture, their abundance of money (for most of them were wealthy),
responsible for their brothers and sisters.
“‘Am I my brother’s keeper?’ you ask,” she continued. “God answers to
each of you, ‘You are.’ The world says, ‘No, I am not,’ but God
says, ‘Yes, you are.’ All men are your brothers. For all who sin, all who
suffer, you are to a certain extent responsible. To each of you, in your
strength, is given by God a weak brother to look after, one who has not
got your opportunities, who has not got your wealth, who has not got
your comforts and luxuries in life. You are responsible for him, and
some day you will be asked what you have done with your responsibility.
If you leave the world without having fulfilled that terrible and yet
grand obligation, you will through all eternity feel the loss of what
you might have gained.”
Finally the principal sat down amid loud cheering. Most of the girls
were enthusiastic over the new scheme; and Marjorie and Eileen in
particular felt their hearts glowing and their eyes sparkling.
After the address the girls themselves were encouraged to speak, and a
very animated discussion followed. When it was over, folding-doors were
thrown back, and all the students were invited into the large saloon
which Miss Lauderdale reserved for very rare and special occasions. Here
they were supplied with light refreshments, and presently Miss
Lauderdale herself went to the organ at the end of the room, and played
some splendid music. She was a musician of rare power, and Leslie
listened with her heart in her eyes.
It was past ten o’clock when she left the hall. Just as she was doing so
Miss Frere came up.
“Annie Colchester is your roomfellow, is she not?” she said. “Can you
give me any idea why she has been absent to-night?”
“I don’t think she is quite well,” replied Leslie.
“I see by your face, Miss Gilroy, that you are distressed about
something. Are you keeping anything back?”
“I am afraid I am,” replied Leslie, distress now in her tone.
“Unless Miss Colchester’s illness is really very serious and needs a
doctor, she will be very severely reprimanded for this willful
disobedience to the command of her principal,” continued Miss Frere. “I
must see her myself early in the morning, and I am quite sure that
nothing will satisfy Miss Lauderdale except a very ample apology and a
full explanation of the reason why she absented herself. She has
committed a very grave act of disobedience. You know, of course, that
the few rules that are imposed upon the students are expected to be kept
most rigorously. Excuses make no difference. The girl who breaks the
rules has to be punished. Annie Colchester’s only chance is to apologize
to Miss Lauderdale.”
“I will tell her. I will do my very best,” said Leslie. “I am glad you
have spoken to me. I will go back now, and see her without delay.”