MARION'S SENTENCE.
Immediately after the close of school Marion betook herself to the
private study of Miss Stiefbach. This was a small room back of the
drawing-room, fitted up very cosily and comfortably, and which no one
but the sisters ever entered, except on state occasions, or under
circumstances like the present. It must be confessed that Marion did not
feel very comfortable as the door closed behind her, and Miss Stiefbach,
who was sitting at her desk, turned round, motioning her to be seated.
Marion knew she had done very wrong, and was really sorry for it, for,
although none of the scholars could be said to have much affection for
Miss Stiefbach, they all held her in the most profound respect, and no
such direct attack upon her dignity had ever been made within the memory
of any of the present pupils.
Miss Stiefbach cleared her throat, and commenced speaking in her most
impressive and awful voice. "Miss Berkley" (the fact that she addressed
Marion in this very distant manner proved at once that she was very
angry), "your conduct to me this day has been such as I have never seen
in any young lady since I became the head of this establishment, and I
consider it deserves a severe punishment. The remarks which I overheard
this morning, as I entered your room, were enough in themselves to have
merited a stern rebuke, even if they had not been followed by a direct
insult to myself. I am surprised indeed, that any young ladies brought
up in refined society should have made use of such expressions as
'_swell_' and--and--other words of a like nature." It was evidently so
hard for Miss Stiefbach to pronounce the word, even in a tone of intense
disapproval, that Marion, despite her uneasiness, could not help being
amused; but no trace of her feelings could be seen in her face; she sat
before her teacher perfectly quiet,--so quiet, that Miss Stiefbach could
not tell whether she was deeply repentant or supremely indifferent.
"I have decided," resumed Miss Stiefbach, "that as M. Béranger was
indirectly connected with the affair, you shall apologize to me before
the whole school, and in his presence, on the next French day, which
will be Friday. I should not have subjected you to this mortification,
if you had shown any willingness to apologize to me here; but as you
seem entirely insensible of the impropriety of your conduct, I consider
that the punishment is perfectly just."
Marion rose; for one second her eyes had flashed ominously when her
sentence was delivered, but it was the only sign she gave of being
surprised or otherwise moved. Perceiving that Miss Stiefbach had nothing
more to say, she left the room as quietly as she had entered it. Several
of the girls were standing at the study door waiting for her to come
out, for the whole story had by this time become pretty freely
circulated, and every one was impatient to know the result of the
interview. Marion passed them without a glance, and without speaking,
but with the most perfect _sang froid_, and went directly upstairs to
her room. But once there her forced composure gave way, and, throwing
herself on the bed, she burst into a passion of tears.
Florence, who had been anxiously waiting for Marion to come up, knelt
down beside her, smoothing her hair, calling her by all their fond, pet
names, and doing everything she could to soothe and quiet her, but never
once asking the questions that were uppermost in her own mind, for she
knew that, as soon as this first hysterical fit of weeping was over, her
friend would tell her all. She waited some time, until she became almost
frightened, for Marion's sobs shook her from head to foot, and she
seemed unable to control herself.
Suddenly Marion sprang up, and exclaimed in the most excited, passionate
tones, "Florence! Florence! what do you think she is going to make me
do? Think of the most humiliating thing you can!"
"Indeed, my darling, I cannot guess," replied Flo, while she had hard
work to restrain her own tears.
"I have got to apologize to her before the whole school, and before M.
Béranger next Friday. Oh! I think it is abominable. She wouldn't have
made any other girl do it, but she knows how proud I am, and she thinks
now she'll humble me. Oh, it is too hard, too hard to bear!" and Marion
threw herself back on the pillow, and sobbed aloud.
Poor Florence was completely overpowered. Distressed as she was for her
friend, and furiously indignant with Miss Stiefbach, she hardly dared to
comfort and sympathize with her, except by caresses, for fear of
increasing her excitement, and she could only throw her arms round
Marion's neck, kissing her repeatedly, and exclaiming again and again,
"I wish I could help you!--I wish I could help you!"
But after a while the violence of Marion's grief and anger subsided, but
left its traces in a severe headache; her temples throbbed fearfully,
and her face and hands were burning hot.
Florence wet a cloth in cold water, and laid it on her head, and,
knowing that Marion would prefer to be alone, she kissed her quietly,
and as her eyes were closed was about to leave the room without
speaking, when Marion called her back, exclaiming, "Don't tell the
girls anything about it; they'll find it out soon enough."
"No, dear, I won't mention it, if I can help it. You lie still and try
to get to sleep. Don't come downstairs to supper. I will excuse you to
Miss Christine, and bring you up a cup of tea."
"No! no! no!" excitedly repeated Marion; "do no such thing. I wouldn't
stay up from supper, if it killed me to go down; it would only prove to
old Stiffback how deep she has cut, and I mean she shall find it will
take more than _she_ can do to humble me. Be sure and let me know when
the bell rings. I don't think there is much danger of my going to sleep;
but for fear I should, you come up before tea,--won't you?"
Flo promised, and giving her another kiss, and advising her again to lie
still and go to sleep,--a thing which she knew it was impossible for
Marion to do,--she left the room.
Left to herself Marion became a prey to her own varying emotions. Pride,
anger, and mortification were rankling in her breast. When she thought
of the coming disgrace which she was to endure, she sobbed and wept as
if her heart would break; and then the image of Miss Stiefbach, with her
calm, cool face, and deliberate manner, seeming so much as if she
enjoyed giving such pain, rose before her mind, and she clenched her
hands, and shut her teeth together, looking as she felt, willing to do
almost anything to revenge herself.
In her inmost heart she had been truly sorry for having spoken so
impertinently to her teacher, and she had gone to the study fully
prepared to acknowledge that she had done wrong, and to ask pardon for
her fault. But Miss Stiefbach, by presupposing that she felt no regret
for her conduct, or any desire to apologize, had frozen all such
feelings, and roused all the rebellious part of the girl's nature.
For some time Marion tossed restlessly from side to side; but at last,
finding it impossible to quiet herself, much less to sleep, she got up,
bathed her face, and prepared to arrange her disordered hair.
To her excited imagination, it seemed almost as if she could hear the
girls downstairs discussing the whole matter. Every laugh she heard she
believed to be at her expense, and she dreaded meeting her companions,
knowing full well that her looks and actions would be the subject of
general comment.
Throughout the school Marion was not a general favorite; almost all the
girls admired her, but there were few who felt that they really knew
her.
She was acknowledged by almost all her companions to be the brightest
and prettiest girl in the school, and was apparently on good terms with
all of them; but that was all. Many who would have liked to know her
better, and who would have been glad to make advances of intimate
friendship, felt themselves held back from doing so, by a certain
haughty, reserved manner, which she at times assumed, and by her own
evident disinclination for anything more than an amicable school-girl
acquaintance.
Marion was quick to perceive the petty weaknesses and follies of these
around her, and her keen sense of the ludicrous, combined with a habit
of saying sharp, sarcastic things, often led her to draw out these
foibles, and show them up in their most absurd light.
No one knew her faults better than Marion herself, and she was
constantly struggling to overcome them; but her pride and strong will
led her to conceal her real feelings, and often when she was at heart
angry with herself, and ashamed of her wilful, perhaps unkind, behavior,
she would assume an aspect of supreme indifference, effectually
deceiving every one as to what was really passing in her mind.
She kept her struggles to herself. No one but her friend Florence and
Miss Christine knew how sincerely she longed to conquer her faults, and
how severe these struggles were.
The knowledge of them had come to Miss Christine by accident. One day
Marion had said something unusually sharp and cutting to one of her
companions, but had appeared perfectly unconscious of having done
anything unkind, and had gone to her own room humming a tune, with the
most perfect nonchalance.
Miss Christine shortly after followed her, wishing to talk with her, and
show her the folly and wickedness of persisting in such conduct. She had
found her door closed, and, knocking softly and receiving no answer, she
gently opened it, when what was her astonishment to find Marion
stretched upon the floor, weeping violently. She went to her, and,
kneeling down beside her, called her by name. Marion, thus surprised,
could not conceal her grief, or summon her cold, indifferent manner,
and, leaning her head on Miss Christine's shoulder, she sobbed out her
sorrow, shame, and repentance.
Never since had Miss Christine in any way alluded to the event, or by
any means tried to force herself into Marion's confidence; but this
glimpse into her heart had showed her what she might otherwise never
have known, that Marion saw and regretted her own faults and failings,
and was resolved to conquer them. From that time a secret bond of
sympathy was established between pupil and scholar, and though no word
was spoken, a mild, reproachful glance from Miss Christine, or her hand
laid gently on Marion's shoulder, had often checked a rising
exclamation, or cutting sarcasm, which, no matter how sharply it might
have struck its victim, would have rebounded with greater and deeper
pain to the very heart of Marion.
At home Marion had little or nothing to call forth the disagreeable
qualities of her disposition. Surrounded by love and admiration on every
side, the darling of her mother, and the pride and glory of her father,
to whom she appeared almost faultless, it was no wonder that she found
it hard to get on smoothly when thrown among a number of girls her own
age, many of whom, jealous of her superior beauty and intelligence,
would have been glad of any opportunity of getting her into trouble.
Then it was that the worst side of her nature showed itself; and she was
shocked when she discovered how many faults she had which she had never
thought of before.
Her sharp, sarcastic speeches gave her father infinite amusement when
she was at home; but there her remarks rarely wounded any one; but at
school she made her words tell, and she knew that her tongue was her
greatest enemy.
But towards the younger girls Marion was always kind and good-natured.
No one ever told such delightful stories, or made such pretty
paper-dolls, or drew them such lovely pictures as Marion Berkley, and it
was always a mystery to them why the "big girls" did not all love her.
* * * * *
Downstairs poor Florence had been having a hard time. When she first
made her appearance in the library there had been a general rush towards
her, and she was greeted with a perfect volley of questions, which it
needed her utmost ingenuity to parry.
She knew Julia Thayer had a right to know all, for she had been
personally concerned in the matter, besides being, next to Flo, Marion's
dearest friend; but she saw that she could not tell her without further
exciting the curiosity of the other girls, and she was forced to take
her book, and appear to be deeply interested in her studies. But,
although her lips monotonously whispered page after page of history, she
knew no more about her lesson than if she had been reading Hindoostanee.
What was her astonishment when she heard close beside her Marion's
voice, asking, in a perfectly natural tone, "Did Miss Christine say six
pages of English History, or seven?"
Florence gave a quick glance at Marion's face, and saw that, although
she was a little pale, she showed no signs of the storm that had so
lately disturbed her. Neither did she throughout the evening appear
other than bright and cheerful, effectually silencing by her own
apparent ease any surmises or questions in which her companions might
have indulged, and they all supposed that she had received a severe
reprimand, and that there the matter would end.
But all agreed with Sarah Brown, who exclaimed, "How Miss Stiefbach had
ever swallowed that pill so easily was a perfect mystery!"