not had a reply yet. I insist on staying atthe `Beau Sejour.' There is no hotel like it in the place."
"There are such a lot of us, of course," said Annie; "but Priscie and Ido not mind sharing the tiniest little room together; do we, Pris?"
Here she glanced at Priscilla. Priscilla looked up.
"I don't want to be unpleasant," she said, "but I certainly should likea room to myself."
"Of course, my dear," said Lady Lushington.
"Dear, dear! I must consult with Parker. There's a room for me, a roomfor Mabel, a room each for you two girls--that makes four; and Parker'sroom, five. You two girls would not by any chance mind sleeping inanother hotel, would you?"
Here she looked first at Annie and then at Priscilla.
"Certainly not," said Annie. "I do not mind anything."
Priscilla was quite silent. Just then one of the waiters appeared witha telegram. It was to Lady Lushington. She opened it. There were onlyfour bedrooms available at the "Beau Sejour."
Annie spoke impulsively. "I tell you what," she said. "I won't be inthe way; I won't. I will go back to England to-night. I can go with MrManchuri, that funny old Jew gentleman whom I have been so friendlywith. I know he will let me travel with him. It is just too bad, LadyLushington; you must let me. I have been, oh! so happy, and it will bea cruel disappointment to go; but I will. Yes, I will go."
"Seeing that your uncle is ill, perhaps--" began Lady Lushington.
"Oh, please don't think that it is on account of that. Uncle Mauriceconstantly has these attacks. He is probably as well as ever by now;but it is just because I _won't_ crowd you up."
"But, Annie," said Mabel in a troubled voice, "you know I can't livewithout you."
"It is very awkward indeed," said Lady Lushington--"very awkward. Thefact is, I can't very well spare you; you are of great use to me."
Priscilla rose from the table. She had scarcely touched anything duringthe meal.
"I think I know what Annie Brooke means," she said. "She means that oneof us two girls is to offer to go back, and she naturally does notintend to go herself."
"But I offered to go. How cruel you are!" said Annie. "I _will_ go,too," she added, pouting and looking at once pretty and petulant. "Yes,Lady Lushington, I will go.--Mabel, I can't help it. You are my verydearest ownest friend; but I won't crowd you up. You will havePriscie."
"No," said Priscilla mournfully; "I am no use. I don't think at presentI love people, and I can't talk much, and I can't wear"--shehesitated--"the dresses that other people wear. I will go. I have hada beautiful time, and I have seen the mountains. It is something tohave had even a glimpse of the higher Alps; they are like nothing else.A little disappointment is nothing when one has had such great joy. Iwill go to-night if Mr Manchuri will let me accompany him."
"It does seem reasonable, Miss Weir," said Lady Lushington. "We can'tstay on here, for our rooms are let, and I won't go anywhere at Zermattexcept to the `Beau Sejour.' As to one of you girls sleeping out itcannot be thought of, although I did propose that two of you might--thatis, together; but there seem to be difficulties. You have not been veryhappy with us, have you, Miss Weir?"
"You have been the cause of great happiness to me, and I thank you frommy heart," said Priscilla.
"Well, my dear, I will of course pay your fare back. I hope we may meetagain some day. Then that is settled.--Annie, please go at once andwire that we will engage the four rooms, and--who will see Mr Manchuriand arrange with him to let Priscilla accompany him to England?"
"I will do both," said Annie.
She hastily left the _salle-a-manger_ and ran through the great loungewith a sort of skipping movement, so light were her steps, and so lightand jubilant her heart. The old Jew did not make any demur when he wastold that the tall, slender young lady was to accompany him home.
"I will look after her," he said. "Don't thank me, please, Miss Brooke;I don't suppose that she will be the slightest trouble."
Priscilla went up to her room, flung herself on her bed, and wept.
CHAPTER TWENTY.
A CONFESSION AND A FRIEND.
It is quite true that very clever people are sometimes apt to overstepthe bounds of reason and prudence; and whether all that befell AnnieBrooke and all that retribution which she so richly merited would havefallen so quickly and so decisively on her devoted head had she not beenanxious to get rid of poor Priscilla must remain an unsolved question.But certain it is that Priscilla Weir's departure in the company of MrManchuri was the first step in her downfall. Annie, with eighty poundsin her pocket and with all fear of Mrs Priestley laid at rest, felt thatshe had not a care in the world.
But Priscilla, when she stepped into the first-class carriage which wasto convey her _en route_ for England, was one of the most perplexed andtroubled girls who could be found anywhere. Mr Manchuri, with all hisfaults, his love of securing a bargain, his sharpness, had a kindlyheart. He saw that the girl was in trouble, and took no notice at allof her for more than an hour of the journey.
It so happened, however, that very few people were returning to Englandso early in the season, and the pair had the railway carriage for a longtime to themselves. When Priscilla had sat quite silent for aconsiderable time, her eyes gazing straight out into the ever-gatheringdarkness, Mr Manchuri could contain himself no longer.
He had scarcely ever glanced at Priscilla Weir when she was at thehotel. She was not pretty; she was not showily dressed; she was a queergirl. He knew that she belonged to Lady Lushington's party, but beyondthat he was scarcely aware of her existence. Now, however, he began tostudy her, and as he did so he began to see marks of what he consideredinterest in her face. What was more, he began to trace a likeness inher to some one else.
Once, long ago, this queer, dried-up old man had a young daughter, adaughter whom he loved very passionately, but who died just when she wasgrown up. The girl had been tall and slender, like Priscilla, andstrangely unworldly and fond of books, and, as the old man described it,good at star-gazing. He did not know why the memory of Esther, who hadbeen in her grave for so many years, returned to him now. But, be thatas it may, Priscilla, without being exactly like Esther, gave him backthoughts of his daughter, and because of that he felt inclined to bekind to the lonely girl. So, changing his seat which he had taken atthe farther end of the carriage, he placed himself opposite to her andsaid in a voice which she scarcely recognised:
"Cheer up now, won't you? There is no good in fretting."
Priscilla was startled at the kindness of the tone. It shook her out ofa dream. She turned her intensely sorrowful eyes full upon Mr Manchuriand said:
"I shall get over my disappointment, I am sure; please don't take anynotice of me."
"But, come now," said Mr Manchuri, "what are you fretting about? Youare going home, I understand."
"Oh no, I am not," said Priscilla; "I am going back to school."
"Oh, so you are a schoolgirl?"
"Yes, sir."
"How old are you, my dear?"
"I am nearly seventeen," said Priscilla.
Now Esther had been nearly seventeen when she died; she was not _quite_seventeen. Mr Manchuri felt glad that Priscilla was not quiteseventeen.
"I thought of course, you were going home," he said--"that perhaps youhad some one who wanted you very much. Why should you, I wonder, leaveLady Lushington's party?"
"There was not room for all of us at the hotel at Zermatt, so I am goingback to England."
"But why you?" said Mr Manchuri. He felt quite angry. How furious hewould have been if any one had treated his Esther like that!--and thisgirl had a voice very like Esther's. "Why you? Why should this be yourlot?"
"Oh, I don't know," said Priscilla. "Some one had to do it."
"I see; that little Annie Brooke would not go, for instance--not she;she is far too clever."
"She offered to go," said Priscilla, who would not allow even Annie toappear at a disadvantage.
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Mr Manchuri laughed.
"There is a way of offering, isn't there, Miss--Forgive me, my dear; Ihave not caught your name. What is it?"
"Priscilla Weir."
"I like the name of Priscilla; it is so quaint and old-fashioned. Doyou know that I once had a girl called Esther. She was my only child.That is a quaint name too, if you like. Don't you think so? Don't youthink that Esther is a very pretty name?"
"Very," said Priscilla. "It is a beautiful name," she added; "and thatstory about Queen Esther