The picnic-party arrived home late. The accident to little Nan had not
shortened the day's pleasure, although Mrs Willis, the moment she heard
of it, had come back; for she entered the hall just as the doctor was
stepping into his carriage. He gave her his opinion, and said that he
trusted no further mischief, beyond a little temporary excitement, had
been caused. He again, however, spoke of the great necessity of keeping
Nan quiet, and said that her school-fellows must not come to her, and
that she must not be excited in any way. Mrs Willis came into the
great hall where Hester was standing. Instantly she went up to the
young girl, and put her arm around and drew her to her side.
"Darling," she said, "this is a grievous anxiety for you; no words can
express my sorrow and my sympathy; but the doctor is quite hopeful,
Hester, and, please God, we shall soon have the little one as well as
ever."
"You are really sorry for me?" said Hester, raising her eyes to the
head-mistress's face.
"Of course, dear; need you ask?"
"Then you will have that wicked Annie Forest punished--well punished--
well punished."
"Sometimes, Hester," said Mrs Willis very gravely, "God takes the
punishment of our wrongdoings into His own hands. Annie came home with
me. Had you seen her face as we drove together you would not have asked
_me_ to punish her."
"Unjust, always unjust," muttered Hester, but in so low a voice that
Mrs Willis did not hear the words. "Please may I go to little Nan?"
she said.
"Certainly, Hester--some tea shall be sent up to you presently."
Miss Danesbury arranged to spend that night in Nan's room. A sofa bed
was brought in for her to lie on, for Mrs Willis had yielded to
Hester's almost feverish entreaties that she might not be banished from
her little sister. Not a sound reached the room where Nan was lying--
even the girls took off their shoes as they passed the door--not a
whisper came to disturb the sick child. Little Nan slept most of the
evening, only sometimes opening her eyes and looking up drowsily when
Miss Danesbury changed the cold application to her head. At nine
o'clock there came a low tap at the room door. Hester went to open it;
one of her school-fellows stood without.
"The prayer-gong is not to be sounded to-night. Will you come to the
chapel now? Mrs Willis sent me to ask."
Hester shook her head.
"I cannot," she whispered; "tell her I cannot come."
"Oh, I am so sorry?" replied the girl; "is Nan very bad?"
"I don't know: I hope not. Good-night."
Hester closed the room door, took off her dress, and began very softly
to prepare to get into bed. She put on her dressing-gown, and knelt
down as usual to her private prayers. When she got on her knees,
however, she found it impossible to pray; her brain felt in a whirl, her
feelings were unprayerlike; and with the temporary relief of believing
Nan in no immediate danger came such a flood of hatred toward Annie as
almost frightened her. She tried to ask God to make Nan better--quite
well; but even this petition seemed to go no way--to reach no one--to
fall flat on the empty air. She rose from her knees, and got quietly
into bed.
Nan lay in that half-drowsy and languid state until midnight. Hester,
with all her very slight expedience of illness, thought that as long as
Nan was quiet she must be getting better; but Miss Danesbury was by no
means so sure, and, notwithstanding the doctor's verdict, she felt
anxious about the child. Hester had said that she could not sleep; but
at Miss Danesbury's special request she got into bed, and before she
knew anything about it was in a sound slumber. At midnight, when all
the house was quiet, and Miss Danesbury kept a lonely watch by the sick
child's pillow, there came a marked change for the worse in the little
one. She opened her feverish eyes wide and began to call out piteously;
but her cry now was, not for Hester, but for Annie.
"Me want my Annie," she said over and over, "me do, me do. No, no; go
'way, naughty Daybury, me want my Annie; me do want her."
Miss Danesbury felt puzzled and distressed. Hester, however, was
awakened by the piteous cry, and sat up in bed.
"What is it, Miss Danesbury?" she asked.
"She is very much excited, Hester; she is calling for Annie Forest."
"Oh, that is quite impossible," said Hester, a shudder passing through
her. "Annie can't come here. The doctor specially said that none of
the girls were to come near Nan."
"Me want Annie; me want my own Annie," wailed the sick child.
"Give me my dressing-gown, please, Miss Danesbury, and I will go to
her," said Hester.
She sprang out of bed, and approached the little crib. The brightness
of Nan's feverish eyes was distinctly seen. She looked up at Hester,
who bent over her; then she uttered a sharp cry and covered her little
face.
"Go 'way, go 'way, naughty Hetty--Nan want Annie; Annie sing, Annie p'ay
with Nan--go 'way, go 'way, Hetty."
Hester's heart was too full to allow her to speak; but she knelt by the
crib and tried to take one of the little hot hands in hers. Nan,
however, pushed her hands away, and now began to cry loudly.
"Annie!--Annie!--Annie! me want 'oo; Nan want 'oo--poor tibby Nan want
'oo, Annie!"
Miss Danesbury touched Hester on her shoulder.
"My dear," she said, "the child's wish must be gratified. Annie has an
extraordinary power over children, and under the circumstances I shall
take it upon me to disobey the doctor's directions. The child must be
quieted at all hazards. Run for Annie, dear--you know her room. I had
better stay with little Nan, for, though she loves you best, you don't
soothe her at present--that is often so with a fever case."
"One moment," said Hester. She turned again to the little crib.
"Hetty is going to fetch Annie for Nan. Will Nan give her own Hetty one
kiss?"
Instantly the little arms were flung round Hester's neck.
"Me like 'oo now, dood Hetty. Go for Annie, dood Hetty." Instantly
Hester ran out of the room. She flew quickly down the long passage, and
did not know what a strange little figure she made as the moon from a
large window at one end fell full upon her. So eerie, so ghost-like was
her appearance as she flew noiselessly with her bare feet along the
passage that some one--Hester did not know whom--gave a stifled cry.
The cry seemed to come from a good way off, and Hester was too
preoccupied to notice it. She darted into the room where Susan Drummond
and Annie Forest slept.
"Annie you are to come to Nan," she said in a sharp high-pitched voice
which she scarcely recognised as her own.
"Coming," said Annie, and she walked instantly to the door with her
dress on, and stood in the moonlight.
"You are dressed!" said Hester in astonishment.
"I could not undress--I lay down as I was. I fancied I heard Nan's
voice calling me. I guessed I should be sent for."
"Well, come now," said Hester in her hardest tones. "You were only sent
for because Nan must be quieted at any risk. Come, and see if you can
quiet her. I don't suppose," with a bitter laugh, "that you will
succeed."
"I think so," replied Annie, in a very soft and gentle tone.
She walked back by Hester's side and entered the sick-room. She walked
straight up to the little cot, and knelt down by Nan, and said, in that
strangely melodious voice of hers--
"Little darling, Annie has come."
"Me like 'oo," said Nan, with a satisfied coo in her voice, and she
turned round on her side, with her back to Miss Danesbury and Hester,
and her eyes fixed on Annie.
"Sing `Four-and-twenty,' Annie; sing `Four-and-twenty,'" she said
presently.
"Four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie," sang Annie in a low clear
voice, without a moment's hesitation. She went through the old nursery
rhyme once--twice. Then Nan interrupted her fretfully--
"Me don't want dat 'dain; sing `Boy Blue,' Annie."
Annie sang.
"`Tree Little Kittens,' Annie," interrupted the little voice presently.
For more than two hours Annie knelt by the child, singing nursery rhyme
after nursery rhyme, while the bright beautiful eyes were fixed on her
face, and the little voice said incessantly--
"Sing, Annie--sing."
"`Baby Bun,' now," said Nan, when Annie had come almost to the end of
her selection.
"Bye baby bunting,
Daddy's gone a-hunting--
He's gone to fetch a rabbit-skin,
To place the baby bunting in."
Over and over and over did Annie sing the words. Whenever, even for a
brief moment she paused, Nan said--
"Sing, Annie--sing `Baby Bun.'"
And all the time the eyes remained wide-open, and the little hands were
burning hot; but, gradually, after more than two hours of constant
singing, Annie began to fancy that the burning skin was cooler. Then--
could she believe it?--she saw the lids droop over the wide-open eyes.
Five minutes later, to the tune of "Baby Bunting," Nan had fallen into a
deep and sound sleep.