“Don’t question me,” she said. “I am very unhappy. I pity you from my heart. I can say nothing; I am bound in honor to say nothing. Poor Evelyn will reap her own punishment.”
“If,” said Audrey, “you have failed I give up all hope.”
After lunch Evelyn and Audrey went back to school. There were a good many classes to be held 344 that afternoon—one for deportment, another for dancing, another for recitation. Evelyn could recite extremely well when she chose. She looked almost pretty when she recited some of the spirited ballads8 of her native land for the benefit of the school. Her eyes glowed, darkened, and deepened; the pallor of her face was transformed and beautified by a faint blush. There was a heart somewhere within her; as Audrey watched her she was obliged to acknowledge that fact.
“She is thinking of her dead mother now,” thought the girl. “Oh, if only that mother had been different we should not be placed in our present terrible position!”
It was the custom of the school for the girls on recitation afternoons to do their pieces in the great hall. Miss Henderson, Miss Lucy, and a few visitors generally came to listen to the recitations. Miss Thompson was the recitation mistress, and right well did she perform her task. If a girl had any dramatic power, if a girl had any talent for seeing behind the story and behind the dream of the poet, Miss Thompson was the one to bring that gift to the surface. Evelyn, who was a dramatist by nature, became like wax in her hands; the way in which she recited that afternoon brought a feeling of astonishment9 to those who listened to her.
“What remarkable10 little girl is that?” said a lady of the neighboring town to Miss Henderson.
“She is a Tasmanian and Squire11 Edward Wynford’s niece,” replied Miss Henderson; but it was 345 evident that she was not to be drawn12 out on the subject, nor would she allow herself to express any approbation13 of Evelyn’s really remarkable powers.
Audrey’s piece, compared with Evelyn’s, was tame and wanting in spirit. It was well rendered, it is true, but the ring of passion was absent.
“Really,” said the same lady again, “I doubt whether recitations such as Miss Evelyn Wynford has given are good for the school; surely girls ought not to have their minds overexcited with such things!”
Miss Henderson was again silent.
The time passed by, and the close of the day arrived. Just as the girls were putting on their cloaks and hats preparatory to going home, and some were collecting round and praising Evelyn for her remarkable performance of the afternoon, Miss Henderson appeared on the scene. She touched the little girl on the arm.
“One moment,” she said.
“What do you want?” said Evelyn, backing.
“To speak to you, my dear.”
Audrey gave Evelyn a beseeching14 look. Perhaps if Audrey had refrained from looking at that moment, Evelyn, excited by her triumph, touched by the plaudits of her companions, might have done what she was expected to do, and what immediately followed need not have taken place. But Evelyn hated Audrey, and if for no other reason but to annoy her she would stand by her guns.
Miss Henderson took her hand, and entered a room 346 adjoining the cloakroom. She closed the door, and said:
“The week is nearly up. You know what will happen to-morrow?”
“Yes,” said Evelyn, lowering her eyes.
“You will be present?”
Evelyn was silent.
“I shall see that you are. You must realize already what a pitiable figure you will be, how deep and lasting15 will be your disgrace. You have just tasted the sweets of success; why should you undergo that which will be said of you to-morrow, that which no English girl can ever forgive? It will not be forgotten in the school that owing to you much enjoyment16 has been cut short, that owing to you a cloud has rested on the entire place for several days—prizes forgone17, liberty curtailed18, amusements debarred; and, before and above all these things, the fearful stigma19 of disgrace resting on every girl at Chepstow House. But even now, Evelyn, there is time; even now, by a full confession20, much can be mitigated21. You know, my dear, how strong is the case against you. To-morrow morning both Miss Thompson and I proclaim before the entire school what has occurred. You are, in short, as a prisoner at the bar. The school will be the judges; they will declare whether you are innocent or guilty.”
“Let me go,” said Evelyn. “Why do you torture me? I said I did not do it, and I mean to stick to what I said. Let me go.”
“Unhappy child! I shall not be able to retain 347 you in the school after to-morrow morning. But go now—go. God help you!”
Evelyn walked across the hall. Her school companions were still standing22 about; many wondered why her face was so pale, and asked one another what Miss Henderson had to say in especial to the little girl.
“It cannot be,” said Sophie, “that she did it. Why, of course she did not do it; she would have no motive23.”
“Don’t let us talk about it,” said her companion. “For my part I rather like Evelyn—there is something so quaint24 and out-of-the-common about her—only I wish she would not look so angry sometimes.”
“But how splendidly she recited that song of the ranch25!” said Sophie. “I could see the whole picture. We must not expect her to be quite like ourselves; before she came here she was only a wild little savage26.”
The governess-cart had come for the two girls. They drove home in silence. Audrey was thinking of the misery27 of the following morning. Evelyn was planning her escape. She meant to go before dinner. She had asked Jasper to meet her at seven o’clock precisely28. She had thought everything out, and that seemed to be the best hour; the family would be in their different rooms dressing29. Evelyn would make an excuse to send Read away—indeed, she seldom now required her services, preferring to dress alone. Read would be busy with her mistress and 348 her own young lady, and Evelyn would thus be able to slip away without her prying30 eyes observing it.
Tea was ready for the girls when they got home. They took it almost without speaking. Evelyn avoided looking at Audrey. Audrey felt that it was now absolutely hopeless to say a word to Evelyn.
“I should just like to bid Uncle Edward good-by,” thought the child. “Perhaps I may never come back again. I do not suppose Aunt Frances will ever allow me to live at the Castle again. I should like to kiss Uncle Edward; he is the one person in this house whom I love.”
She hesitated between her desire and her frantic31 wish to be out of reach of danger as soon as possible, but in the end the thought that her uncle might notice something different from usual about her made her afraid of making the attempt. She went up to her room.
“It is not necessary to dress yet,” said Audrey, who was going slowly in the direction of the pretty schoolroom.
“No; but I have a slight headache,” said Evelyn. “I will lie down for a few minutes before dinner. And, oh! please, Audrey, tell Read I do not want her to come and dress me this evening. I shall put on my white frock, and I know how to fasten it myself.”
“All right; I will tell her,” replied Audrey.
She did not say any more, but went on her way. Evelyn entered her room. There she packed a few 349 things in a bag; she was not going to take much. In the bottom of the bag she placed for security the two little rolls of gold. These she covered over with a stout32 piece of brown paper; over the brown paper she laid the treasures she most valued. It did not occur to her to take any of the clothes which her Aunt Frances had bought for her.
“I do not need them,” she said to herself. “I shall have my own dear old things to wear again. Jasper took my trunks, and they are waiting for me at The Priory. How happy I shall be in a few minutes! I shall have forgotten the awful misery of my life at Castle Wynford. I shall have forgotten that horrid33 scene which is to take place to-morrow morning. I shall be the old Evelyn again. How astonished Sylvia will be! Whatever Sylvia is, she is true to Jasper; and she will be true to me, and she will not betray me.”
The time flew on; soon it was a quarter to seven. Evelyn could see the minute and hour hand of the pretty clock on her mantelpiece. The time seemed to go on leaden wings. She did not dare to stir until a few minutes after the dressing-gong had sounded; then she knew she should find the coast clear. At last seven silvery chimes sounded from the little clock, and a minute later the great gong in the central hall pealed34 through the house. There was the gentle rustle35 of ladies’ silk dresses as they went to their rooms to dress—for a few visitors had arrived at the Castle that day. Evelyn knew this, and had made her plans accordingly. The family had a good deal 350 to think of; Read would be specially36 busy. She went to the table where she had put her little bag, caught it up, took a thick shawl on her arm, and prepared to rush down-stairs. She opened the door of her room and peeped out. All was stillness in the corridor. All was stillness in the hall below. She hoped that she could reach the side entrance and get away into the shrubberies without any one seeing her. Cautiously and swiftly she descended37 the stairs. The stairs were made of white marble, and of course there was no sound. She crossed the big hall and went down by a side corridor. Once she looked back, having a horrible suspicion that some one was watching her. There was no one in sight. She opened the side door, and the next instant had shut it behind her. She gave a gasp39 of pleasure. She was free; the horrid house would know her no more.
“Not until I go back as mistress and pay them all out,” thought the angry little girl. “Never again will I live at Castle Wynford until I am mistress here.”
Then she put wings to her feet and began to run. But, alas40 for Evelyn! the best-laid plans are sometimes upset, and at the moment of greatest security comes the sudden fall. For she had not gone a dozen yards before a hand was laid on her shoulder, and turning round and trying to extricate41 herself, she saw her Aunt Frances. Lady Frances, who she supposed was safe in her room was standing by her side. 351
“Evelyn,” she said, “what are you doing?”
“Nothing,” said Evelyn, trying to wriggle42 out of her aunt’s grasp.
“Then come back to the house with me.”
She took the little girl’s hand, and they re-entered the house side by side.
“You were running away,” said Lady Frances, “but I do not permit that. We will not argue the point; come up-stairs.”
She took Evelyn up to her room. There she opened the door and pushed her in.
“Doubtless you can do without dinner as you intended to run away,” said Lady Frances. “I will speak to you afterwards; for the present you stay in your room.” She locked the door and put the key into her pocket.
The angry child was locked in. To say that Evelyn was wild with passion, despair, and rage is but lightly to express the situation. For a time she was almost speechless; then she looked round her prison. Were there any means of escape? Oh! she would not stand it; she would burst open the door. Alas, alas for her puny
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