pronounce her guilty now. She would go, and when thecoast was again clear the love which she had taken from Hester--theprecious love of Hester's only little sister--would return.
"You will be miserable: you will be miserable," whispered the goodangels sorrowfully in her ear; but she did not listen to them.
"I said I would revenge myself, and this is my opportunity," shemurmured. "Silence--just simply silence--will be my revenge."
Then the good angels went sorrowfully back to their Father in heaven,and the wicked angels rejoiced. Hester had fallen very low.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.
FRESH SUSPICIONS.
Mrs Willis was not at home many hours before Dora Russell begged for aninterview with her. Annie had not as yet heard anything of the changedessay; for Dora had resolved to keep the thing a secret until MrsWillis herself took the matter in hand.
Annie was feeling not a little anxious and depressed. She was sorry nowthat she had led the girls that wild escapade through the wood. Phyllisand Nora were both suffering from heavy colds in consequence, and SusanDrummond was looking more pasty about her complexion, and was moredismally sleepy than usual. Annie was going through her usual season ofintense remorse after one of her wild pranks. No one repented with moreapparent fervour than she did, and yet no one so easily succumbed to thenext temptation. Had Annie been alone in the matter she would have gonestraight to Mrs Willis and confessed all; but she could not do thiswithout implicating her companions, who would have screamed with horrorat the very suggestion.
All the girls were more or less depressed by the knowledge that thegypsy woman, Mother Rachel, shared their secret; and they oftenwhispered together as to the chances of her betraying them. Old Bettythey could trust; for Betty, the cake-woman, had been anarch-conspirator with the naughty girls of Lavender House from timeimmemorial. Betty had always managed to provide their stolen suppersfor them, and had been most accommodating in the matter of pay. Yes,with Betty they felt they were safe; but Mother Rachel was a differentperson. She might like to be paid a few more sixpences for her silence;she might hover about the grounds; she might be noticed. At any momentshe might boldly demand an interview with Mrs Willis.
"I'm awfully afraid of Mother Rachel," Phyllis moaned, as she shiveredunder the influence of her bad cold.
Nora said "I should faint if I saw her again, I know I should while theother girls always went out provided with stray sixpences, in case thegypsy-mother should start up from some unexpected quarter and demandblack-mail."
On the day of Mrs Willis's return, Annie was pacing up and down theshady walk, and indulging in some rather melancholy and regretfulthoughts, when Susan Drummond and Mary Morris rushed up to her, whitewith terror.
"She's down there by the copse, and she's beckoning to us! Oh, do comewith us--do, darling, dear Annie."
"There's no use in it," replied Annie; "Mother Rachel wants money, and Iam not going to give her any. Don't be afraid of her, girls, and don'tgive her money. After all, why should she tell on us? she would gainnothing by doing so."
"Oh, yes, she would, Annie--she would, Annie," said Mary Morris,beginning to sob; "oh, do come with us, do! We must pacify her, wereally must."
"I can't come now," said Annie; "hark! some one is calling me. Yes,Miss Danesbury--what is it?"
"Mrs Willis wishes to see you at once, Annie, in her privatesitting-room," replied Miss Danesbury; and Annie, wondering not alittle, but quite unsuspicious, ran off.
The fact, however, of her having deliberately disobeyed Mrs Willis, anddone something which she knew would greatly pain her, brought a shade ofembarrassment to her usually candid face. She had also to confess toherself that she did not feel quite so comfortable about Mother Rachelas she had given Mary Morris and Susan Drummond to understand. Hersteps lagged more and more as she approached the house, and she wished,oh, how longingly! oh, how regretfully! that she had not been naughtyand wild and disobedient in her beloved teacher's absence.
"But where is the use of regretting what is done?" she said, half aloud."I know I can never be good--never, never!"
She pushed aside the heavy velvet curtains which shaded the door of theprivate sitting-room, and went in, to find Mrs Willis seated by herdesk, very pale and tired and unhappy looking, while Dora Russell, withcrimson spots on her cheeks and a very angry glitter in her eyes, stoodby the mantelpiece.
"Come here, Annie dear," said Mrs Willis in her usual gentle andaffectionate tone.
Annie's first wild impulse was to rush to her governess's side, to flingher arms round her neck, and, as a child would confess to her mother, totell her all that story of the walk through the wood, and the stolenpicnic in the fairies' field. Three things, however, restrained her--she must not relieve her own troubles at the expense of betrayingothers; she could not, even if she were willing, say a word in thepresence of this cold and angry-looking Dora; in the third place, MrsWillis looked very tired and very sad. Not for worlds would she add toher troubles at this instant. She came into the room, however, with aslight hesitation of manner, and a clouded brow, which caused MrsWillis to watch her with anxiety, and Dora with triumph.
"Come here, Annie," repeated the governess. "I want to speak to you.Something very dishonourable and disgraceful has been done in myabsence."
Annie's face suddenly became as white as a sheet. Could thegypsy-mother have already betrayed them all?
Mrs Willis, noticing her too evident confusion, continued in a voice,which, in spite of herself, became stern and severe.
"I shall expect the truth at any cost, my dear. Look at thismanuscript-book. Do you know anything of the handwriting?"
"Why, it is yours, of course, Dora," said Annie, who was now absolutelybewildered.
"It is _not_ mine," began Dora, but Mrs Willis held up her hand.
"Allow me to speak, Miss Russell. I can best explain matters. Annie,during my absence some one has been guilty of a very base and wickedact. One of the girls in this school has gone secretly to DoraRussell's desk, and taken away ten pages of an essay which she hadcalled `The River,' and which she was preparing for the prizecompetition next month. Instead of Dora's essay this that you now seewas put in its place. Examine it, my dear. Can you tell me anythingabout it?"
Annie took the manuscript-book, and turned the leaves.
"Is it meant for a parody?" she asked, after a pause; "it soundsridiculous. No, Mrs Willis, I know nothing whatever about it; some onehas imitated Dora's handwriting. I cannot imagine who is the culprit."
She threw the manuscript-book with a certain easy carelessness on thetable by her side, and glanced up with a twinkle of mirth in her eyes atDora.
"I suppose it is meant for a clever parody," she repeated; "at least itis amusing."
Her manner displeased Mrs Willis, and very nearly maddened poor Dora.
"We have not sent for you, Annie," said her teacher, "to ask you youropinion of the parody, but to try and get you to throw light on thesubject. We must find out, and at once, who has been so wicked as todeliberately injure another girl."
"But why have you sent for _me_?" asked Annie, drawing herself up, andspeaking with a little shade of haughtiness.
"Because," said Dora Russell, who could no longer contain her outragedfeelings, "because you alone can throw light on it--because you alone inthe school are base enough to do anything so mean--because you alone cancaricature."
"Oh, that is it," said Annie; "you suspect me, then. Do _you_ suspectme, Mrs Willis?"
"My dear--what can I say?"
"Nothing, if you do. In this school my word has long gone for nothing.I am a naughty, headstrong, wilful girl, but in this matter I amperfectly innocent. I never saw that essay before; I never in all mylife went to Dora Russell's desk. I am headstrong and wild, but I don'tdo spiteful things. I have no object in injuring Dora; she is nothingto me--nothing. She is trying for the essay prize, but she has nochance of winning it. Why should I trouble myself to injure her? whyshould I
even take the pains to parody her words and copy herhandwriting? Mrs Willis, you need not believe me--I see you do notbelieve me--but I am quite innocent."
Here Annie burst into sudden tears, and ran out of the room.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.
UNTRUSTWORTHY.
Dora Russell had declared, in Hester's presence, and with intense energyin her manner, that the author of the insult to which she had beenexposed should be publicly punished, and, if possible, expelled. On theevening of her interview with the head teacher, she had so far forgottenherself as to reiterate this desire with extreme vehemence. She hadboldly declared her firm conviction of Annie's guilt, and had broadlyhinted at Mrs Willis's favouritism toward