just then, before her physical sufferings could get any worse, therecame a slow step on the carpet outside. The door was unlocked, and MissFleet, bearing a lamp in her hand, entered.
She laid the lamp on the centre table; she then went over and rang thebell. Phyllis stood facing her. Her face was tear-stained and verypale; her eyes flashed an angry light.
"I can run past you," she said, "and get out of this room."
"You can," said Miss Fleet, just glancing at her and then bending downto adjust the flame of the lamp, "but you won't."
A servant appeared at the door.
"Fill this coal-hod, Henry, and bring it up immediately; and tell Cookto send Miss Phyllis's dinner up. Be quick, please; the room is rathercold."
The man departed, having just dared to give a sympathetic glance atPhyllis before he left the room. He quickly returned with the coals.The fire was built up and blazed merrily. He then drew down the blindsand pulled the curtains across the windows, and a moment laterreappeared again, bearing a little tray of delicious food.
"I declare," thought the child to herself, "I never knew before how nicea thing it is to eat. I _am_ ready for my chop and fried potatoes. Oh!and I am glad I am having roast apples."
She sat down quite cheerfully to her meal; even Miss Fleet's presencescarcely annoyed her, so hungry was she and so glad to eat.
CHAPTER EIGHT.
At last the meal came to an end. While Phyllis was eating it Miss Fleetsat near the fire.
She read, or pretended to read, the evening newspaper which had justbeen sent to the Hall.
Presently Phyllis got up, uttering a low sigh.
"Have you said your grace?" said Miss Fleet.
"Yes," replied Phyllis. "I said it in a whisper. What else do you wantme to do?"
"_I_ wish you to listen to me--to be attentive and no longerimpertinent. I'm tired of punishing you. You have been a very naughtygirl, but I am willing to forgive you and to restore you to my favour,provided you do what I wish."
"What is that?" asked Phyllis in a guarded voice.
"Come here, Phyllis."
Miss Fleet drew the little girl towards her. Her voice had softened;some of the severity had left it.
Phyllis was the kind of child to be easily touched by kindness--no onecould drive her, but affection and love could always guide her. MissFleet almost caressed the small hand which Phyllis stole into hers.
"I hate not being friends with you," she said. "You have been myconstant care and my constant pleasure for the last three years. Why doyou suddenly turn against me?"
"I don't," said Phyllis. "I have always liked you--very well, that is;but you don't understand me."
"I'm not going to argue with you, Phyllis. You are only a little girlof twelve years old. I am three times your age."
"Three times twelve are thirty-six," said Phyllis under her breath."She never let out her age to me before."
The fact that she knew Miss Fleet's enormously great age gave her aslight feeling of satisfaction.
"Yes," she said aloud.
"I must be kind to the poor thing; she is so very aged," was her inwardthought.
"Yes, I quite like you when you talk softly," she said. "Go on,please."
"I cannot argue with you; I can but give you my opinion. You behavedbadly to-day--so badly, so disgracefully that I cannot bring myself tospeak of it. You did this in your father's absence--which made it, letme tell you, ten times worse; but I will forgive you and not tell yourfather if you make me a promise."
"What, Miss Fleet?"
"Wait one moment. You don't care to be always in this room, do you?"
"I hate being in this room. I hate being punished. I hate--I hate--Ihate you to be cold to me. Do be nice to me again, Fleetie, for I'mquite too awfully miserable just now;" and the little girl flung herarms round Miss Fleet's neck and burst into bitter weeping.
After all, Josephine Fleet did love her wayward little charge. Shekissed her once or twice and patted her on her arm, and then she said:
"Now for our conditions. I forgive and you promise."
"I promise!" said Phyllis.
"Yes."
"And if I promise, you'll never tell Father?"
"I will never tell your father."
"And you will let me go into all the rooms and play, and ride my pony,and do everything just as I did before--just as I did before?"
"Just as you did before."
"Then, of course, I'll promise, darling Fleetie. There is no doubtabout it. If you'll let me do as I did before, I'll promise. Is it tolearn a lot of history? It is to do my horrid--Is it? Is it?"
"It is none of these things, Phyllis. It is this. You must give meyour solemn word, as a lady, that you will not speak or have anyintercourse with the Rectory children until your father's return."
"What!" said Phyllis.
All the light went out of her small face and all the gladness from hereyes.
"I didn't think you'd be so mean, Fleetie," she said, and she went rightaway to the other end of the room and stood with her back to hergoverness.
Miss Fleet glanced with a queer sort of longing towards the littlefigure.
The little figure at the other end of the room looked pathetic; itlooked lonely. Miss Fleet remembered certain words of the Rector's:
"I cannot see why you should object to the children playing with eachother. Squire Harringay did not object; on the contrary, he was glad."
"Yes, yes," thought the governess; "and I would have allowed it inmoderation, and doubtless it can be arranged in moderation when theSquire comes back. But Phyllis did wrong, and she must be punished insuch a way as to make her feel it. I am forced to get this promise fromher. I can take nothing else."
But all the time while Miss Fleet thought, she kept watching the littlefigure, and presently she saw the shoulders slightly heave, and sheguessed that Phyllis was crying.
"It is very hard; I hate myself," thought the governess. "But I must, Imust make her feel it."
It was just at that moment that Phyllis wheeled right round and came upto Miss Fleet and said quietly:
"If I cannot see them, may I write to them to say why?"
"I will write to them and give the reason," said Miss Fleet.
"May I not write my own self to Ralph, please, or to--to Susie?"
"I will write to them," said Miss Fleet gently.
Phyllis stood quite silent for a moment. Once again her shouldersworked suspiciously, and Miss Fleet noticed that her little chestheaved, but she kept back her tears.
"There's Susie," she said after a pause; "she would so like thebaby-house, and the rocking-horse that I never ride on because I have noplaymates, you know. May they be sent over to the Rectory? I promisedthat she should have them. Need I wait till Father comes back to keepmy promise?"
"You had no right to make the promise."
"But mayn't they go? Please say yes."
"Not until your father returns."
Phyllis now stood, very calm and despairing, close to Miss Fleet.
"You want me to love you, but you make it very hard for me to do so,"she said gently. "I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll promise for twowhole days. If Father isn't back at the end of two whole days, mypromise is at an end. I don't give you my word, as a lady, after twowhole days. That is all. I will not make any promise after that, notfor anybody."
CHAPTER NINE.
Phyllis was so tired after her day of exciting adventure that she sleptquite soundly. She had no bad dreams in her sleep, and when she awokein the morning and looked round her pretty, cosy room--with Nursestanding not far off ready to wait on her, with a bright fire burning inthe grate, and her bath and all her other comforts close at hand--sheraised herself on her elbow and gave a sigh of content.
"How nice you look, Nursey!" she said.
"How that pretty dress becomes you! What a darling, dear sort of faceyou have, Nursey; and how much I love you!"
But as s
he said the last words her happiness was changed into a sigh,for memory had returned.
"Oh Nursey!" she said, with a sort of groan, "I had forgotten just for aminute. Oh! I was such a miserable little girl yesterday, and Fleetiewas so angry; but I have promised her, and for two whole days I willkeep my promise. Do you think by any chance Father will be back at theend of two days?"
Now, Nurse had no very keen love for Miss Fleet. To begin with, she wasjealous of her. Before Miss Fleet came on the scene she had Phyllis allto herself. It was she who superintended the little girl's work andplay; it was she who petted her and loved her