anything; only the utmost candour onyour part can now save you from being publicly expelled."
"I am willing to tell," answered Susan. "I meant no harm; it was doneas a bit of fun. I had a cousin at home who was very clever at drawingcaricatures, and I happened to have nothing to do one day, and I wasalone in Annie's bedroom, and I thought I'd like to see what she kept inher desk. I always had a fancy for collecting odd keys, and I found oneon my bunch which fitted her desk exactly. I opened it, and I foundsuch a smart little caricature of Mrs Willis. I sent the caricature tomy cousin, and begged of her to make an exact copy of it. She did so,and I put Annie's back in her desk, and pasted the other into Cecil'sbook. I didn't like Dora Russell, and I wrapped up the sweeties in hertheme; but I did the other for pure fun, for I knew Cecil would be soshocked; but I never guessed the blame would fall on Annie. When Ifound it did, I felt inclined to tell once or twice, but it seemed toomuch trouble, and, besides, I knew Mrs Willis would punish me, and, ofcourse, I didn't wish that.
"Dora Russell was always very nasty to me, and when I found she wasputting on such airs, and pretending she could write such a grand essayfor the prize, I thought I'd take down her pride a bit. I went to herdesk, and I got some of the rough copy of the thing she was calling `TheRiver,' and I sent it off to my cousin, and my cousin made up such aridiculous paper, and she hit off Dora's writing to the life, and, ofcourse, I had to put it into Dora's desk and tear up her real copy. Itwas very unlucky Hester being in the room. Of course I never guessedthat, or I wouldn't have gone. That was the night we all went withAnnie to the fairies' field. I never meant to get Hester into a scrape,nor Annie either, for that matter; but, of course, I couldn't beexpected to tell on myself."
Susan related her story in her usual monotonous and singsong voice.There was no trace of apparent emotion on her face, or of regret in hertones. When she had finished speaking Mr Everard was absolutelysilent.
"I took a great deal of trouble," continued Susan, after a pause, in aslightly fretful key. "It was really nothing but a joke, and I don'tsee why such a fuss should have been made. I know I lost a great dealof sleep trying to manage that twine business round my foot. I don'tthink I shall trouble myself playing any more tricks upon school-girls--they are not worth it."
"You'll never play any more tricks on these girls," said Mr Everard,rising to his feet, and suddenly filling the room and reducing Susan toan abject silence by the ring of his stern, deep voice. "I take it uponme, in the absence of your mistress, to pronounce your punishment. Youleave Lavender House in disgrace this evening. Miss Good will take youhome, and explain to your parents the cause of your dismissal. You arenot to see _any_ of your school-fellows again. Your meanness, yourcowardice, your sin require no words on my part to deepen theirvileness. Through pure wantonness you have cast a cruel shadow on aninnocent young life. If that girl dies, you indeed are not blameless inthe cause of her early removal, for through you her heart and spiritwere broken. Miss Drummond, I pray God you may at least repent and besorry. There are some people mentioned in the Bible who are spoken ofas past feeling. Wretched girl, while there is yet time, pray that youmay not belong to them. Now I must leave you, but I shall lock you in.Miss Good will come for you in about an hour to take you away."
Susan Drummond sank down on the nearest seat, and began to cry softly;one or two pin-pricks from Mr Everard's stern words may possibly havereached her shallow heart--no one can tell. She left Lavender Housethat evening, and none of the girls who had lived with her as theirschool-mate heard of her again.
CHAPTER FIFTY.
THE HEART OF LITTLE NAN.
For several days now Annie had lain unconscious in Mrs Williams'slittle bedroom; the kind-hearted woman could not find it in her heart tosend the sick child away. Her husband and the neighbours expostulatedwith her, and said that Annie was only a poor little waif.
"She has no call on you," said Jane Allen, a hard-featured woman wholived next door. "Why should you put yourself out just for a sick lass?and she'll be much better on in the workhouse infirmary."
But Mrs Williams shook her head at her hard-featured and hard-heartedneighbour, and resisted her husband's entreaties.
"Eh!" she said, "but the poor lamb needs a good bit of mothering, and Imisdoubt me she wouldn't get much of that in the infirmary."
So Annie stayed, and tossed from side to side of her little bed, andmurmured unintelligible words, and grew daily a little weaker and alittle more delirious. The parish doctor called, and shook his headover her: he was not a particularly clever man, but he was the best theWilliamses could afford. While Annie suffered and went deeper into thatvalley of humiliation and weakness which leads to the gate of the Valleyof the Shadow of Death, little Nan played with Peggy Williams, andaccustomed herself after the fashion of little children to all the waysof her new and humble home.
It was on the eighth day of Annie's fever that the Misses Brucediscovered her, and on the evening of that day Mrs Willis knelt by herlittle favourite's bed. A better doctor had been called in, and allthat money could procure had been got now for poor Annie; but the seconddoctor considered her case even more critical, and said that the closeair of the cottage was much against her recovery.
"I didn't make that caricature; I took the girls into the fairies'field, but I never pasted that caricature into Cecil's book. I know youdon't believe me, Cecil; but do you think I would really do anything somean about one whom I love? No, no! I am innocent! God knows it.Yes, I am glad of that--God knows it."
Over, and over in Mrs Willis's presence these piteous words would comefrom the fever-stricken child, but always when she came to the littlesentence "God knows I am innocent," her voice would grow tranquil, and afaint and sweet smile would play round her lips.
Late that night a carriage drew up at a little distance from thecottage, and a moment or two afterwards Mrs Willis was called out ofthe room to speak to Cecil Temple.
"I have found out the truth about Annie; I have come at once to tellyou," she said; and then she repeated the substance of Hester's andSusan's story.
"God help me for having misjudged her," murmured the head-mistress; thenshe bade Cecil "good-night," and returned to the sick-room.
The next time Annie broke out with her piteous wail, "They believe meguilty--Mrs Willis does--they all do," the mistress laid her hand witha firm and gentle pressure on the child's arm.
"Not now, my dear," she said, in a slow, clear, and emphatic voice."God has shown your governess the truth, and she believes in you."
The very carefully-uttered words pierced through the clouded brain; fora moment Annie lay quite still, with her bright and lovely eyes fixed onher teacher.
"Is that really you?" she asked.
"I am here, my darling."
"And you believe in me?"
"I do most absolutely."
"God does, too, you know," answered Annie--bringing out the wordsquickly, and turning her head to the other side. The fever had oncemore gained supremacy, and she rambled on unceasingly through the drearynight.
Now, however, when the passionate words broke out, "They believe meguilty," Mrs Willis always managed to quiet her by saying, "I know youare innocent."
The next day at noon those girls who had not gone home--for many hadstarted by the morning train--were wandering aimlessly about thegrounds. Mr Everard had gone to see Annie, and had promised to bringback the latest tidings about her.
Hester, holding little Nan's hand--for she could scarcely bear to haveher recovered treasure out of sight--had wandered away from the rest ofher companions, and had seated herself with Nan under a large oak-treewhich grew close to the entrance of the avenue. She had come here inorder to be the very first to see Mr Everard on his return. Nan hadclimbed into Hester's lap, and Hester had buried her aching head inlittle Nan's bright curls, when she started suddenly to her feet and ranforward. Her quick ears had detected the sound of wheels.
How soon Mr Everard had returned; surel
y the news was bad! She flew tothe gate, and held it open in order to avoid the short delay which thelodge-keeper might cause in coming to unfasten it. She flushed however,vividly, and felt half inclined to retreat into the shade, when she sawthat the gentleman who was approaching was not Mr Everard, but a tall,handsome, and foreign-looking man, who drove a light dog-cart himself.The moment he saw Hester with little Nan clinging to her skirts hestopped short.
"Is this Lavender House, little girl?"
"Yes, sir," replied Hester.
"And can you tell me--but of course you know--you are one of the youngladies who live here, eh?"
Hester nodded.
"Then you