In concentrating her thoughts of revenge on Hester Annie ceased to
trouble her head about Dora Russell. She considered Hester a crueller
enemy than Dora. Hester belonged to her own set, worked in her own
class, and would naturally, had things not turned out so unjustly, so
unfairly, have been her friend, and not her enemy. Dora had nothing to
say to Annie, and before Hester's advent into the school had scarcely
noticed her existence. Annie therefore concentrated all her powers on
punishing Hester. This gave her an aim and an occupation, and at first
she felt that her revenge might give her real pleasure.
Susan Drummond now shared Annie's bedroom, and Annie was rather startled
one evening to hear this phlegmatic young person burst out into a strong
tirade against Hester and Dora. Dora had managed, for some inexplicable
reason, to offend Susan, and Susan now looked to Annie for sympathy, and
boldly suggested that they should get up what she was pleased to call "a
lark" between them for the punishment of this very dignified young lady.
Annie had never liked Susan, and she now stared at her, and said in her
quick way--
"You won't catch me helping you in any of your larks. I've had trouble
enough on that score as it is."
Susan gazed at her stupidly, and a dull read spread over her face.
"But I thought you hated Dora and Hester," she said--"I'm sure they hate
you."
Annie was silent.
"You do hate them, don't you?" persisted Miss Drummond.
"It's nothing to you what I feel toward them, Susy," said Annie.
"Please don't disturb me with any more of your chatter; I am very
sleepy, and you are keeping me awake." Thus silenced, Susan had to
content herself by turning on her back, and going into the land of
dreams; but she was evidently a good deal surprised and disappointed,
and began to entertain a certain respect, and even fear, of Annie, which
had been hitherto unknown to her.
Meanwhile Hester was very busy, very happy, and more satisfied--brighter
and better employed than she had ever been in her life before. Nan's
love satisfied the affectionate side of her nature, and all her
intellect was strained to the utmost to win honours in the coming
struggle.
She had stuck firmly to her resolve to work for the English composition
prize, and she firmly made up her own mind to leave no stone unturned to
win it. What affection she, possessed for Miss Russell was not at all
of a character to prevent her from thoroughly enjoying taking the prize
out of her hands. Her love for Dora had been fed by vanity, and was not
at all of a deep or noble character. She was some time carefully
choosing the subject of her theme, and at last she resolved to write a
brief historical description of the last days of Marie Antoinette. To
write properly on this subject she had to read up a great deal, and had
to find references in books which were not usually allowed as
school-room property. Mrs Willis, however, always allowed the girls
who were working for the English composition prize to have access to her
rather extensive library, and here Hester was often to be found during
play-hours. Two evenings in the week were also taken up in preparation
for the coming plays, and as Hester was to take rather an important part
in one, and a small character in another, she was obliged to devote
herself to getting up her parts during the weekly half-holidays. Thus
every moment was busy, and, except at night, she had little time to
devote herself to Nan.
Nan slept in a pretty crib in Hester's room, and each evening the young
girl knelt down by her sister's side, and gazed at her with love which
was almost motherly swelling in her breast.
All that was best of Hester was drawn out at these moments; something
greater than ambition--something far and away above school triumphs and
school jealousies spoke then in her heart of hearts. These moments
found her capable of being both sympathising and forgiving; these
moments followed out in her daily life might have made Hester almost
great. Now was the time, with her eyes full of tears and her lips
trembling with emotion, for Annie Forest to have caught a glimpse of the
divine in Hester; the hardness, the pride, the haughty spirit were all
laid aside, and hers was the true child-heart as she knelt by the
sleeping baby. Hester prayed earnestly at these moments, and, in truth,
Nan did better for her than any sermon; better for her than even Mrs
Willis's best influences. Nan was as the voice of God to her sister.
Hester, in her very busy life, had no time to notice, however, a very
slight and almost imperceptible change in bright little Nan. In the
mornings she was in too great a hurry to pay much heed to the little
one's chatter; in the afternoons she had scarcely an instant to devote
to her, and when she saw her playing happily with the other children she
was quite content, and always supposed that when a spare half-hour did
come in her busy life Nan would rush to her with the old ecstasy, and
give her the old devotion.
One day, toward the end of a very fine May, the girls were all to go for
a picnic to some woods about four miles away. They had looked forward
for several days to this relaxation, and were in the highest state of
delight and the wildest spirits. After an early dinner they were to
drive in several large waggonettes to the place of _rendezvous_, where
they were to be regaled with gypsy-tea, and were to have a few hours in
the lovely Woods or Burn Castle, one of the show places of the
neighbourhood. Mrs Willis had invited the Misses Bruce to accompany
them, and they were all to leave the house punctually at two o'clock.
The weather was wonderfully fine and warm, and it was decided that all
the children, even Nan, should go.
Perhaps none of the girls looked forward to this day's pleasure with
greater joy than did Hester; she determined to make it a real holiday,
and a real time of relaxation. She would forget her English theme; she
would cease to worry herself about Marie Antoinette; she would cease to
repeat her part in the coming play; and she would devote herself
exclusively and determinedly to Nan's pleasure. She pictured the little
one's raptures; she heard her gay shouts of joy, her ceaseless little
rippling chatter, her baby glee, and, above all things, her intense
happiness at being with her own Hetty for the greater part of a whole
day. Hester would ride her on her shoulder, would race with her; all
her usual, companions would be as nothing to her on this occasion, she
would give herself up solely to Nan.
As she was dressing that morning she said a word or two to the child
about the coming treat.
"We'll light a fire in the wood, Nan, and hang a kettle over it, and
make tea--such good tea; won't it be nice?"
Nan clapped her hands. "And may I take out my little ummabella
(umbrella), case it might wain?" she asked anxiously.
Hester flew to her and kissed her.
"You funny darling!" she said. "Oh, we shall have such a day! You'll
be with your own Hetty all day long--your own Hetty; won't you be glad?"
"Me am," said Nan; "own Hetty, and own Annie; me am glad."
Hester scarcely heard the last words, for the prayer-gong sounded, and
she had to fly downstairs.
At dinner time the girls were discussing who would go with each, and all
were very merry and full of fun.
"Miss Danesbury will take the little children," said Miss Good. "Mrs
Willis says that all the little ones are to be in Miss Danesbury's
charge."
"Oh, please," said Hester suddenly, "may Nan come with me, Miss Good?
She'll be so disappointed if she doesn't, and I'll take such care of
her."
Miss Good nodded a careless acquiescence, and Hester proceeded with her
dinner, feeling thoroughly satisfied.
Immediately after dinner the girls flew to their rooms to prepare for
their expedition. Hastily opening a drawer, Hester pulled out a white
frock, white pique pelisse, and washing hat for Nan--she meant her
darling to look as charming as possible.
"Oh, dear, Miss Danesbury should have brought her here by now," she said
to herself impatiently, and then, hearing the crunching of carriage
wheels on the drive, she flew to the bell and rang it.
In a few moments one of the maids appeared.
"Do you know where Miss Nan is, Alice? She is to go to Burn Castle with
me, and I want to dress her, for it is nearly time to go."
Alice looked a little surprised.
"If you please, Miss," she said, "I think Miss Nan has just gone."
"What do you mean, Alice? Miss Good said especially she was to go with
me."
"I know nothing about that, Miss; I only know that I saw Miss Forest
carrying her downstairs in her arms about three minutes ago, and they
went off in the waggonette with all the other little children and Miss
Danesbury."
Hester stood perfectly still, her colour changed from red to white; for
full half a minute she was silent. Then, hearing voices from below
calling to her, she said in a cold, quiet tone--
"That will do, Alice; thank you for letting me know." She turned to her
drawer and put back Nan's white and pretty things, and also replaced a
new and very becoming shady hat which she had meant to wear herself. In
her old winter hat, and looking almost untidy for her, she walked slowly
downstairs and took her place in the waggonette which was drawn up at
the door.
Cecil Temple and one or two other girls whom Hester liked very much were
in the same waggonette, but she scarcely cared to talk to them, and only
joined in their laughter by a strong effort. She was deeply wounded,
but her keenest present desire was to hide any feelings of jealousy she
had toward Annie from the quick eyes of her school-fellows.
"Why," suddenly exclaimed Julia Morris, a particularly unobservant girl,
"I thought you were going to bring that dear baby sister with you,
Hester. Oh, I do hope there is nothing the matter with her."
"Nan has gone on in the first waggonette with the little children," said
Hester as cheerfully as she could speak, but she coloured slightly, and
saw that Cecil was regarding her attentively.