CHAPTER XVIII.
PEACE.
Meg was courted now by her schoolfellows; but the attention lavishedupon her wounded her pride. She measured by it the contempt that had soeasily accused her of thieving. To her sensitive spirit this kindnessseemed insulting. It said, "We thought you a thief, and we find you arenot." She responded coldly to advances made to her by all but Ursula.
The girls did not reproach Elsie; a sense of fair play kept them fromreferring to the diamond episode, but they shunned her. They stuck tothe letter of the promised forgiveness, but they did not forget that shewas a little thief. Meg watched the small figure lying apart andsolitary in the play-hours--a white drift upon the bench.
Her heart bled. The child had been so caressed before, and was now anoutcast. She remembered how she, too, had been neglected and shunned;but she was strong, and had never known petting, and her anger wasstirred against the girls.
She tried to make it up to Elsie; but a change had come over the child,and she shrank from her friend. Meg knew Elsie felt ashamed, and shebusied herself about the child to prove that the sorrowful time was notforgiven only, but forgotten also. She watched her opportunities to helpthe little one at her lessons; to put away her books, pencils, and otherbelongings. Elsie refused help, and avoided giving Meg thoseopportunities. The old clinging ways were gone. The chattering voice washushed. A circle of ice seemed to surround the child.
Meg felt lonely and blank; and pity mingled with her desolateness. Allthe graceful radiance of childhood had gone from Elsie. Meg knew thechange was due to remorse; the shyness of guilt was upon Elsie's heart.She longed to make the child smile and prattle again. As Elsie hadlonged for that foolish diamond, so Meg longed for Elsie's smile andprattle.
April had come; there were violets and primroses in the woods aboutMoorhouse, and Miss Reeves announced that the Saturday half-holidaymight be spent afield. Meg determined that to-day she would conquer herpet's shrinking--that she would win that laugh. She went to look forElsie. She found her lying listlessly on a bench in the sunshine. As sheapproached Elsie turned her face away.
"We are going out into the country to pick flowers," said Meg, kneelingbeside her.
Elsie did not answer, and made a little movement with her elbow as if towave Meg away.
"We are not to walk two and two together like soldiers," Meg went on,taking no notice. "When we get to the woods we are to break up our ranksand run wild. You and I will hunt for violets together."
"I don't want to go," said Elsie.
"You are not well, my pet," said Meg, patting the little hand.
"I am quite well," said Elsie harshly. "I do not want to go, that isall."
"Then I will not go either. I will stop with you," said Megdeterminedly.
"No, no, no. I don't want you to stop with me! I don't want you!"replied Elsie with hurried emphasis. "I want to be alone. Of all thegirls you are the one I want most to be left alone by."
"Why do you hate me, Elsie?" asked Meg gently.
"I don't hate you," replied Elsie, after a pause, in a faint, quaveringvoice. Then she added with labored utterance: "I am ashamed. Every timeyou look at me, every time you come near me, I am ashamed." Her voicegathered energy, while her breast heaved with tearless sobs. "The othergirls look at me as if they were always thinking 'She is a thief,' andI don't mind--their looks not half (sob, sob) so much--as--I mind--yourkind look. It makes me think--of--my dreadful wickedness."
"I look at you like that because I love you so dearly," said Meg,seeking to draw the child to her.
Elsie struggled and sobbed, but at last she let Meg take her on her lapand lean her cheek down on her head. It seemed to Meg as if the circleof ice were broken. She did not know what to say that would soothe thatstricken little conscience, and yet guide it. All she could do was tohold the sobbing child tight.
It was one of those beautiful days in spring when everything seemscareless and fond. The trees rustled around them as if hushing the voiceof sorrow. The flowers looked up with bright faces; the indulgentsunshine shed its broad light. Everything seemed so much in contrastwith the grieving child that Meg could think of nothing but to setherself to make that little pale face smile again. The child used in herhappier moments to be fond of playing a game of shop. Meg excelled inmimicking the various customers coming to buy. Taking her ribbon nowfrom her throat she set it up for sale, and became in turns thequerulous customer, the fat fussy customer, the French customer. As shegesticulated, shaking her fingers up in the air, shrugging hershoulders, and talking in French, bargaining, vowing it was _trop cher_,she acted her part so vividly that Elsie forgot her sorrow, and at lastbroke out into a laugh.
From that day Elsie clung to Meg. The girls continued to abstain fromreferring to the incident of the diamond, and Miss Pinkett waselaborately kind; but Elsie was reminded of her sin by the emphasis ofabsolution around her. She still shrank from the companionship of othergirls. With Meg alone she was forgetful of the past. The tie betweenthem was recognized, and during the constitutional walks of theschoolgirls Elsie was allowed to leave her place among the younger onesand walk with her friend. These walks now lay toward the country, awayfrom the village, where an outbreak of scarlatina was raging. In theblue-rimmed land, with its misty embattlement of downs outlined againstthe sky, through the shade and flicker of woods, through lanes sweetwith the bravery of floral walls, the girls walked; and to Elsie Megbecame the mouthpiece of nature. Those walks in the countryside were atthis time the happy hours of Meg's life. The sensitive little hand inhers, that responded so quickly to her own delight, helped theinspiration that came to her from the illusive cloudland overhead, fromwooded aisles, spread with wild flowers, voiced with notes of birds andbuzz of insects.
This part of Meg's school-life came to an abrupt conclusion. One morningElsie did not come down to breakfast. That evening she had a littlefever, and the child's throat was sore. The doctor came, and the word"scarlatina" was whispered. In a few days the school was empty of thegirls. Meg alone remained as usual. Every precaution to preventinfection was taken by Miss Reeves, and Elsie was isolated.
A new anxiety now sprang up in Meg's heart. Her thoughts were ever inthe room at the top of the house, with the heavy curtains drawn beforethe door, from which distilled an acrid smell of disinfectants. OftenMeg crept upstairs and listened. She watched every day for the doctor,to ask how Elsie was. The answers were always vague. In a few days thecrisis would come. There was a tantalizing mystery in these replies,always followed by the injunction not to go near the child.
"Does she ever ask for me?" asked Meg.
"She is delirious, she would not know you," was the invariable answer.
One morning the news came that the crisis was past--delirium was over.The news was good; yet the doctor's face looked grave. Meg overheardhim say to Miss Reeves that Elsie might sink from weakness. The child'sfeebleness baffled him.
"When shall I see her?" asked Meg huskily.
"Not just yet," the doctor replied, patting her head.
That night a storm of wind raged outside. Meg listened to the howl ofthe wind, to the lashing of the trees bending their backs to thescourge. The doors creaked; Pilot was dragging at his chain. Meg'sthoughts were with Elsie. The contrast of her feebleness and the forceraging outside seemed to haunt her. She fell asleep, and she dreamedthat Elsie was dead. She saw her distinctly, a white, piteous figurelying very still, beaten down by some pitiless assailant who had lefther there. Meg awoke with a start. The storm was over, but Elsie hadcalled her.
"Meg, Meg, come!"
Was that cry part of her dream? She sat up rigid, her ears strained,every nerve on the alert, listening. Through the silence the call cameagain:
"Meg, Meg, come!"
She could not have told if she heard it with her physical ears. Elsiewanted her; that was all she knew. She was out of bed in a moment. Adetermination strong as had been that former idea of flight impelledher. She would see her pet. If she caught the infection an
d died, whatmattered it? She would go to Elsie, the child wanted her.
A pale light flickered through the space of windows left uncovered bythe shutters. Meg made her way cautiously, yet swiftly. It seemed to herthat Elsie knew she was coming, and that there was no time to be lost. Ajet of gas was burning low in the passage at the end of which was thecurtained door. Meg lifted the heavy drapery. The scent of the carbolicgrew more acrid. She pushed her head through the door that stoodslightly ajar. The nurse, lying on a couch, was asleep. Meg at firstcould not see Elsie, but when she made a few steps inside the room sheperceived the child.
Elsie's eyes were turned toward the door, as if anxiously watching. AsMeg entered she made a little ghostly gesture, as if trying to get up.Meg was by her bedside in a moment. She had an impression that it wasElsie and yet not Elsie who was there. The beautiful hair was all cutoff. The face was shrunk, a distressed expression rumpled the brow. Theeyes were very bright and wide open. They seemed to Meg Elsie's eyeslooking at her from a distance. As she clasped the child in her arms sherealized with despair that it was like clasping a small gaspingphantom.
"I thought you would never come, Meg," Elsie murmured through herlabored breathing.
"Oh, Elsie, I have wanted to come," whispered Meg, bringing her faceclose down to the pillow.
"I wanted you," whispered Elsie. "I kept saying, 'Meg, Meg, come!'"
"I heard you," said Meg.
"Heard me?" repeated the muffled voice. "How could you hear me? I onlywhispered it. 'Meg Meg, come!'"
"But I heard you," said Meg, "and here I am, darling; here I am, and Iwill never leave you."
"I said," continued Elsie in that labored whisper, "if Meg comes thedreadful diamond will go."
"The dreadful diamond?" repeated Meg.
"It was always there; and sometimes it grew big, big, like a shiningmountain, and put itself here." The spectral hand placed itself on thetiny chest. "It was heavy and cold--it pressed me down."
"It was a bad dream, my pet; not reality," said Meg soothingly.
"I saw it always, shining red, blue, and green. It shone in the dark asin the light, and sometimes it was like a great bright eye looking atme--always looking at me. It moved when I moved, and seemed to say, 'Younearly had Meg turned away like a thief.'"
"No, no; it was not you, it was I--I who did it all of my own freewill," cried Meg, kissing the cold face that had become the emblem roundwhich gathered her tenderest emotions.
"But it won't come again, because you have kissed me. The kiss that isbetter than the diamond," said Elsie with a vague relief in her pantingvoice.
"It will never come again," repeated Meg, trying to still her sobs.
Elsie lay back apparently at peace. Suddenly she turned, and there was aflicker of the old trouble in her eyes.
"Do you think God, too, forgives me?"
"Yes," replied Meg with a bursting heart.
"Are you sure he does?" insisted the piteous, laboring voice.
"I am sure of it, I know it!" said Meg with a world of conviction.
Elsie sighed, closed her eyes, and there was a silence. Meg thought shewas asleep, when she opened her eyes again and looked round with atroubled movement.
"It is very dark," she said. "Draw back the curtains and let in thelight."
"It is not day yet," said Meg.
"Stay with me, it is so dark," gasped Elsie, her hands restlessly movingas if pushing back some weight.
"I will not stir from your side, my pet," said Meg, stilling her sobs.
The gray light was stealing in. The tired nurse still slept. Meg saw theremote expression in the sick child's eyes growing more remote.
Suddenly Elsie made another ghostly attempt to sit up.
"How sweet the lilac smells!" she said. "Here is London-pride, andthere's thrift. I'll pluck these for Mamey."
She struggled to get out of bed, while Meg held her tight.
"Mamey calls to me--to--say--good-night--and say my prayers," shepanted, and then dropped back.
The blue lips moved as if speaking; but Meg could not distinguish thewords. A realization that the child was slipping away, that phantomswere about her as she stood on the threshold of the other world, cameupon Meg with an anguish of awe.
"Our Father," she began softly, impelled to pray; but Elsie seemed topay no heed. The little hands still stirred uneasily. The lips stillmoved. At last Meg distinguished some broken words: "Forgive us ourtrespasses--as--as--Meg forgives." There came a sigh, the lips stoppedmuttering, and only the waxen image of what had been Elsie lay on thebed.