is over; I tellyou the worst is over. You don't suppose for a single moment your aunt,Lady Lushington, will think that you stole the necklace or that I stoleit. She will suppose, most assuredly, that it was stolen on the journeybetween Interlaken and Zermatt. Parker is convinced on the subject andI have let Parker understand that it was not nearly as valuable as Isupposed. Lady Lushington won't trust me to manage a bargain for heragain; that is the worst that can happen. Now, May, do cheer up. Youare all right. I will manage things for you when Priscilla's Christmasbill comes round. You will see plenty of me, I fancy, between now andthen. Dry your eyes, darling. I know you are sorry to part from me."
"I can't go on being wicked without you; that's the principal thing,"said Mabel. "I know I'll give in."
"Think what injury you'll do me; and do you really want to go back tothat horrid school?"
"I don't think I'd mind so very much; it was peaceful, at least atschool."
"You would soon be sick of that sort of peace."
"I suppose I should," said Mabel.
She had already wiped her eyes, and she began slightly to cheer up.
"Annie," she said eagerly, "is your uncle really dying?"
"John Saxon says so; otherwise, of course, he would not have come," saidAnnie.
"If," said Mabel, trembling a good deal--"if afterwards you could comeback--"
Annie's heart bounded.
"I can't talk of it," she said; "don't speak of it now. When the timecomes, if you--were--to write I will write to you, that is, if I havestrength to write to any one. You have my address. You know how deeplyI shall always love you. You know there is no good turn I would not dofor you."
"I want you to help me until Priscilla's year at school is out," wasMabel's matter-of-fact retort. "Of course, dear, of course; and I will.Your Annie will never forsake you. But now perhaps we had better godownstairs."
The girls made a quite picturesque appearance as they went slowly downthe broad staircase. Mabel had not cried enough to look ugly, andAnnie's few tears and pallor and evident distress gave to her face thedepth of expression which in her lighter moments it had lacked.
John Saxon was seated close to Lady Lushington. Lady Lushington hadrecognised him as a friend and a favourite. He rose when the girlsappeared, and Lady Lushington went at once up to Annie.
Her manner was very cold and distant. "You did not give me theslightest idea, Miss Brooke, how ill your uncle was when you receivedyour cousin's letter."
"I didn't know that he was especially ill," said Annie.
Lady Lushington looked full at her. It seemed at that moment that aveil had fallen away from Annie's face, and that the gay, proud, andselfish woman of the world saw the girl for the first time as she was.
Lady Lushington, with all her faults--the faults of her class and hermanner of life--was exceedingly good-natured, and could be remarkablykind. She was thoroughly angry with Annie for concealing the truth withregard to John Saxon's letter. She could, and would, forgive much toany young girl who was enjoying herself and who wanted to continue thegood time which had fallen to her lot; but to forget one who stood inthe place of a father, to let him long for her in vain, was more thanLady Lushington could stand.
"I don't appreciate that sort of thing," she said to herself. "It is,somehow, beneath me. I don't understand it."
She made up her mind on the spot, that, as far as Mabel was concerned,the friendship between the two girls was to terminate there and then.Never would she have anything farther to do with Annie Brooke. As thatwas the case, she did not consider it necessary to correct her.
"I am sorry," she said briefly, "that you did not interpret very plainEnglish in the manner in which it was intended. I don't think for asingle moment that your cousin meant to complain of you to me, but hesimply quoted some words of his letter, and seemed altogether astonishedthat you did not start for England the day before yesterday. However, Itrust you will find your dear uncle alive when you get home. I havedesired Parker to pack your things, and now you would doubtless like togo up and change your dress."
"Thank you," said Annie very meekly. She glanced in Mrs Ogilvie'sdirection; but Mrs Ogilvie took no notice of her.
"Mabel, come and sit here near Mrs Ogilvie," said Lady Lushington asAnnie once again disappeared. "You can say good-bye to your friendpresently; there is no necessity for you to spend the whole eveningupstairs."
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.
HOME NO MORE.
It was all over--the fun, the gaiety, the good things of life, thedelights of fine living, the charm of being with rich friends. It istrue that Annie Brooke returned to England with a little private fund ofher own in her pocket; but John Saxon insisted on her returning him thetwo five-pound notes he had enclosed to her. Out of these he paid forher ticket back to England.
John Saxon was a very cold, silent, and unsympathetic fellow-traveller.He sat moodily in a corner, wrapped in his greatcoat, the collar ofwhich he turned up; a travelling-cap came well down over his head, sothat Annie could see little or nothing of his face. He had done what hecould to make her comfortable, and had wrapped her round with warmthings. Then he had taken no further notice of her.
On the whole, Priscilla Weir had a far more interesting journey toEngland than had that spoiled child of fortune Annie Brooke. Annie,however, was glad to be left alone. She did not want to talk to thatodious man, Cousin John Saxon. But for him, life would not have beensuddenly spoiled for her. She would not have been found out. She wasfar too clever not to be sure that Lady Lushington had found her out.Not that Lady Lushington had discovered any serious crimes to lay at herdoor, but then she had read her character aright, and that character wasof the sort which the great lady could not tolerate. Therefore Anniewas--and she knew it well--shut away from any further dealings withMabel Lushington.
Poor Mabel! How would she provide the money for Priscilla's tworemaining terms at school? How would she go through a stern catechismwith regard to the necklace when Annie was no longer by her side?
"Everything will be discovered," thought Annie Brooke. "There is nohelp for it. What shall I do? And I'd managed so well and so--socleverly. There isn't a bit of good in being clever in this world. Itseems to me it's the stupid people that have the best times. Of coursethat idiotic old Mabel will let out the whole story before many hoursare over. And then there'll be a frightful to-do, and perhaps Mabelwill be sent back to Mrs Lyttelton's school--that is, if Mrs Lytteltonwill receive her, which fact I very much doubt. As to me--oh, well,I'll have to hide somewhere. I hope to goodness Mr Manchuri will nevertell anybody about the necklace; he faithfully promised he wouldn't andhe seemed an honourable sort of man. But then, ought I to expect anyone to be honourable in his dealings with me? I don't know; the worldseems coming to pieces. Horrid John Saxon! How I detest him! Oh, Ifeel as though I could go mad!"
Annie started up impatiently. She went across the carriage and openedone of the windows, putting her head out at the same time. She hopedSaxon would take some notice. She wanted him to speak to her. Hissilence, his apparent indifference to her, were just the sort of thingto madden the girl in her present mood.
Saxon was seated facing the engine, and, in consequence, when Annieopened the window wide he was exposed to a tremendous draught. He boreit for a minute or two; then, rising, he said very quietly:
"Will you excuse me? I don't think the night air is good for you, andit is certainly bad for me. I will, therefore, with your permission,shut the window; it is cold."
"I am suffocating," said Annie.
"I will open it again in a few minutes so that you can have fresh airfrom time to time."
"Oh!" said Annie, with a sudden burst of passion, beating one small handover the other, "why have you been so cruel to me?"
Saxon glanced at her. There was only one other occupant of thecarriage--an old gentleman, who was sound asleep and snoring loudly.
"Won't you speak?" said Annie. "Why do you
sit so silent, soindifferent, when you have spoiled my life?"
"We have different ideas on that point," he said. "You can do exactlyas you please with your life, as far as I am concerned, by-and-by. Atpresent you are under the care of your uncle, the Rev Maurice Brooke.While he lives you have to do his wishes, to carry them out according tohis views. I am helping _him_ in this matter, not you. Afterwards, wewill discover by your uncle's will what he wishes to have done with you.You are only seventeen; you must yield to the directions and the willof those who are older than yourself and who are placed by God inauthority over you."
"Oh, how I hate you when