"The thing you have got to do is wrong.Suppose you don't do it--"
"Then--then--oh, Honora--I could wish to-night that I had never lived togrow up to my present age. I'm nearly mad with misery!"
"I will come to you in the morning," said Honora. "But before I go, Iwish to say something--that of course you won't do whatever the thingis; for if you keep yourself right, other things must come rightsomehow."
Then Honora kissed Penelope, and left the room.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
A WONDERFUL DREAM.
Penelope stayed awake for a very long time after Honora had left her.When at last she fell asleep, however, she had a wonderful, anextraordinary dream.
She thought that an angel came into her room and looked down at her, andgave her the choice between the downward and the upward roads. Theangel carried a crown in his hand; and he pointed to it, and said thatit was the crown of thorns. He asked her if she thought that by anymeans she were worthy to wear it. He said that if she could proveherself to be thus worthy, nothing else really mattered.
Having said these words, he laid the crown by her side and went away,very slowly vanishing, first into thin mist, then into nothing.Penelope in her dream found herself all alone with the crown of thorns.The thorns were all glistening with dew drops, as though the crown hadbeen freshly made. She noticed that the thorns were sharp and of thesort that might hurt her very much, were she to wear the crown.
Nevertheless, she started quite happily to her feet and, raising thecrown, placed it for an instant on her head. It gave her very greatpain but at the same time immense courage. She did not think she wouldmind even bitter shame if she was conscious of that crown surroundingher brow. She thought she would like to look at herself in the mirrorand see her own reflection with the crown of thorns about her. Sheimagined, in her dream, that she crossed the room and stood before thelong glass. She saw her own reflection quite distinctly--her whitenight dress with its frills, her little pale face, her golden hair.But--lo, and behold! the crown itself was invisible! She put up herhand to touch it. She felt it quite distinctly, and its thorns piercedher hand and hurt her head, but she could not see it. She stared hardat her own reflection. Then there came a noise outside the door andPenelope awoke.
She was lying in bed. The angel and the crown of thorns were only adream. Nevertheless, she knew something that she had not known when shefell asleep. She knew now that it was quite impossible for her tochoose the downward path, and she knew also that the crown of thornsmade all things--even the most painful things of life--possible, if onewere only doing right.
The noise outside her door had been made by Honora. Honora came in withher white dressing-gown wrapped round her, and her sweet, lofty-lookingface more full of compassion and more serene, even, than usual. Themoment Penelope saw her, she started up in bed and said with fervour:
"I have had a dream--the most wonderful in the world; and I knowperfectly well, at last, what I am going to do, and you needn't ask meany more. But I have made up my mind to choose the most difficultsight, and to reject the most easy Wrong."
"There now," said Honora, "I knew you would."
"I can't tell you any more just yet. You will know all; to-day--everybody will know all to-day."
"You would really rather I did not know first!"
"It would be easier for me that you should not know first. But justtell me this. Is Mrs Hungerford really coming to-day?"
"Yes," said Honora, in some surprise; "but I didn't even know that youknew her."
"I don't really. Paulie was telling me about her last night, and howdelighted she was at the thought of seeing her. When will she come,Nora?"
"Oh, I think by quite an early train; she'll be here probably abouttwelve o'clock."
"Nora, do you think I might drive into Marshlands quite early, that is,immediately after breakfast? I want to see my sister Brenda."
"Of course you may. Oh, how white you look! I trust you are not goingto be ill!"
Penelope whispered to her own heart: "It's only the pain that the crowngives, and I don't mind that sort." She said aloud, in almost acheerful voice: "No, I'm not going to be ill," and presently Honora lefther.
Then Penelope rose and dressed and ran downstairs. She went into thegarden, which was always fresh and beautiful. Once or twice she put herhand to her forehead, as though she would feel the crown and thosethorns that pierced her brow and were so sweet and sustaining.
Breakfast was ready at the usual hour, and the children were gay andhappy--the little Hungerfords wild with delight at the thought of seeingtheir mother, and Mary L'Estrange and Cara Burt were full of sympathywith regard to Penelope who, they thought, looked particularly nice thatmorning.
"I am so glad you have got over your headache," said Mary.
"Oh, yes, quite," replied Penelope.
"But you must be careful to-day," said Cara; "you must stay a good dealin the shade, for it's going to be hot--very hot--even hotter thanyesterday."
"I am obliged to go to Marshlands," said Penelope; "but I shall be verycareful," she added.
The girls expostulated, and Cara called to Honora.
"Are you going to permit this, Nora? Penelope, after her bad headache,declares that she is going to Marshlands again to-day."
"Yes; she has to go on some business," replied Honora. "But it's allright," she added, "for I have ordered the phaeton with the hood, whichshall be put up so that she'll be sheltered from the rays of the sun."Almost immediately after breakfast, Penelope started on her drive toMarshlands.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.
RESTITUTION.
Mademoiselle was very restless. She had confided a little bit of herinterview with Penelope to Mrs Dawson, and Mrs Dawson had muchapproved of what the Frenchwoman had done. The fact is, these two womenhad, more or less, sketched out a future together on the strength of thetwenty pounds which Penelope would give as hush money with regard to thelost bangle.
"I will keep the bangle too," said Mademoiselle. "It would not be atall safe to give it to either of the Carlton girls. You shall wear itsometimes, and I will wear it sometimes, and we might take the housenext door to this, and do a thriving business next season."
Mrs Dawson said once, in a feeble sort of way: "Isn't it very wicked,though?"
"Wicked?" cried Mademoiselle, "when the poor have to live!" She held upher hands in expostulation. "Ah, Madame!" she said, "trust to me inthis matter. I have been treated in the way the most cruel, and this ismy small, my very small revenge."
Mrs Dawson was fascinated, but even still not quite convinced. Brenda,meanwhile, knew nothing of that sword of Damocles which was hanging overher devoted head. Strange as it may seem, she had not looked at thebangle on the previous night, and none of the girls dared to tell herwhat had occurred. She was very cross, and exceedingly disappointed.Her hopes had fallen through. Her little money was largely spent--allto no effect. The holidays would, all too quickly, go by, and there wasnothing before her but a dreary and most monotonous existence at theReverend Josiah Amberley's, with her very stupid pupils as companions.
As to Harry, of course he was hopeless. She would not have looked athim again. A merchant prince, indeed! He was nothing but the son of afifth-rate tradesman. This fact accounted for his atrocious manners andfor all his many delinquencies. Certainly Brenda was in the worst ofhumours, and the three little girls were by no means comfortable in herpresence.
She was in her room on the following morning, and the girls were theretoo. They were there during the moment when she would discover that thevaluable bangle had been changed, and were anxious to hurry her off tothe seashore.
"Let's come, and be quick," said Nina. "What's the good of being at theseaside if we're not out enjoying the air? Dear papa will be vexed ifwe tell him that we have spent half our time in this poky, horrid room."
"I wonder," said Brenda, in response, "that a little girl dares to uttersuch untruths. And where's your note
book, Nina? Out with it, thisminute!"
Nina coloured and then turned pale.
"I've lost it," she said.
"Lost it--what do you mean?"
"Well, not that exactly. I--I've torn it up."
"You wicked little girl!"
Brenda advanced towards poor Nina; but what might have happened wasnever known, for just at that moment there came a tap at the door, andin walked Penelope. There was a look on her face which the three littleAmberleys had never seen there before; but Brenda had on one occasion,that great and auspicious occasion when her younger sister had stoodspellbound under the full rays of the electric light, acting the part