THE RESOLVE OF THE BODYGUARD
"Why have you sent for us, Star?" said Lucy Norris.
Star was in her own room. It was the prettiest room in the White
Corridor. She had it to herself, her parents paying a little extra to
secure her this privilege. Round the fireplace were arranged two or
three chairs, a little writing-table, and a couple of footstools. Star
had a fire whenever she particularly wished for it. It was blazing
brightly that evening. The electric light made the room as bright as
possible. Star was standing by the fireplace.
"Why have you sent for us?" said Lucy Norris. "Here we all are, but
what is the matter?"
"All" consisted of Lucy Norris herself, Angela Goring, Jane Price,
Philippa Dawson, and Louisa Twining. The two Sixth Form girls appeared
last. Star did not answer. When Philippa entered the room she just
nodded to her to close the door. Star as a rule was the gayest of the
gay; her laugh was the merriest in the whole school. She was about the
most popular girl at Penwerne Manor. She always had a little following
of girls, and although she herself was not yet promoted to the Fifth
Form, she led girls even of the Sixth. Louisa Twining and Philippa
Dawson both looked anxious as they came into the room.
"Here, Louisa," said Star, pointing to what might be considered the
place of honor; "will you seat yourself here? And will you, Philippa,
take the other chair exactly opposite? Now, girls of the Fourth,
establish yourselves where you like. I have something important to
say--something that I must say now or forever after hold my peace."
"This is all very dramatic," said Philippa; "but I really want to know
what it means. We have your very best interests at heart, Star; and I
am sure I can say, both for myself and Louisa, that we would follow
you to the world's end. But why were we disturbed just when we were
enjoying a special supper with Miss Forest and Mr. Frederick? Mr.
Frederick had promised to play Beethoven's Sonata Pathetique for us
after supper. Well, what is it?"
"Of course, the occasion is important," said Star. "I have something to
say--something dreadful, which hurts me," said the little girl, and her
lips trembled. "I have a complaint to make, and I must make it to you.
I wish to say in the presence of you all that I want to have nothing
whatever to do in the future with Christian Mitford."
Now, Louisa knew very little of Christian. It is true she had taken her
in hand during her first day at school, but being very far removed from
her in class and at play, she had more or less forgotten her existence.
Philippa, however, raised her dark brows and looked full at Star.
"I have noticed Christian," she said. "She seemed to me to be a
particularly nice and well-behaved girl--the sort of girl that you
would be sure to take up, Star, for you always know a thoroughly nice
girl when you see her."
"I did think I had that penetration," said Star; "but it seems I
was wrong. I took a fancy to Christian; I repent of my fancy. I was
mistaken; I wish to say it now in the presence of you all."
"It seems an extraordinary thing to send for us to consider," said
Louisa, speaking again.
"And I wish further to say," continued Star, "that I believe you,
Lucy; you, Angela; you, Jane; and I myself are all doing wrong to have
anything to do with the Penwernians. I know, Louisa, that you and
Philippa have not joined our great secret society; but of course you
have heard of it."
"Oh, yes," said Philippa; "I am quite aware of its existence. I think
everyone in the school knows about it."
"Even Miss Peacock herself," said Louisa.
"Yes, even Miss Peacock herself," continued Philippa. "But Miss Peacock
sees no harm in it. If she did she would put a stop to it. She once
said to me:
"'I don't consider it part of the duty of a head mistress to interfere
with the girls as long as they do no wrong. A little secret and mystery
is as the breath of life to a schoolgirl, and I shall not interfere as
long as nothing wrong is done.'"
"Ah!" said Star, "that is just it. I used to adore mystery," she
continued, with a sigh. "I used to think it quite delicious, but I have
changed my mind; I no longer think it delicious. I hate and loathe
mystery as much," she continued, speaking with vehemence--"as much as I
hate and loathe Christian Mitford."
"But what has the poor child done?" said Louisa Twining. "It must be
something very bad, Star, for you to behave in this peculiar way. Are
you going to tell us?"
"No, I won't tell you, for you would not be interested, and you need
not know. She had better beware, however, for if she goes on with her
evil practices I shall tell Miss Peacock."
"Perhaps you forget," said Louisa, speaking a little sternly, "that
the poor child is practically an orphan, both her parents being at the
other side of the world."
"I don't forget it," said Star; "I remember it quite well. I know
Miss Peacock is interested in her; she has spoken about her several
times. But Miss Peacock does not know her. She does not belong to Miss
Peacock's set in this school. I shall watch her. I thought I would tell
you about her, but I won't; I will give her another chance. But if she
goes on as she has been doing lately I shall certainly tell. I don't
mind what she thinks; she belongs to the Susan Marsh set."
"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Philippa, "I am amazed at that."
"It is true; I have sent for you to let you clearly understand that
Christian Mitford belongs to one set of girls in the school, and that
I belong to the other; and I don't care whether you think me right or
wrong. And I have given up the Penwernians. Lucy, Angela, and Jane,
you must represent the committee in future, for I have given up the
Penwernians."
"Well," said Lucy, "I will have nothing to do with it if you don't."
"I am glad to hear that."
"Nor I," said Angela Goring.
"Nor I," said Jane Price.
"Very well; I believe you all are right. They are going to have
a meeting in a few nights, and we will attend and give in our
resignations. After that we shall have nothing whatever to do with the
society."
Louisa rose. "I consider this meeting rather unprecedented and, if I
may add it, uncalled for," she said. "No girl has a right to accuse her
schoolfellow, as you have accused Christian Mitford to-night, without
the gravest reason. If you will tell me, and allow me as the head girl
of the school to give you a little advice, I shall consider what you
say absolutely sacred; but as it is you bewilder me."
"You are not more bewildered than I am," said Star; "not more
bewildered nor more disappointed. But as to telling you, there is no
use, Louisa. I would if I thought it would make any difference, but it
won't; she is past curing."
"No one is past curing," said Louisa. "I am extremely sorry for you,
Star. I think you have taken up a wrong notion altogether."
Star said nothing. Philippa and Louisa a few minutes afterwards left
the room, and the four girls who had considered themselves Christian's
bodyguard were alone.
"Why shouldn't you tell us?" said Angela. "It is very odd to call us
together like this, and to draw two of the Sixth Form girls into the
matter, and then not to confide in us."
"If I told you, you could not live in the same school with her, so I
won't tell you," said Star. "I will give her just a chance, although I
will have nothing to do with her; but if she goes on with her bad ways
I shall certainly tell Miss Peacock."
Meanwhile a pale girl was walking swiftly down the corridor. The white
chamber where Christian slept was near Star's room. Angela Goring slept
in the room next to Christian's; Star's room came next, and then Jane
Price's. Christian entered her room now and shut the door. It felt cold
and desolate. The fog had been followed by a cold night; there was a
slight frost. Christian did not even trouble to turn on the electric
light; she went straight across the icy-cold chamber and flung herself,
dressed as she was, on the bed. There was a warm eider-down quilt on
the bed, but she did not trouble to wrap herself in it. She lay still,
and the cold pierced through her body, and the iron of adversity
entered into her soul. She was too much stunned, too miserable, too
frightened to care. She felt as though someone had tied her up in
chains that she could never get rid of again; she could never extricate
herself.
There come times when such trouble visits the human heart that it can
scarcely realize what has befallen it. Such a time had come to-night to
Christian. Susan had got her into her trap, and those girls whom she
had believed to be her friends had turned against her. She had seen
Star in the distance when the girls entered the refectory for supper,
and the look on Star's face, as her bright eyes fixed themselves for
one moment on Christian was one which the poor child could never
forget. It was impossible for Christian to eat. She could not attend to
her lessons; the headache which she had endured during the early part
of the day was so bad that she was glad to ask Jessie's permission to
retire earlier than usual.
As she lay on her bed she heard a sound, and looking up, she noticed
that she had not fastened her door properly when she entered, and that
it was now a little ajar. There was a rustle of dresses as the girls
went by, and then she heard the well-known, beautiful voice of Angela
Goring saying:
"I never should have thought it of her, and if anyone else except Star
had told me, I should not have believed her."
"But Star, with all her wildness, never exaggerates," said Lucy Norris.
"Dear, dear! who _would_ have thought it?"
"They are speaking of me," thought Christian. "I can't live through
this; I can't endure it. What is to be done?"
They had scarcely gone to their own rooms before the door was opened
and little Jessie entered. In a twinkling there was a change of scene.
She turned on the electric light. She glanced toward the bed, and the
flushed face and tear-stained eyes of the girl she loved best in the
entire school met her gaze.
"This will never do," thought Jessie.
She put a match to the fire, which was already laid in the grate, and
soon the crackling of the wood and the cheerful light of the blaze
transformed the room. Then she went up to the bed.
"My child," she said, "how cold you are! Let me just put this
eider-down over you."
She wrapped it around Christian, who shivered with a sort of forlorn
sense of comfort.
"My poor, dear child, you are ill."
"My head aches," said Christian. "It has been aching all day."
"What can be wrong, darling?"
"Everything, Miss Jessie."
"Oh, we often feel like that when we have headaches. But come; you
must get into bed. I will undress you; then I will bring you a cup of
something hot, and after that you will sleep."
Christian was so thoroughly miserable that Miss Jessie's ministrations
were gratefully received. She allowed the little woman to take off her
things and to lay her between the sheets, to wrap the eider-down over
her, and then put her cool, firm hand on the burning forehead.
"I'll be back in a minute, darling," she said. "You took no supper this
evening. That is the worst way in the world to treat a headache of your
sort. I'll be back immediately."
In a very short time Miss Jessie returned with a little tray containing
a cup of hot coffee and some bread and butter.
"Now you must eat, Christian," she said; "you must eat and drink.
Afterwards you shall sleep."
Christian did eat and drink. It was wonderful how the food revived her,
how altogether less miserable the world seemed when she had finished
her little meal.
"And now you won't guess what I have got for you," said Miss Jessie.
"No, Jessie, I can't. And you can't have brought me anything--anything
at all that I should care for."
"Yes, but I have. What do you say to two letters?"
"Letters?" said Christian, the color rising to her cheeks.
"A foreign letter--I think it must come from your father or mother--and
a letter from London. Here they are. Put them under your pillow. It
is too late for you to read them to-night; or if you would really
rather----"
"Give them to me," said Christian. She looked at the writing. "Yes,
from father," she said; "and from my dear old nurse. I won't read them
to-night," she continued. "I don't think I could understand them.
Jessie, the most dreadful thing has happened, and I can never, never be
happy again. I don't deserve anything good, for I have been a naughty,
bad girl, and I am, oh, so miserable and unhappy!"
"I tell you what it is, Christian," said Miss Jessie: "if you don't
go to sleep, and in the morning tell me all about it, I will take you
straight to Miss Peacock. That I will, for though I am an easy-going
woman, when my blood is up I can be as despotic as the greatest virago
in the land."