The Girls of St. Wode's
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“I know you don’t quite mean what you say,” said Leslie; “but of course if you really wish me – ”
“Before you came I had liberty,” interrupted Annie. “You fret me beyond endurance. Since you came I feel myself tied and bound. Yes; you annoy me more than words can tell.”
Leslie walked to her own side of the room. She had taken a deep interest in Annie; and Annie’s words cut her to the heart.
“I am quite sure it is because she is so unhappy,” she thought. “She does not know what she is saying. I ought not to mind her – I mean I ought not to be really hurt; but there is nothing for it but to leave her for the present.”
Wrapping a pretty blue shawl round her head and shoulders, she turned to Annie. “Good-by,” she said; “is there not any message you would like me to take, Annie?”
“None; only go!”
Annie stamped with her foot.
Leslie was just closing the door behind her, when Annie called after her.
“By the way,” she said; “there is no key in this lock; do you know where it is?”
“I took it out,” said Leslie.
“Took it out! And why, may I ask? Have the goodness to find it and put it back.”
“But don’t lock me out, please, Annie. You know on occasions you are absent-minded, and one-half of this room is mine when all’s said and done. I pay for it, and I have a right to it.”
The unexpected words of spirit caused Annie to become a little less rude.
“Oh, I won’t lock you out,” she said; “but I must have the key. Please find it before you go.”
Jane Heriot’s voice was heard in the passage.
“If you two are ready,” she called out, “we may as well start.”
“Coming in a moment, Jane,” answered Leslie. She found the key, which she had put in the top drawer of her wardrobe, and gave it to Annie. As she walked down the corridor she heard it being turned in the lock.
“What can this mean?” she said to herself.
Jane came up.
“What is it, Leslie?” she said; “you look as if something was worrying you.”
“Something is,” replied Leslie, “but I don’t know that I ought to tell tales out of school.”
“Oh, I won’t press you,” replied Jane.
“After all, perhaps you ought to know, Jane. I am unhappy about Annie Colchester.”
“Oh, my dear,” said Jane, “if you begin to fret about the oddities of the college you will never know a moment’s peace. I am told that that extraordinary and most unpleasant girl, Belle Acheson, has begun to take to you. Now don’t, I beg of you, get into her set.”
“Oh, I shall never do that,” replied Leslie. “I don’t want,” she added, “to get into any set: but I do wish to be kind to Belle, for I think she has good points in her. You see, all the girls except Eileen and Marjorie laugh at her, and that seems to me to make her worse.”
“I don’t quite go the length of laughing at her,” said Jane in a thoughtful voice. “But there, you are one of the ‘unco good,’ I am afraid.”
“Please don’t call me that,” said Leslie, tears now visiting her pretty eyes.
“Oh, I would not say a word to hurt you,” replied Jane, penitent on the spot. “You are quite the sweetest girl in the college, and so we all say. Now, listen; I am going to make a confession. There are times when I am a little jealous of you, for, you know, you are so wonderfully pretty, and you are so kind to everyone. They say too that you are exceedingly clever, and yet you have no jealousies and no smallnesses in you. You are a universal favorite; I envy you your popularity.”
“I don’t know that I am at all what you say; but any girl ought to be popular and good who was brought up by a mother like mine,” said Leslie with enthusiasm. “Some day, Jane, you must see her. If you are in London during the summer, you must come and pay us a visit, will you?”
“I shall be only too delighted,” cried Jane. “But now, Leslie, what is the trouble? that is, if you care to confide in me.”
“I believe poor Annie is dreadfully unhappy.”
“Poor dear, perhaps she is; but she ought to be on her way to East Hall by now. Miss Lauderdale will be very angry with anyone who does not attend.”
“That’s just it, Jane; that is what frightens me. She refuses to come.”
Jane stood still and faced Leslie.
“Refuses to come?” she cried. “She will get into an awful scrape.”
“I believe she is ill, and does not quite know what she is saying,” continued Leslie. “She was very queer when I left her just now; that was why I was a little late. I felt her hand too, and it was very hot. I am sure she is ill. She works too hard, and she – But there, I don’t know that I ought to say any more.”
“Don’t say any more,” cried Jane. “I’ll go back and speak to her. It is my duty to save her from getting into hopeless disgrace.”
“I’ll wait for you here,” said Leslie. “I have had the misfortune to irritate her a good deal during the last day or two, and you probably would have better success than I.”
“I won’t keep you a moment,” answered Jane. She turned back, ran down the corridor, and knocked at Annie’s door.
“Let me come in, Annie,” she called out. “I am Jane Heriot; I want to speak to you at once. Let me in.”
There was no reply.
Jane rattled the handle impatiently. It wanted but two minutes to the half-hour; already she and Leslie would be late.
“Aren’t you coming, Annie?” she called out; “aren’t you coming to East Hall in response to Miss Lauderdale’s orders? You will get into a most awful scrape if you don’t. Do come, Annie; don’t be such a goose. Why, they may rusticate you. Do come, Annie, do!”
Still there was no response. Jane stooped, and applied her eye to the keyhole, but she could see nothing within. In despair she came back and joined Leslie.
“She seems to have turned both deaf and dumb, and I can do nothing with her,” she answered. “It is just possible that she may have gone down the back-stairs, and be already in the hall.”
“Scarcely likely,” replied Leslie; “she told me she was determined not to come to the meeting. By the way, we ought to meet Marjorie and Eileen in the center hall.”
But Marjorie and Eileen had already departed, and Leslie and Jane found themselves among the last students to arrive at the great East Hall.
Miss Lauderdale was standing with the other tutors and principals of the different halls on a raised platform. One by one the many students filed in and took their places. Then a roll-call was gone through by one of the tutors; the only absentee was Annie Colchester. No notice was taken of this at the time, and the proceedings of the evening were immediately begun. Miss Lauderdale stepped forward, and began to address the students. She said that the object of this gathering was to propose the beginning of a new departure in their lives and work. They were all, she was glad to know, acquiring knowledge; they were also becoming strong in body.
“The physical part of your training, and also the mental part, are abundantly supplied in this great house of learning,” she continued; “but the spiritual part, it seems to me, ought now to be strengthened. I want your whole threefold nature to get the best possible training while you are under my care, and I think that you girls of St. Wode’s ought to take steps to keep the souls which God has given you, the undying souls, strong and in health.”
“Hear, hear! and once again, hear!” suddenly said the sharp voice of Belle Acheson. She uttered her strange remark standing up. Marjorie and Eileen were close to her.
“Hear, hear!” she repeated, continuing rapidly: “it was but to-day, Miss Lauderdale, I was speaking of the miserable dead souls which most of the students of St. Wode’s carry within their breasts.”
“Hush! no more speaking in hall,” said the voice of the indignant chairwoman. Miss Lauderdale, after a pause, during which her kind eyes were fixed on Belle’s excited face, spoke:
“I will talk with you, Belle Acheson, presently,” she said. “Now, please, don’t interrupt again while I continue my short address. – I propose that the girls of St. Wode’s – that is, those who choose to do so – should take up an extensive district of the poor in this large town of Wingfield. I have spoken to our rector on the subject, and he thinks that they could carry on a thorough work of supervision and of interest in the poor without endangering their own health in the very least. All those who choose to become members of our new league, which is to be called the Guild of St. Elizabeth, can do so. The names of proposed members are to be submitted to me before this day week. I will then more fully declare my plans, and show the girls who wish to join our league a programme which I hope they will approve of.”
Miss Lauderdale said a great deal more. All her words were uttered with great eloquence and much feeling. She explained to the girls that God held each of them, with their vast opportunities, their great means of culture, their abundance of money (for most of them were wealthy), responsible for their brothers and sisters.
“‘Am I my brother’s keeper?’ you ask,” she continued. “God answers to each of you, ‘You are.’ The world says, ‘No, I am not,’ but God says, ‘Yes, you are.’ All men are your brothers. For all who sin, all who suffer, you are to a certain extent responsible. To each of you, in your strength, is given by God a weak brother to look after, one who has not got your opportunities, who has not got your wealth, who has not got your comforts and luxuries in life. You are responsible for him, and some day you will be asked what you have done with your responsibility. If you leave the world without having fulfilled that terrible and yet grand obligation, you will through all eternity feel the loss of what you might have gained.”
Finally the principal sat down amid loud cheering. Most of the girls were enthusiastic over the new scheme; and Marjorie and Eileen in particular felt their hearts glowing and their eyes sparkling.
After the address the girls themselves were encouraged to speak, and a very animated discussion followed. When it was over, folding-doors were thrown back, and all the students were invited into the large saloon which Miss Lauderdale reserved for very rare and special occasions. Here they were supplied with light refreshments, and presently Miss Lauderdale herself went to the organ at the end of the room, and played some splendid music. She was a musician of rare power, and Leslie listened with her heart in her eyes.
It was past ten o’clock when she left the hall. Just as she was doing so Miss Frere came up.
“Annie Colchester is your roomfellow, is she not?” she said. “Can you give me any idea why she has been absent to-night?”
“I don’t think she is quite well,” replied Leslie.
“I see by your face, Miss Gilroy, that you are distressed about something. Are you keeping anything back?”
“I am afraid I am,” replied Leslie, distress now in her tone.
“Unless Miss Colchester’s illness is really very serious and needs a doctor, she will be very severely reprimanded for this willful disobedience to the command of her principal,” continued Miss Frere. “I must see her myself early in the morning, and I am quite sure that nothing will satisfy Miss Lauderdale except a very ample apology and a full explanation of the reason why she absented herself. She has committed a very grave act of disobedience. You know, of course, that the few rules that are imposed upon the students are expected to be kept most rigorously. Excuses make no difference. The girl who breaks the rules has to be punished. Annie Colchester’s only chance is to apologize to Miss Lauderdale.”
“I will tell her. I will do my very best,” said Leslie. “I am glad you have spoken to me. I will go back now, and see her without delay.”
CHAPTER XIX – THE MAN BY THE RUIN
Leslie reached her own door; she eagerly turned the handle. The door was locked. She called Annie’s name; there was no answer of any sort. She then knelt down and endeavored to peer through the keyhole. The room was in darkness. Had Annie gone to bed and really forgotten her? For a moment Leslie felt quite alarmed. Her own special friends had already retired to their rooms. She could not well stay in the corridor all night; but she was not really thinking of herself nor her own inconvenience. She was terribly anxious about Annie. Suppose she had gone out! Suppose she was not in her room at all! Again Leslie rattled the handle of the door. There was no reply. At that moment the door of the room next to the one at which she was knocking was opened, and Susan Merriman looked out.
“Oh, is that you, Miss Gilroy?” she exclaimed. “Can I do anything for you?”
“No, thank you,” replied Leslie; “this door is locked, and I am afraid Miss Colchester has gone to bed and forgotten all about me. If so, I will ask Jane Heriot to take me in until the morning.”
“I am sure Annie Colchester has not gone to bed,” replied Susan. “I saw you leave your room on the way to East Hall this evening, and a moment afterwards she came out and ran down the back-stairs. I thought, of course, she had gone across to the hall. Was she not there?”
“No,” replied Leslie; “she did not come to the meeting; did you not observe when the roll was gone through that her name was missing?”
“I did not notice it,” answered Susan; “but what a scrape she will get into! How silly of her!”
“Well, please don’t tell anyone that I found the door locked when I returned,” said Leslie.
“Certainly not. Why should I? Can I do anything for you? Would you like to wait in my room until she comes back?”
“No, thank you. I must go and look for her; I am a little anxious about her.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t fret if I were you,” said Susan. “I shall be up for the next hour, and if you wish to take refuge in my room you are heartily welcome.”
Leslie thanked her and ran down the corridor. Trusting that no one would see her, she went downstairs. The house was already locked up, and the lower part in darkness, but she knew a side-door by which she could get out. She went to it, found it still on the latch, opened it, and the next moment found herself in the quadrangle. She stood there, with the soft night-breeze blowing upon her hot face; her heart was beating quickly: she felt full of the strangest apprehension. Where was she to go? What was she to do? Without doubt, Annie was in serious trouble. If Miss Merriman’s account was true, she must have been out for hours. She would be sure presently to return to this side-door. Leslie thought she would wait there in order to meet her. She paced up and down, her restlessness and the queer dread which assailed her increasing each moment. When the great clock over East Hall sounded the hour of eleven, she felt that she could not stay inactive any longer. If Annie did not soon return, the little side-door would be locked, and it would then be impossible to get back to the college for the night. Should she go and confide her fears to Miss Frere? When this thought came to her she put it away at once. No; whatever happened, it would never do to tell about Annie. Annie had got into a scrape already in not attending the meeting at East Hall; she would get into a worse scrape, in all probability be rusticated, if this latter offense were known.
Scarcely realizing what she was doing, Leslie now walked down a side-path which led to the river. Presently she stood on the little quay just outside the boat-house. Here she herself was in complete shadow, but the moon riding high in the heavens made a silver band of light across the river. In the middle of this light, seated in a boat, was a girl; a man was with her; he was bending forward and talking in an eager voice. Presently the words uttered by the girl reached Leslie’s ears.
“Is it not possible for you to do with less than sixty pounds?”
“No, not a penny less,” came the quick reply. “I shall be ruined if I don’t get it.”
“But won’t you consider me at all? I am working hard, terribly hard. If I pass with honors in my June exam., I shall get a good situation and – ”
“What do I care about your passing your exam., or not, Annie? Don’t you know that all that kind of thing is humbug,” said the man’s voice. “I have no intention of your killing yourself for me. I want sixty pounds; if I don’t get that sum I shall be ruined. Can’t you understand what I mean?”
“Yes, yes; and I’ll do my best for you,” was the reply. “You must leave me now, Rupert. As it is, I shall in all probability be locked out of the college.”
“You are always thinking of yourself and your own miserable safety,” replied the man.
He took up a pair of light sculls, and rowed swiftly in the direction of the boat-house.
Leslie, who had heard each word of this conversation, shrank up against the house; she was in complete shadow, and trusted no one would see her. The boat touched the boards of the little quay, and Annie sprang lightly on shore.
“You must help me put the boat back into the house,” she said.
The man did so without uttering a word. The key was then turned in the lock, and Annie slipped it into her pocket. She stood at the edge of the quay, the man standing near her.
“Good-by,” she said, raising her face to his.
“Good-by, old girl. You mean the best, but it is all humbug about your getting that scholarship, and my – ” He broke off suddenly.
“Annie,” he continued, “I could not do it; you may as well know now for certain that I have made up my mind to cut the old life. With that sixty pounds, or without, I leave England in a day or two. You will be better off without me than with me, but you know what it means if I go without the money.”
“What?” said Annie in a low, terrified voice.
“That I am followed and arrested. Think of that! Think what the disgrace will mean to you!”
“Oh, Rupert, Rupert, it would kill me!” moaned the poor girl.
“Well, then, get me the sixty pounds, and you have nothing to fear.”
“I will do my best; but this terrible, awful blow has nearly killed me.”
“Humbug. I say – humbug! Girls don’t die as quickly as all that. Listen, I must have that sixty pounds by hook or by crook; you must get it for me. This is Tuesday evening. I will be here about ten o’clock on Thursday; if you don’t have the money then, well, you know what will happen.”
“Good-by, Rupert, good-by. I will do my best, my very best.”
The man walked away, and Annie, standing for a moment where he had left her, with her hands hanging helplessly to her sides, turned slowly in the direction of the college.
Leslie waited behind until her companion was well out of sight, then she followed her; the side-door was not yet latched, and Annie let herself in. In trembling and sick fear Leslie followed, dreading each moment to hear the key turned in the lock, and yet anxious to give Annie time to escape to her room before she entered the house.
In a moment or two she approached the little door, found that it was still on the latch, entered, and uttered a long sigh of relief. When she reached her room the door was unlocked, the electric light was on, and Annie was standing near her window. Leslie came in and softly shut the door behind her. Annie turned and looked at her.
“What a long time you have been,” she said.
Leslie made no reply. She seated herself on the edge of her bed, her head ached, she felt a new sense of fear. Should she tell Annie that she had listened to her, that she had overheard her conversation, that she knew a part at least of the terrible secret which was weighing her down?
Before she could make up her mind whether to speak or not, Annie herself came forward, drew a chair opposite to Leslie, and sat down.
“What did they say about my being absent at the meeting to-night?” she began.
“Miss Lauderdale was very much displeased,” replied Leslie in a monotonous sort of voice, “and so was Miss Frere. Miss Frere intends to speak to you in the morning. I did what I could for you. I said you were ill, and – ”
“Humbug!” interrupted Annie. “I wasn’t ill.” Then she laughed in a queer, strained way. “After all, that may be as good an excuse as anything else; but I don’t mind your knowing that I wasn’t really ill. I was obliged to go out. Leslie, I am in a great, a terrible strait, and it has occurred to me that perhaps you can help me.”
“In what way?” asked Leslie.
“Leslie Gilroy, let me ask you a question. Did you ever want money so badly, so dreadfully badly, that you would even commit a crime to get it?”
“Never,” answered Leslie.
“Then you are one of the rich and lucky ones: I am one of the poor and unlucky. What a wide, wide gulf lies between us!”
“You are quite mistaken when you say that I am one of the rich ones,” said Leslie; “we are none of us rich. On the contrary, we are poor. My mother has to work very hard to support us; and I should not be here at this moment were it not for the great kindness of a friend of my dear father’s, a Mr. Parker.”
“Parker?” said Annie, starting; “did you say Parker?” She roused herself and looked attentively at Leslie.
“I did,” replied Leslie. “Mr. Parker – he was my father’s great friend. Do you happen to know anyone of the name?”
“My brother has been in the office of a man of that name, and I happen to know him slightly myself. He is a very rich city merchant. I wonder if it could possibly be the same.”
“Very likely,” answered Leslie. “Our friend’s name is Charles Parker, and he lived for a great many years in Sydney.”
“The same; it must be the same,” said Annie. She clasped her hands and looked excited. “And you know this Mr. Charles Parker well?” she said, turning to Leslie. “He is good to you?”
“I do not know him well,” replied Leslie; “but he is very good to me – more than good. The fact is, it is he who has sent me here. He is paying all my fees. He was a great friend of my dear father’s, and mother could not help accepting his generous offer. You see by that fact, Annie, that I am not a rich girl, and that I know about poverty. Now, what is troubling you? Do tell me.”
“I cannot,” replied Annie abruptly. “I have changed my mind. It is much better for you not to know.”
She moved away, looking sulky and wretched.
“Don’t you want to go to bed?” she said presently.
“Yes, I am tired,” answered Leslie; “but I don’t mind how long I wait up if I can really help you.”
“You cannot help me. I have quite changed my mind. It is better for you to know nothing whatever about me.”
Annie moved to the other end of the room and began to take off her things. She tossed her hat on the nearest chair; her jacket had already tumbled on to the floor, but she had not observed it. She then began to unfasten her dress, and, taking down her untidy red hair, twisted it up into a knot at the back of her head.
“I wonder if it is quite certain,” she said presently, “if the Mr. Charles Parker you know is the one in whose office my brother has been?”
“It is impossible for me to tell you that,” replied Leslie. “I only know that our friend’s name is Charles Parker, that he made his fortune in Sydney, and that he is now in the city.”
Annie heaved a great sigh of mingled relief and perplexity.
“It must be the same,” she said. “Leslie, you are a very good girl, and I am sorry I was rude to you to-day.”
“It does not matter about that in the least,” replied Leslie. “I wish you would think more of how you are to get out of your scrape. Miss Lauderdale was considerably annoyed at your not attending the meeting. Are you prepared to apologize to-morrow?”
“Of course I am. Oh, by the way, what did you say about me?”
“The truth. I said you were ill.”
“If they ask you again, you will tell them again that I was really ill?”
“Of course I shall; you were very ill. You were not putting it on, were you, Annie?”
“Of course not,” answered Annie. “Now, do go to bed, and don’t ask any more questions. I was ill, and I am ill still, but my illness is not of the body. All the same, I have got such a headache that I can scarcely stand up.”
“Well, I am glad you are not going to do any more work to-night.”
“Work!” said Annie. “The mere thought makes me feel sick. Good-night, Leslie. Don’t let us talk any more until the morning.”
Annie lay down on her bed, taking the clothes and wrapping them tightly round her.
“Don’t speak to me again,” she muttered; and Leslie, kneeling by her little bed, tried to pray. But all her thoughts were in a whirl. She hated herself for not telling Annie that she had overheard her conversation. Finally, she made up her mind to do so in the morning.