THE FALL.
The remainder of that walk was taken in complete silence. Florence's
head felt as if it were going round. There was a buzzing noise in her
ears. Higher and yet higher over her moral nature did the waves of
temptation rise. She struggled, but each struggle was feebler than the
last. They reached Hilchester, and Bertha looked at her companion.
"You are as white as a sheet," she said; "won't you go in and rest at
Mrs. Baker's shop? I shall call there presently for buns and things I
am bringing back for the conversazione to-night; she will gladly let
you rest. The postoffice is quite five minutes' walk from here. Let
me post your letter for you. Have you the money in your pocket for the
order?"
"I think I will rest at Mrs. Baker's," said Florence. "You will be
sure to get the order all right, Bertha? Here is the letter; put the
order in, won't you, and then put the letter in the post?"
"Yes, yes," said Bertha; "I'll be as quick as possible."
She almost snatched the letter from Florence's hand, took the
sovereign, slipped it into her purse, and walked down the street with
rapid strides. In less than a quarter of an hour she had returned to
Florence.
"It is all right," she said, briskly; "and now for my commissions here.
I hope you are more rested, Flo."
"Oh, yes, I am quite rested," replied Florence; but there was a dead
sort of look on her face and the color had gone out of her eyes.
Bertha walked briskly to the counter. She was in excellent spirits,
her carriage was perfectly upright, her well-poised head looked almost
queenly as it rested on her graceful shoulders. Her figure was
Bertha's strong point, and it never looked better than now. Even
Florence as she glanced at her was conscious of a dull admiration.
How clever Bertha was, and really, when you come to consider her
carefully, how stylish and good-looking!
"I shall never again as long as I live say that I dislike red hair,"
thought Florence to herself. "Yes, Bertha certainly has a remarkable
face; no wonder she is able to write; and as to her eyes, I shall end
by liking her eyes. They do look as if they held a secret power."
Bertha having given her orders now, waited until Mrs. Baker, the
confectioner's wife, had made up the cakes and biscuits and chocolate
creams which were necessary for the evening conversazione. Each girl
then carried a large parcel, and retraced her steps in the direction of
Cherry Court School. Their walk back was as silent as the latter part
of their walk to Hilchester.
Just as they were entering the porch of the school Bertha laid her hand
on her companion's arm.
"Well?" she said.
"I cannot give you my answer to-night; I will to-morrow," said Florence.
"All right, Flo; but let me tell you in advance I know what that answer
will be."
Florence felt a shudder run all through her frame. She ran upstairs to
the dormitory. It was late, and time to dress for the evening
festivities.
Kitty was in her cubicle. Mary Bateman in hers. Neither girl had
drawn her curtain, and when they saw Florence they each began to talk
to her.
"Do you know, Florence," said Mary, "that that little genius Kitty has
absolutely written her essay, finished it all between tea and this
hour. She means to polish it to-morrow, but the rough draft is done.
I feel quite in despair when I look at her."
"Oh, you need not; I don't suppose it is good a bit," said Kitty.
"I dare not ask you what it is about," said Mary, "or I would love
beyond words to read it. When I look at your face and then think that
you were asked to write on Heroism, I feel that you were given a task
which neither Florence nor I can execute."
"Speak for yourself, pray," said Florence, in a cross voice. She gave
a vindictive glance at Mary, avoided meeting Kitty's eyes, and vanished
into her own cubicle. Here she drew the turkey-red curtain, glanced
wildly round, and the next moment had dropped on her knees.
"Oh, please, God, save me from myself," whispered the wretched girl.
"Help me out of this somehow. Give me the strength to write the essay
myself. Oh, please, God, I must--I must have the Scholarship. Please,
please give me the ability, the genius to write the essay myself."
Her wild, distracted prayer was the reverse of soothing. She sprang
up, poured some water into her basin, and began to wash her face and
hands; then she dressed herself neatly and gracefully. There were no
lack of pretty dresses now for Florence Aylmer to bedeck herself in.
She took great pains with her toilet. There was a certain
satisfaction, as she donned her silken chains, in knowing that at least
she could look as well as Kitty, nicer even than Kitty, as far as dress
was concerned.
Mrs. Aylmer the great had excellent taste, and every one of Florence's
frocks were suitable for Florence to wear. They were all girlish and
simple. The frock she chose to-night was of a very pale pink. It was
made of the simplest stuff, and was not trimmed at all. It gave grace
to her figure and added to her height. A little ruffle of lace
surrounded her girlish throat, and on her arm she slipped a gold
bangle, Mrs. Aylmer's latest present. She then ran downstairs to the
drawing-room. In her pretty shoes and silk stockings and well-fitting
dress Florence made quite a graceful figure. She dropped a curtsey at
the door as she was required to do, and then, going forward, took her
place beside Kitty Sharston and Mary Bateman.
These three girls were, according to the rules of the competition, to
entertain their companions. Neither Kitty nor Mary were in the least
self-conscious, and to-night Florence also, in the pressure of a great
misery, contrived to forget herself.
Mrs. Clavering looked at her with distinct approval.
"How that girl has improved," she said, bending towards Sir John
Wallis, who invariably appeared on these occasions. "She will end in
being handsome."
"Yes, she is a distinguished-looking girl," said Sir John, just
glancing at Florence, and then looking away again, "but Kitty is my
choice; give me the little wildflower Kitty. How sweet she is!"
"Well, of course, she belongs to a totally different order of being,"
said Mrs. Clavering, dropping her voice; "but what about the
Scholarship, Sir John?"
"I dare not think of anyone else winning it," said Sir John; "but, of
course, I have to face the fact that either of the other girls may
succeed. Above all things, one must act fairly."
"I just doubted whether you gave a fair subject for the essay," said
Mrs. Clavering.
"What do you mean?"
"Heroism," repeated the head mistress, speaking slowly and dropping her
voice. "With such a subject you appeal so distinctly to the heart. If
the heart does not respond, the essay on Heroism will never be done
justice to."
"Ay, it is the supreme test, the supreme test," said Sir John, slowly.
Again his eyes wandered to Kitty. From her charming, bright, anxious
face he looked at Florence. It so happened that at that moment
Florence had raised her own dark eyes and fixed them on him. The
suffering she had lately lived through had added refinement to her
face, and the baronet caught himself looking at her again and again.
"Yes, she has improved; there is something in her; but what is she so
unhappy about, I wonder?" he thought.
Just then Mary Bateman skipped up, asked his opinion with regard to a
fresh sketch she was making, and carried him away to chat with her in a
corner.
Next to Kitty, Sir John certainly liked plain little Mary best.
Light refreshments were brought in on little trays, and the girls were
invited to partake. The three young hostesses acted with _aplomb_ and
much tact. Dull girls were drawn out of themselves, lively girls were
placed with suitable companions. Games were proposed, which were all
conducted in a spirited and lively manner, and finally the proceedings
ended with a gay dance. It was at this moment, just when the dance was
in full swing, that Sir John Wallis came up and offered his arm to
Florence.
"Will you waltz with me?" he said.
She looked up at him, colored with delight, and laid her hand on his
arm. The two led the dance, and right merry was the music which was
played to it.
The dance had just come to an end when Sir John looked full at Florence
and spoke.
"I heard from your aunt, Mrs. Aylmer, and she is much pleased to accept
my invitation. She will be my guest on the evening of the 29th, and I
hope I may persuade her to stay a few days longer. You must see a
great deal of her while she is at Cherry Court Park. You are a great
favorite with her, are you not?"
"Of late I have been a favorite," said Florence, and now she looked
full at Sir John and her lip trembled.
"There is something the matter with you, my dear," said Sir John.
"Oh, I don't know--nothing." Then she added, as if the words were
wrung from her lips, "I hate Aunt Susan."
"Oh, come, come," said Sir John, truly shocked; "let me tell you that
is a very unladylike way of speaking and scarcely fair to your aunt,
who is doing so much for you."
"That is all you know, Sir John, but I dare not say any more."
"But having said so much, I am afraid you must. I asked you three
girls what special friend or relation you would like to be present in
the hour of your triumph, and you selected Mrs. Aylmer. If you did not
like Mrs. Aylmer, why did you ask her to come? I would gladly have
received your own mother."
"I will tell you," said Florence, in a hurried voice. "Mrs. Aylmer is
much interested in your Scholarship, Sir John, and she says if I win it
that she will adopt me. I shall be her--her heiress then. You
understand that it means a great deal to me, the Scholarship?"
"Yes, I understand," said Sir John, gravely. His face looked troubled.
"Sit down here, my dear," he said. Florence seated herself on a chair
by his side. "I can understand, and I am sorry; it is scarcely fair
that your young mind should be strained to this extent. And if you
don't win the Scholarship?"
"Ah, if I don't, Aunt Susan will not need you to ask me much to Cherry
Court Park. She will wash her hands of me."
"Indeed, this is disturbing."
"I ought not to have told you, and you must pretend that you do not
know."
"I shall say nothing, of course; all the same, I am sorry."
Sir John sat very thoughtful for a moment. After a long pause he spoke.
"I ought not to give you any special advantage over the other girls,"
he said, "but suppose I do this?"
"What?" asked Florence, looking into his face.
"Suppose I have Mrs. Aylmer as my guest and allow you to choose
another? What about your mother, Miss Aylmer?"
"Oh, do you mean it?" said Florence; her face flushed, and then turned
pale. She had a wild, wild thought that even if she failed her mother
would not turn from her. She had a choking sensation in her throat,
which made her feel that even in the moment of absolute defeat the
little Mummy's kisses would be supporting, cheering, encouraging.
Tears brimmed into her eyes. "You are very good," she said.
"Then I'll do it; give me your mother's address. She shall be your
guest; the other Mrs. Aylmer shall be mine. And now cheer up, my dear;
we can never do more than our best."
Sir John turned aside, and soon afterwards the little party broke up.
That night Florence hardly slept. At a very early hour she awoke. She
had prayed her prayer of the night before; she had asked God to help
her. As to not winning the Scholarship, that was absolutely and
completely out of the question. She must win it. The thought of
disgrace was too intolerable; she must, she would win it. She
determined to rise now and test her powers of composition. It was
between five and six in the morning. She rose very softly, got into
her clothes, and stole out of the dormitory.
The light was just beginning to dawn, but there was not light enough to
work. Florence slipped softly down to the oak parlor; having secured a
candle and a box of matches, she lit the candle and placed it on her
desk, and, taking out a sheet of manuscript paper, she pressed her face
on her hands, once again uttered a wild, passionate prayer, and then,
dipping the pen in the ink, waited for inspiration.
"Heroism," she said, under her breath. "What did it mean?" All that
it really meant rushed over her--self-denial, self-abnegation, the
noble courage which comes to those who think of others, not themselves.
"I cannot write," she said, passionately. She said the words aloud,
dashing down her pen and making a blot on the fair sheet of manuscript
paper. At that moment the door was opened and Bertha came in.
"I thought I heard a noise," she said; "so it is you? What are you
doing there, Florence?"
"Oh, nothing, nothing; but why have you come to tempt me?" said
Florence. She raised two haggard eyes to the pupil teacher's face.
"Not to tempt you, but to help you, poor child. Of course, you will do
what I wish. There, Florence, I wrote your essay for you last night.
It came over me and I wrote it without much trouble. Here it is, dear;
you have only to copy it; put it in your desk for the present, there is
plenty of time, and go back to bed, dear, for you look worn out."
Florence burst into tears. The next moment she had flung her arms
around Bertha's neck and laid her head on her shoulder.
"There, there," said Bertha, "there, there, you are overcome, but it
will be all right now."