white you are, Priscie! You don't look a bit well."
"I am quite well. Why do you imagine I am not?"
"You are so sad, too. What are you sad about?"
As Annie boldly uttered the last words Priscilla's face underwent aqueer change. A sort of anguish seemed to fill it. Her mouth quivered.
"I shall never, never be quite happy again, Annie Brooke; and you knowit."
"Oh, you goose!" said Annie. "Do you mean to say you are letting yourlittle fiddle-faddle of a conscience prick you?"
"It is the voice of God within me. You _dare_ not speak of it likethat!"
Annie settled herself more comfortably on the bed. She faced hercompanion defiantly.
"I know what you are about to do," she said.
"What do you know?"
"And if you do it," continued Annie, "and turn traitor to those who havetrusted you--to your own schoolfellows--you will be the meanest Judasthat ever walked the earth!"
Priscilla's face was very white, almost as white as death.
"Leave my room, please," she said. "Whatever I have done, I have doneat your instigation; and whatever I do in the future is my affair and noone else's. Leave the room immediately."
"I won't until you make me a promise."
"I will make you no promise. I have had too many dealings with you inthe past. Leave the room, please."
Priscilla spoke with such dignity that Annie, cowed and almostterrified, was forced to obey.
She went out on the landing. Priscilla, for the time being, hadcompletely routed her. She scarcely knew how to act.
"Of one thing I am certain," she said to herself when she reached theshelter of her own tiny room, which had not nearly such a magnificentview of the mountain and lake as Priscilla's chamber, but was a littlebit larger, and therefore suited Annie better--"of one thing I am indeedcertain," said Annie to herself: "Priscilla means to make grave trouble,to upset everything. Oh, well, I am glad I know. Was I ever wrong inmy intuitions? I had an intuition that Priscilla was going to set herfoot on all my little plans. But you sha'n't, dear old Pris. You willgo back to England as soon as ever I can get you there, and trust AnnieBrooke for finding a way. This clinches things. As soon as ever I havesettled Mrs Priestley and the affair of the necklace I must turn myattention to you, Priscie. There is no earthly reason, now I come tothink of it, why everything should not be managed within the scope ofthis little day. Why should Priscie accompany us to Zermatt? I am sureshe is no pleasure to any one with those great, reproachful eyes ofhers, and that pale face, and those hideous garments that always remindme of poor consumptive Susan Martin and her silly poems. Yes, I think Ican manage that you, dear Priscie, return to England to-morrow, whileLady Lushington, Mabel, and I proceed to Zermatt. Your littleschoolfellow Annie Brooke, I rather imagine, is capable of tackling thisemergency." Accordingly, Annie dressed swiftly and deftly, as was herway, coiling her soft golden hair round her small but pretty head,allowing many little tendrils of stray curls to escape from theglittering mass, looking attentively into the shallows--for theycertainly had no depths--of her blue eyes, regretting that her eyelasheswere not black, and that her eyebrows were fair.
The day was going to be very hot, and Annie put on one of the freshwhite cambric dresses which Lady Lushington's maid kept her so wellsupplied with. Then she ran downstairs, as was her custom, for shealways liked to be first in the breakfast _salon_ in order to look overthe morning's post.
A pile of letters lay, as usual, by Lady Lushington's plate. TheseAnnie proceeded to take up one by one and to look at carefully. A lady,a certain Mrs Warden, who had made the acquaintance of Lady Lushingtonsince she came to the hotel, came into the breakfast-room unobserved byAnnie, and noticed the girl's attitude. Her table was, however,situated in a distant part of the room, and Annie did not know that shewas watched. Amongst the pile of letters she suddenly saw one addressedto herself. It had evidently been forwarded from the Grand Hotel inParis, and was written in a bold, manly hand. Annie felt, the momentshe touched this letter, that there was fresh trouble in store for her.She had an instinctive dislike to opening it. She guessed immediatelythat it was written by her cousin, John Saxon. Still, there was no usein deferring bad tidings, if bad tidings there were, and she would dowell to acquaint herself with the contents before Mabel or LadyLushington appeared.
It was one of Lady Lushington's peculiarities always to wish to have hercoffee and rolls in the breakfast _salon_. She said that lying in bedin the morning was bad for her figure, and for this reason alone tookcare, whatever had been the fatigues of the previous day, to get upearly. Priscilla, strange as it may seem, was the only one of the partywho had her rolls and coffee in her own room. But that Priscilla likedto rush through her breakfast, and then day after day to go out for along ramble all alone, whereas Lady Lushington preferred to linger overher meal and talk to those acquaintances whom she happened to meet andknow in the hotel.
Annie glanced at the clock which was hung over the great doorway,guessed that she would have two or three minutes to herself, and, takinga chair, seated herself and opened John Saxon's letter. It was veryshort and to the point, and Annie perceived, both to her annoyance anddistress, that it had been written some days ago.
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"Dear Annie," it ran, "I promised to let you know if your uncle wasworse and if your presence here was a necessity. I grieve to say thatit is; he is very far from well, and the doctor is in constantattendance. Your uncle does not know that I am writing this letter; butthen, I am sorry to tell you that he has not often known during the lastfew days what is passing around him. He is quite confined to his bed,and lives, I believe, in a sort of dream. In that dream he is alwaystalking of you. He often imagines that you come into the room, and overand over he begs that you will hold his hand. There is not the leastdoubt that he is pining for you very much, and it is your absolute dutyto return to him at once. I hope this letter will be forwarded from theGrand Hotel in Paris, as you have forgotten, my dear Annie, to give usany further address. I am, therefore, forced to send it there. If youwill send me a wire on receipt of this, I will manage to meet you inLondon; and in case you happen to want money for your return journey--which seems scarcely likely--I am enclosing two five-pound notes for thepurpose. Do not delay to come, for there is imminent danger, and in anycase your place is by the dear old man's bedside.--I am, dear Annie,your affectionate cousin, John Saxon."
Annie had barely read this letter and crushed it with its precious twofive-pound notes into her pocket before Lady Lushington and Mabel madetheir appearance. Mabel looked rather white and worried. LadyLushington, on the contrary, was in a good-humour, and seemed to haveforgotten her vexation of the previous day; but Annie's scarlet face andperturbed manner could not but attract the good lady's attention.
"What is the matter, Miss Brooke? Is anything troubling you?"
"Oh no; at least, not much," said Annie. She reflected for a minute,wondering what she could safely say. "The fact is, Uncle Maurice--thedear old uncle with whom I live--is not quite well. He is a littlepoorly, and confined to bed."
"Then you would, of course, like to return to him," said LadyLushington, speaking quickly and with decision.
"Oh," said Annie hastily and scalding herself with hot coffee as shespoke, "that is the very last thing Uncle Maurice wishes. It is quite apassing indisposition, and he is so glad that I am here enjoying my goodtime. I will wire, dear Lady Lushington, if you will permit me, afterbreakfast, and give my uncle and the cousin who is with him our addressat Zermatt. Then if there should be the slightest danger I can go tohim immediately, can I not?"
"Of course, child," said Lady Lushington, helping herself to some toast;"but I should imagine that if he were ill your place now would be at hisbedside."
"Oh, but it would distress him most awfully--that is, of course, unlessyou wish to get rid of me--"
"You
know we don't wish that, Annie," said Mabel.
"Certainly we don't," said Lady Lushington in a more cordial tone. "Youare exceedingly useful, and a pleasant, nice girl to take about. I havenot half thanked you for all the help you have given me. If you canreconcile it to your conscience to remain while your uncle, who muststand in the place of a father to you, is ill, I shall be glad to keepyou; so rest assured on that point."
"I can certainly reconcile it to my conscience," said Annie, breaking aroll in two as she spoke; "for, you see, it is not even as though myuncle Maurice were alone. My cousin can look after him."
"Oh, you have a girl cousin? I did not know of that."
"Not