University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER XXIII.
ONE WEEK OF GRACE.

THERE never was a woman more distressed and puzzled than Miss Henderson. She consulted with her sister, Miss Lucy; she consulted with her favorite teacher, Miss Thompson. They talked into the small hours of the night, and finally it was resolved that Evelyn should have another chance.

"I must appeal to her honor; it is impossible that any girl could be quite destitute of that quality," said Miss Henderson.

"I am sure you are doing right, sister," said Miss Lucy. "Once you harden a girl you do for her. Whatever Evelyn Wynford's faults may be, she will hold a high position one day. It would be terrible — more than terrible — if she grew up a wicked woman. How awful to have power and not to use it aright! My dear Maria, whatever you are, be merciful."

"I must pray to God to guide me aright," answered Miss Maria. "This is a case for a right judgment in all things. Poor child! I pity her from my heart; but how to bring her to the necessary confession is the question."

Miss Henderson went to bed, but not to sleep. Early in the morning she arose, having made up her mind what to do.

Accordingly, when Audrey and Evelyn arrived in the pretty little governess-cart — Audrey with a high color in her cheeks, looking as sweet and fresh and good and nice as English girl could look, and Evelyn tripping after her with a certain defiance on her white face and a look of hostility in her brown eyes — they were both greeted by Miss Henderson herself.

"Ah, Audrey dear," she said in a cheerful and friendly tone, "how are you this morning? — How do you do, Evelyn? — No, Audrey, you are not late; you are quite in nice time. Will you go to the schoolroom, my dear? I will join you presently for prayers. — Evelyn, can I have a word with you?"

"Why so?" asked Evelyn, backing a little.

"Because I have something I want to say to you."

Audrey also stood still. She cast a hostile glance at Miss Henderson, saying to herself:

"After all, my head-mistress is horribly unfair;

she is doubtless going to tell Evelyn that she suspects her."

"Evelyn," said Audrey, "I will wait for you in the dressing-room if Miss Henderson has no objection."

"But I have, for it may be necessary for me to detain your cousin for a short time," said Miss Henderson. "Go, Audrey; do not keep me any longer."

Evelyn stood sullenly and perfectly still in the hall; Audrey disappeared in the direction of the schoolrooms. Miss Henderson now took Evelyn's hand and led her into her private sitting-room.

"What do you want me for?" asked the little girl.

"I want to say something to you, Evelyn."

"Then say it, please."

"You must not be pert."

"I do not know what 'pert' is."

"What you are now. But there, my dear child, please control yourself; believe me, I am truly sorry for you."

"Then you need not be," said Evelyn, with a toss of her head. "I do not want anybody to be sorry for me. I am one of the most lucky girls in the world. Sorry for me! Please don't. Mothery could never bear to be pitied, and I won't be pitied; I have nothing to be pitied for."

"Who did you say never cared to be pitied?" asked Miss Henderson.

"Never you mind."

"And yet, Evelyn, I think I have heard the words. You allude to your mother. I understand from Lady Frances that your mother is dead. You loved her, did you not?"

Evelyn gave a quick nod; her face seemed to say, "That is nothing to you."

"I see you did, and she was fond of you."

In spite of herself Evelyn gave another nod.

"Poor little girl; how sad to be without her!"

"Don't," said Evelyn in a strained voice.

"You lived all your early days in Tasmania, and your mother was good to you because she loved you, and you loved her back; you tried to please her because you loved her."

"Oh, bother!" said Evelyn.

"Come here, dear."

Evelyn did not budge an inch.

"Come over to me," said Miss Henderson.

Miss Henderson was not accustomed to being disobeyed. Her tone was not loud, but it was quiet and determined. She looked full at Evelyn. Her eyes were kind. Evelyn felt as if they mesmerised her. Step by step, very unwillingly, she approached the side of the head-mistress.

"I love girls like you," said Miss Henderson then.

"Bother!" said Evelyn again.

"And I do not mind even when they are sulky and rude and naughty, as you are now; still, I love them — I love them because I am sorry for them."

"You need not be sorry for me; I won't have you sorry for me," said Evelyn.

"If I must not be sorry for you I must be something else."

"What?"

"Angry with you."

"Why so? I never! What — do you mean now?"

"I must be angry with you, Evelyn — very angry. But I will say no more by way of excusing my own conduct. I will say, nothing of either sorrow or anger. I want to state a fact to you."

"Get it over," said Evelyn.

Miss Henderson now approached the table; she

opened the History at the reign of Edward I., and taking two tiny fragments of torn paper from the pages of the book, she laid them in her open palm. In her other hand she held the mutilated copy of Sesame and Lilies. The print on the torn scrap exactly corresponded with the print in the injured volume. Miss Henderson glanced from Evelyn to the scraps of paper, and from Evelyn to the copy of Ruskin.

"You have intelligence," she said; "you must see what this means."

She then carefully replaced the bits of paper in the History and laid it on the table by her side.

"Between now," she said, "and this time yesterday Miss Thompson discovered these scraps of paper in the copy of the History which you had to read on the morning of the day when you first came to school. The scraps are evidently part of the pages torn from the injured book. Have you anything to say with regard to them?"

Evelyn shook her head; her face was white and her eyes bright. But there was a small red spot on each cheek — a spot about the size of a farthing. It did not grow any larger. It gave a curious effect to the pallid face. The obstinacy of the mouth was very apparent. The cleft in the chin still further showed the curious bias of the girl's character.

"Have you anything to say — any remark to make?"

Again the head was slowly shaken.

"Is there any reason why I should not immediately after prayers to-day explain these circumstances to the whole school, and allow the school to draw its own conclusions?"

Evelyn now raised her eyes and fixed them on Miss Henderson's face.

"You will not do that, will you?" she asked.

"Have you ever, Evelyn, heard of such a thing as circumstantial evidence?"

"No. What is it?"

"You are very ignorant, my dear child — ignorant as well as wilful; wilful as well as wicked."

"No, I am not wicked; you shall not say it!"

"Tell me, is there any reason why I should not show what I have now shown you to the rest of the school, and allow the school to draw its own conclusion?"

"You won't — will you?"

"Must I explain to you, Evelyn, what this means?"

"You can say anything you like."

"These scraps of paper prove beyond doubt that you, for some extraordinary reason, were the person who tore the book. Why you did it is beyond my conception, is beyond Miss Thompson's conception, is beyond the conception of my sister Lucy; but that you did do it we none of us for a moment doubt."

"Oh, you are wicked! How dare you think such things of me?"

"Tell me, Evelyn — tell me why you did it. Come here and tell me. I will not be unkind to you, my poor little girl. I am sorry for one so ignorant, so wanting in all conceptions of right or wrong. Tell me, dear, and as there is a God in heaven, Evelyn, I will forgive you."

"I will not tell you what I did not do," said the angry child.

"You are vexed now and do not know what you are saying. I will go away, and come back again at the end of half-an-hour; perhaps you will tell me then."

Evelyn stood silent, Miss Henderson, taking the History with her, left the room. She turned the

key in the lock. Evelyn rushed to the window. Could she get out by it? She rushed to the door and tried to open it. Window and door defied her efforts. She was locked in. She was like a wild creature in a trap. To scream would do no good. Never before had the spoilt child found herself in such a position. A wild agony seized her; even now she did not repent.

If only mothery were alive! If only she were back on the ranch! If only Jasper were by her side!

"Oh mothery! oh Jasper!" she cried; and then a sob rose to her throat, tears burst from her eyes. The tension for the time was relieved; she huddled up in a chair, and sobbed as if her heart would break.

Miss Henderson came back again in half-an-hour. Evelyn was still sobbing.

"Well, Evelyn," she said, "I am just going into the schoolroom now for prayers. Have you made up your mind? Will you tell me why you did it, and how you did it, and why you denied it? Just three questions, dear; answer truthfully, and you will have got over the most painful and terrible crisis of your life. Be brave, little girl; ask God to help you."

"I cannot tell you what I do not know," burst now from the angry child. "Think what you like. Do what you like. I am at your mercy; but I hate you, and I will never be a good girl — never, never! I will be a bad girl always — always; and I hate you — I hate you!"

Miss Henderson did not speak a word. The most violent passion cannot long retain its hold when the person on whom its rage is spent makes no reply. Even Evelyn cooled down a little. Miss Henderson stood quite still; then she said gently:

"I am deeply sorry. I was prepared for this. It will take more than this to subdue you."

"Are you going into the schoolroom with those scraps of paper and are you going to tell all the girls I am guilty?" said Evelyn.

"No, I shall not do that; I will give you another chance. There was to have been a holiday to-day, but because of that sin of yours there will be no holiday. There was to be a visit on Saturday to the museum at Chisfield, which the girls were all looking forward to; they are not to go on account of you. There were to be prizes at the break-up; they will not be given on account of you. The girls will not know that you are the cause of this deprivation, but they will know that the deprivation is theirs because there is a guilty person in the school, and because she will not confess. Evelyn, I give you a week from now to think this matter over. Remember, my dear, that I know you are guilty; remember that my sister Lucy knows it, and Miss Thompson; but before you are publicly disgraced we wish to give you a chance. We will treat you during the week that has yet to run as we would any other girl in the school. You will be treated until the week is up as though you were innocent. Think well whether you will indeed doom your companions to so much disappointment as will be theirs during the next week, to so dark a suspicion. During the next week the school will practically be sent to Coventry. Those who care for the girls will have to hold aloof from them. All the parents will have to be written to and told that there is an ugly suspicion hanging over the school. Think well before you put your companions, your school fellows, into this cruel position."

"It is you who are cruel," said Evelyn.

"I must ask God to melt your hard heart, Evelyn."

"And are you really going to do all this?"

"Certainly."

"And at the end of the week?"

"If you have not confessed before then I shall be obliged to confess for you before all the school. But, my poor child, you will; you must make amends. God could not have made so hard a heart!"

Evelyn wiped away her tears. She scarcely knew what she felt; she scarcely comprehended what was going to happen.

"May I bathe my eyes," she said, "before I go with you into the schoolroom? "

"You may. I will wait for you here."

The little girl left the room.

"I never met such a character," said Miss Henderson to herself. "God help me, what am I to do with her? If at the end of a week she has not confessed her sin, I shall be obliged to ask Lady Frances to remove her. Poor child — poor child!"

Evelyn came back, looking pale but serene. She held out her hand to Miss Henderson.

"I do not want your hand, Evelyn."

"You said you would treat me for a week as if I were innocent."

"Very well, then; I will take your hand."

Miss Henderson entered the schoolroom holding Evelyn's hand. Evelyn was looking as if nothing had happened; the traces of her tears had vanished. She sat down on her form; the other girls glanced at her in some wonder. Prayers were read as usual; the head-mistress knelt to pray. As her voice rose on the wings of prayer it trembled slightly. She prayed for those whose hearts were hard, that God would soften them. She prayed that wrong might be set right, that good might come out of evil, and that she herself might be guided to have a right judgment in

all things. There was a great solemnity in her prayer, and it was felt throughout the hush in the big room. When she rose from her knees she ascended to her desk and faced the assembled girls.

"You know," she said, "what an unpleasant task lies before me. The allotted time for the confession of the guilty person who injured my book, Sesame and Lilies, has gone by. The guilty person has not confessed, but I may as well say that the injury has been traced home to one of your number — but to whom, I am at present resolved not to tell. I give that person one week in order to make her confession. I do this for reasons which my sister and I consider all-sufficient; but during that week, I am sorry to say, my dear girls, you must all bear with her and for her the penalty of her wrong-doing. I must withhold indulgences, holidays, half-holidays, visits from friends; all that makes life pleasant and bright and home-like will have to be withdrawn. Work will have to be the order of the hour — work without the impetus of reward — work for the sake of work. I am sorry to have to do this, but I feel that such a course of conduct is due to myself. In a week's time from now, if the girl has not confessed, I must take further steps; but I can assure the school that the cloud of my displeasure will then alone visit the guilty person, on whom it will fall with great severity."

There was a long, significant pause when Miss Henderson ceased speaking. She was about to descend from her seat when Brenda Fox spoke.

"Is this quite fair?" she said. "I hope I am not asking an impertinent question, but is it fair that the innocent should suffer for the guilty?"

"I must ask you all to do so. Think of the history

of the past, girls. Take courage; it is not the first time."

"I think," said Brenda Fox later on that same day to Audrey, "that Miss Henderson is right."

"Then I think her wrong," answered Audrey. "Of course I do not know her as well as you do, Brenda, and I am also ignorant with regard to the ordinary rules of school life, but I cannot but feel it would be much better if the guilty girl will not confess, to punish her at once and put an end to the thing."

"It would be pleasanter for us," replied Brenda Fox; "but then, Miss Henderson never thinks of that."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that Miss Henderson is the sort of woman who would think very little of small personal pain and inconvenience compared with the injury which might be permanently inflicted on a girl who was harshly dealt with."

"Still I do not quite understand. If any girl in the school did such a disgraceful thing it ought to be known at once."

"Miss Henderson evidently does know, but for some reason she hopes the girl will repent."

"And we are to be punished?"

"Is it not worth having a little discomfort if the girl's character can be saved?"

"Yes, of course; if it does save her."

"We must hope for that. For my part," said Brenda in a reverent tone, "I shall pray about it. I believe in prayer."

"And so do I," answered Audrey. "But do you know, Brenda, that I think Miss Henderson was greatly wanting in tact when she mentioned my poor little cousin's name two days ago."

"Why so? Your cousin did happen to be alone in the room."

"But it seemed to draw a very unworthy suspicion upon her head."

"Oh no, no, Audrey!" answered Brenda. "Who could think that your cousin would do it? Besides, she is quite a stranger; it was her first day at school."

"Then have you the least idea who did it?"

"None; no one has. We are all very fond of Miss Thompson. We are all fond of Miss Henderson; we respect her, and Miss Lucy as most able and worthy mistresses. We enjoy our school-life. Who could have been so unkind?"

Audrey had an uncomfortable sensation at her heart that Evelyn at least did not enjoy her school-life; that Evelyn disliked Miss Thompson, and openly said that she hated Miss Henderson. Still, that Evelyn could really be guilty did not for an instant visit her brain.

Meanwhile Evelyn went recklessly on her way. The denouement, of whatever nature, was still a week off. For a week she could be gay or impertinent or rude or defiant or good, just as the mood took her; at the end of the week, or towards the end, she would run away. She would go to Jasper and tell her she must hide her. This was her resolve. She was as inconsequent as an infant. To save herself trouble and pain was her one paramount idea; even her schoolfellows' annoyance and distress scarcely worried her. As she and Audrey always spent their evenings at home, the dullness of the school, the increase of lessons and the absence of play, the walks two and two in absolute silence, scarcely depressed her; she could laugh and play at home, and talk to her uncle and draw him out to tell her stories of her

father. The one redeeming trait in her character was her love for Uncle Edward. She was certainly going down hill very rapidly at this time. Poor child! who was there to understand her, to bring her to a standstill, to help her to choose right?