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CHAPTER XXIII
THE GREAT CHARADE

Mrs Macintyre was more vexed, more hurt, more annoyed than she could possibly express. She had been willing – indeed, under the circumstances, only too glad – to send sulky Leucha to The Garden; but Leucha's unexpected return on the evening when the animal charade was to be acted put her out considerably. She saw at a glance that Leucha was unrepentant; that whereas Hollyhock was more than ready to forgive, Leucha belonged to the unforgiving of the earth. Being herself a fine, brave woman, Mrs Macintyre had little or no sympathy for so small and mean a nature.

Of course, she regretted Hollyhock's practical joke; but then Hollyhock had so abundantly made up for it by her subsequent conduct, and was even now the soul of love and pity for the desolate, deserted, obstinate girl.

Mrs Macintyre felt that she could not altogether side with Hollyhock, but she had no intention of interfering with the charade because Leucha, in her weak obstinacy, chose to return to the school on that special day. She determined, however, to speak to the girl, and to tell her very plainly what she thought about her and her conduct.

Leucha was in her pretty bedroom, where a bright fire was blazing, for the weather was now intensely cold. She was alone, quite alone, all the other girls in the school, both the actors and those who were to look on, being far to busy to attend to her. She took up a book languidly and pretended to read. She had already read the said book. It was one of Sir Walter Scott's great novels. But Leucha hated Sir Walter Scott; she hated his dialect, his long descriptions; she was not interested even in this marvellous work of his, Ivanhoe, and lay back in her easy-chair with her eyes half shut and her mind halt asleep. There came a sharp, short knock at her door. It roused Leucha to say, 'Who's there?'

'It's me, Magsie, please, miss,' replied a voice.

Leucha muttered something which Magsie took for 'Come in.' She entered the luxurious chamber.

'You are called, Lady Leucha, to the mistress on business immediate and most important. You are to go to her at once. My certie! but you are comfortable here.'

'Are you speaking of Mrs Macintyre?' inquired Leucha.

'I am – the head-mistress of the school herself.'

'Say I will come, and leave my room at once yourself,' said Leucha.

'You had best no keep her waitin' long, I 'm thinkin'. It's no her fashion to be kept waitin' when she gives forth her royal commands. In the Palace of the Kings she 's like a royal lady, and you dare not keep her waitin'.'

Magsie had now a most violent hatred for Leucha, having helped Hollyhock to nurse her through her illness, and being far more concerned for her own young lady than for that miserable thing, who had not the courage of a mouse.

'You had best be quick,' said Magsie now; and she went out of the room noisily, slamming the door with some violence after her. 'I don't think I ever saw so wicked a girl,' thought Magsie to herself.

The wicked girl in question thought, however, that prudence was the better part of valour, and went downstairs without delay to Mrs Macintyre's beautiful private sitting-room. She looked cross; she looked sulky; she looked, in short, all that a poor jealous nature could look, and there was not a trace of repentance about her.

Mrs Macintyre heaved an inward sigh. Outwardly her manner was exceedingly cold and at the same time determined.

'I have sent for you, Leucha Villiers,' she said, 'to ask you if you now intend to restore peace and harmony to the school.'

'What do you mean, Mrs Macintyre?' said Leucha.

'My child, you know quite well what I mean. Your dear and noble young friend' —

'I don't know of any such,' interrupted Leucha.

'Then you have a lamentably short memory, Leucha,' said Mrs Macintyre, 'or it could not have passed from your mind – the weary nights and long days when that brave young girl devoted herself to you.'

'You mean that naughty Hollyhock, of course – the one who played on me that wicked, wicked joke. A nice school this is, indeed.'

'Leucha, I forbid you to speak in that tone to your head-mistress. I acknowledge that Hollyhock did wrong; but, oh, how humbly, how thoroughly, she has repented! I fully admit that she had no right to dress up Meg Drummond as a ghost and to frighten such a nervous, silly girl as you are; but afterwards, when she saw the effect, who could have been more noble than Hollyhock; who could have nursed you with more splendid care, and – and loved you, Leucha – you, who are not popular in the school?'

'I don't care! I won't stay here long,' muttered Leucha. 'If you think I am going to eat humble pie to that Hollyhock, you are mistaken, Mrs Macintyre.'

Mrs Macintyre was silent for a moment; then she spoke.

'I am sorry. A nobler nature would have taken the thing as a joke; but you, alas! are the reverse of noble. You have a small nature, Leucha, and you must struggle against it with all your might if you are to do any good in life.'

'I am not accustomed to being spoken to in that strain,' said Leucha.

'Perhaps not; it would have been good for you if you had been. Oh, my child, if I could but move your hard heart and show you the blessed spirit of Love pleading for you, and the Holy Spirit full to the brim with perfect forgiveness, stretched out even to you.'

'You talk to me,' said Leucha, 'exactly as if I were the sinner. It's Hollyhock, mean little scamp, who is the sinner, and yet you call her brave and noble.'

'Hollyhock has most fully repented, and therefore is noble. I intend always to love her as she deserves to be loved.'

'Well, I don't care,' said Leucha. 'She is nothing to me in the future. I 'll have nothing to do with her – nothing at all.'

Again Mrs Macintyre was silent.

After another long pause she said, 'Then you will not forgive the sweet girl, who nursed you back to life?'

'Never, never,' answered Leucha. 'Why should I be tortured in this way?'

'My dear, I must torture you for your good. You will not grant Hollyhock forgiveness?'

'I said before that I would never do so.'

'Very well. Hollyhock is the last girl in the world who needs pleading for; but suppose, Leucha – I don't say for a moment I shall succeed – but suppose I were to go to Hollyhock, who feels that she has done her part and has shown her sorrow for her little childish freak in every possible way, would you, my child, accept her words of contrition, and when I brought her to meet you, receive her as one so noble ought to be met?'

'No; I would turn from her with scorn. I would tell the humbug what I think of her.'

'Then, Leucha, I have nothing further to say. I doubt if I could get Hollyhock to humble herself to this degree; but certainly, after your last words, I shall not try. Now, you have returned to the school on an awkward day, when a charade introducing various animals is to be acted in the great hall. Twelve girls will play different animals, and the crisis and crux of the whole thing will be the appearance of "poor ghostie," which part Hollyhock will undertake herself. I warn you beforehand that, as you are so very timid in the presence of false ghosts – for, of course, I personally do not believe in real ghosts – it would be wise for you to remain in your bedroom, and thus keep out of the way. I believe Hollyhock is going to do the ghost very well. I have no desire to interfere with the games of the school. The games teacher, Miss Kent, manages these, and your unexpected and, I must add, unwished-for return cannot stop to-night's programme. You had better promise me, therefore, to go to your room, where one of the servants will bring you up some supper. I really advise you for your own good, my child, for I understand that ghost will look very awful to-night, and you, being so terribly nervous, may not be able to bear the sight.'

Don't fear for me, Mrs Macintyre,' said Leucha. 'I 'm not quite such a fool as you think me, and I certainly will sit in the hall with the other girls, and, if possible, put Holly to shame.'

'That I strictly forbid,' said Mrs Macintyre. 'A game is a game; a charade is a charade. While the acting proceeds no looker-on must interfere except under my intense displeasure. In fact, my dear Leucha, after what I have said, I shall write to your mother asking her to remove you from the school, unless you promise not to make any fuss or show any fear to-night. Go back to your room now.'

'And you really tell me, Mrs Macintyre, that the Earl of Crossways' daughter will be dismissed from the school?'

'There will be no difficulty about that,' replied Mrs Macintyre. 'I have six fresh girls anxious to be admitted. You are not popular; your character does not suit us. The fact of your being Earl Crossways' daughter has no effect in a school which is the gift of the Duke of Ardshiel; so don't fancy it. Act sensibly, as you cannot bring yourself to forgive, and stay in your bedroom. I am not talking nonsense when I predict that the nerves of the strongest will be tested to-night.'

'I refuse. You can't turn me out,' said Leucha.

'Very well,' said Mrs Macintyre. 'I have put the case fully before you, and can do no more.'

Leucha went back to her bedroom, where she really felt very troubled and, as a matter of fact, terribly frightened. If Meg Drummond, acting as the ghost, had nearly sent her into the other world, what effect could not Hollyhock produce? And Hollyhock meant to produce an effect unknown before in the great school.

Hollyhock was roused at last. Her forgiving nature had reached its limit. She felt naughty and wilful, and with a spice, as she expressed it, o' the de'il stirring in her breast. She was told by one of the girls that Mrs Macintyre's intercession with Leucha had proved all in vain, and she determined, therefore, to make poor ghostie more terrible in appearance than he had ever been before. She rejoiced, in fact, in her naughty little mind at the thought of Leucha insisting on being one of the spectators, and resolved on no account whatsoever to spare her.

The charade was to take place immediately after light supper. The great hall was arranged for the occasion. A stage was erected at the farther end, in the darkest and most shadowy spot. Across the stage a great curtain was drawn, and footlights had been secured to throw up the antics of the different animals the twelve girls were to act. One was the kitchen cat. Daisy was to be dressed exactly to fit the part by Miss Kent's and Hollyhock's clever contrivance. The kitchen cat must have a poor thin body, all dressed in shabby fur of a nondescript sort. She was to wear over her head the mask of a real cat. A long scraggy tail was stuck on behind, which by an ingenious device could jerk up and down and from side to side.

Daisy Watson rejoiced in her part, and had learned the miauw, the mew, the hiss, the dash forward, the howl of rage, and the purr to perfection. She had stalked across the stage again and again that day as kitchen cat, each time evoking shrieks of laughter. By her side walked a timorous dog, who looked at the kitchen cat with awe. The dog was purposely made to imitate Leucha, and whenever this lean and ugly brute appeared the kitchen cat said, 'Hiss-phitz-witz!' whereupon the lean animal retired in mortal terror, his mongrel tail tucked under his mongrel legs.

The resemblance to Leucha was really so marvellous as to be laughable, and all the girls had declared that they would not have allowed this beastie to appear if Leucha had been expected to be in the school. But Leucha had come back unexpectedly, and her conduct to Hollyhock had so roused the ire of that generally good-natured girl that she made up her mind that no change should now take place in the programme.

Besides the ordinary cat and dog, there was one ferocious-looking beast managed with great skill, a lion. A very tall girl in the school took this part. The lion's mane was magnificent, his growls such as to terrify any one. These were produced in reality by a little toy instrument concealed in the mouth. He growled and stalked about, and looked so like the real thing that more girls than Leucha shrank back in alarm as he approached the frail barrier which separated the actors from the spectators.

Who was this enormous beast? Could it possibly be a real lion?

Then there were the wild panther, the fierce tiger, a pony, an ox, a sheep, a goat, a pig, a long, wriggling thing to represent a snake, and finally a most enormous cock-a-doodle-doo, who seemed to fear none of the awful forest beasts and reptiles, but sang out his lusty crow right heartily with all the goodwill in the world.

But the three characters who excited most mirth or fear amongst the spell-bound spectators were, first and foremost, the kitchen cat; second, the timorous mongrel dog; and third, the lion with his mighty mane and terrible roar. The mongrel dog gave faint yelps and howls of anguish whenever he was approached by the lion or the kitchen cat. The lion made a valiant attempt, growling savagely as he did so, to demolish the cat; but the agile cat leaped on his back, stuck her claws, which were really crooked pins, into his hide, and sent the king of beasts howling to a distant part of the stage. She then proceeded to torment the mongrel dog, and to draw out, as she well knew how, Leucha's peculiarities in the dog.

Leucha sat in the audience, rather far back, nearly stunned with horror. Oh, the cruelty of the whole thing! Of course she recognised Daisy; of course she recognised the caricature of herself. Oh! it was a wicked, wicked thing to do, and she had no sympathy, and no friend anywhere. She sat, it is true, amongst the girls, but she was not one of them. They were absolutely yelling with laughter over the pranks of the cat and the terror of the dog. They had never seen so fine a piece of acting in their lives before.

One girl was heard to say distinctly to another, 'Why, if that wee doggie is not Leucha to the life, I 'm very much mistaken;' and Leucha heard the words and knew that the mongrel dog was meant for her, and yet she dared not do anything. She clung to her seat in abject misery.

Suddenly the lights on the stage were lowered. They were made strangely, weirdly dim; a kind of blue light pervaded the scene; the different animals crouched together; and ghostie, very tall, very skeleton-like, very fearsome, with his jet-black eyes, walked calmly on. Oh, but he was a gruesome thing to see! There was a look of horror on his face, and when he spoke, his words were awful.

'I have come from the bottom of the cold lake. Dry my wet locks. Which of you all will dry my locks? The poor beasties cannot. I must jump over the enclosure and walk among the lassies and see which of them will dry my dripping locks!'

The blue light now pervaded all parts of the room, and the ghost went straight up to Leucha.

'You are brave; do this favour for poor ghostie. See how my black eyes glitter into yours! Will not one of you come forward and dry my sleekit locks? I thought the bravest lass in the school would do it, so I came straight to wee Leuchy; but she has turned her head aside. What ails the lassie? What can be coming over her, and she so brave and so noble?'

The intense sarcasm in these words caused the entire school to shriek with laughter, in the midst of which Leucha flew to her room, vowing that even the Duke's locket and crest would not keep her another day in this fearful school.

CHAPTER XXIV.
THE WARM HEART ROUSED AT LAST

Now the forgiving nature of Hollyhock Lennox has been often mentioned; but just now she felt very nearly as angry with Leucha as Leucha was with her. It was a strange sort of anger, an anger mingled with love, for had Leucha said the slightest word, that warm, warm heart of the Scots girl would have been hers once again.

But Leucha would not say the word, although, strange as it may seem, she also, down deep in her heart, was longing for Hollyhock, longing as she had never longed for a human being before. She had been brought up in a stiff, cold home, by a stiff, cold mother, and it was hard for her to go against her nature. The girls of Ardshiel were altogether on the side of Hollyhock, and Leucha was more lonely than ever. Her angry boast that she would write to her mother and ask to be taken from the school she had certainly not courage enough to carry out. Lady Crossways would have been furious, and would have come quickly to Ardshiel to punish her rebellious child, and as likely as not to fall under Hollyhock's charm.

Leucha had, therefore, to remain at the school, and as she had now literally no friends (for even the girl who had played the kitchen cat in the charade had completely deserted her, and her cousins, the Frasers, had given her up long ago), she was forced to remain in terrible isolation.

Poor Mrs Macintyre was most unhappy about the girl; and as for Hollyhock, she was downright wretched, but also, as she herself described it, very wicked-like and full of a big slice o' the de'il. The intense unhappiness of her mind caused her to be most freakish in her behaviour, to tell impossible ghost-stories, and as she could not sleep at nights and was really not at all well, to spend her time in planning fresh plots for the annoyance of Leucha.

Hollyhock, with all her loving nature, was also most defiant and most daring, and there were few things she would pause at to punish the English girl.

How queer is life! These two girls loved each other, and yet neither would succumb, neither would yield to the desires of the other.

Hollyhock tried to forget her constant headaches, her bad nights, her restless spirit, by employing her satellites in all sorts of mischievous tasks. No one noticed that she was not well, for her cheeks were apple-red with the glow of apparent health, and her lovely, dark, affectionate eyes had never looked more brilliant than at present.

Nevertheless, she would pay Leuchy out – Leuchy, who had now no one to protect her, as even the pious Meg Drummond was not allowed to make special friends with her. Meg, in her way, was as commonplace as Leucha, and she thought it a fine thing to know the daughter of an English nobleman; but Meg was strictly forbidden to show any preference for Leucha, who would have gladly received her, and been even now slightly comforted by her dull society. But the fiat had gone forth. Meg had made immense mischief in the school by her confession. She was detested by all the other girls for having made this mischief, and was as lonely in her way as Leucha herself. The one thing that sustained the school at this painful juncture was the hard work necessitated by the competitions for the Duke of Ardshiel's lockets.

Leucha had a dim hope that if she won one of these great prizes and could bring it back at Christmas to her mother, she might be allowed to leave this hateful school. Accordingly, she worked hard at her theme.

Hollyhock's choice, as she herself expressed it, was 'The Zone of Danger.' It seemed in some ways a strange thing for Mrs Macintyre to suggest, and she repented it after she had done so; but Hollyhock's dancing eyes, and her brilliant cheeks, her smiles, her fascinating way of saying, 'I 'm not frightened,' had obliged the head-mistress to keep to her resolve.

The competitions were of a somewhat peculiar nature. The six prizes were more or less open ones. For instance, the girls who chose to compete in the essay competition might choose their own subject. The girls who went in for foreign languages might select French, German, or Italian. The girls who struggled to attain general knowledge had a very wide field indeed to select from. The only thing they had to do was carefully to select their subject and hand it under a feigned name to Mrs Macintyre, the envelope being sealed, and the lady herself not knowing its contents until the day before the prizes were to be given by the Duke of Ardshiel himself to the school.

Her idea with regard to the competition which Hollyhock called 'The Zone of Danger' was that the Scots lassie or English girl, as the case might be, should perform a brilliant deed, a feat demanding skill, endurance, and nerve. But Hollyhock intended her zone of danger to be one really great and very terrible, something that was to take place at night. Very few girls in the school chose to compete for this prize, as they knew only too well that Holly would beat them into 'nothing at all,' her magnificent bravery being so well known.

One day, about a fortnight before the general break-up at the school, when Mrs Macintyre was preparing to have a joyful time with her friends in Edinburgh, and the Palace of the Kings was to be shut up, a band – a very large band – of girls were collected round the fire in the ingle-nook in the great hall, and were listening to Hollyhock's fascinating words.

Suddenly Agnes Featherstonhaugh spoke. She was a very reserved English girl, and had only been won over to Hollyhock by slow degrees. But, once she was won over, her heart was in a state of intense and passionate devotion. She would, in short, do anything for this radiant young creature.

'Holly,' she said, as a slight pause in the animated conversation gave her the chance she required, 'confession is good for the soul. Meg knows that. – Don't you, Meg?'

Meg shrugged her shoulders, looked sulky, and made no reply. But when Hollyhock touched her gently on the arm, she snuggled up to her in a kind of passionate love. She felt inclined to weep, for she knew that she – yes, she– had caused the terrible discord and unhappiness which now reigned in the school.

'I wish to say,' continued Agnes, 'that I am following in the footsteps of a much finer character than my own. Leucha Villiers belongs to the school' —

Hollyhock stirred restlessly.

'And Leucha is alone morning, noon, and night, except when she is busy over her essay.'

'I – I'm willing' – began Hollyhock.

'No, Holly darling, you are not to be put upon any more than you have been!'

Similar remarks were made by a chorus of girls, who were really sick of Leucha and her ways.

'I – I'm willing,' said Hollyhock, bringing out the words with a great effort. 'But there, let things slide. I have my own troubles, and what I do, I do alone; only you all hear me say, lassies, that I'm willing. – Now, then, Agnes, go on with your speech.'

'It's only this,' said Agnes, 'that, following in the steps of that most noble creature, Meg Drummond, I also am confessing a little sin, a small one at that; but I too must save my soul, girls, just as Meg had to save hers.'

'Go ahead,' said Hollyhock.

'It was this very afternoon,' continued Agnes, 'when we were all busy in the great warm schoolroom, no teachers being present, and we were all occupied over our different competitions, each of us, of course, hoping to win the prize given by the great Ardshiel. Well, it so happened that Leucha Villiers's desk was next to mine, and Leucha suddenly went out of the room, and a temptation swift and frightful came over me. Nobody saw me do it, and why I did it I can never tell, but do it I did; and if you 'll believe me, girls, I opened Leucha's desk, no one seeing me at the job, and took out her paper on the kitchen cat. I don't myself think she 'll get a prize from his Grace for that paper; and, what's more, I don't care, for venom is in the girl, and in every word of her poor, stupid little paper. She compares the kitchen cat to our dear Hollyhock, and abuses Hollyhock in such a way' —

'Stop – say no more,' cried Hollyhock. 'You did wrong to read, and I won't be told what was said of me. No, the daughter of a Cameron isn't that sort. – You can go on with your talk, lassies; but I 'm for my bed. I have a bit of a headache, and the sleep so beauteous will take it away.'

With these words Hollyhock left the room, and Agnes found she had done very little good by her confession. The other girls, however, who were less scrupulous, crowded round her and implored her to tell them what that 'wicked one' had said.

'No; I 'll tell no more,' said Agnes. 'Holly wouldn't wish it. But, oh, to think of that noble girl being spoken of like that! Oh, the cruel, cruel, angry girl! My heart bleeds for our darling!'

'She 'll not get the prize,' said a Scots girl. 'Think you now that Ardshiel would give a prize to one who abuses his kinswoman?'

'She has put her foot in it by so doing,' said another.

'We'd best let her alone, Agnes; and you keep your confession to yourself. You had no right to read the paper,' said Meg Drummond in her solemn voice.

'I had not,' replied Agnes; 'but seeing that you were so troubled by a bit of a lark on account of your poor soul, Meg, I thought I 'd follow suit.'

'Well,' said Meg, who came out a good deal when Hollyhock was absent, 'my mother tells me my immortal soul is safe now. I can pray again, and I 'm happy; but yours is a different case altogether, Agnes. Anyhow, you have done the deed, and one of the lockets will never go to Earl Crossways' daughter.'

The girls talked together for a little longer, all of them rejoicing in the thought that Leucha had now no possible chance of a locket. She was so thoroughly disliked in the school that they positively rejoiced in this certainty, and forgave Agnes her mean trick of looking at the essay.

But Hollyhock, up in her room, having bluntly refused to listen to any of the words of the naughty girl who had read a part of the essay, was nevertheless wild with rage, and could not possibly rest. That sense of forgiveness which she had felt when seated with her companions round the ingle-nook had now absolutely vanished. She would not demean herself by listening to words which were not meant for her to hear; but for the time being at least her little heart was sore, very sore, with anger. 'Oh Leuchy, whyever are you so spiteful, and why does my head split, and why does my heart ache for love of one who could be so cruel to me? Did I not repent over and over and over again? She has done for herself; but when I go into the danger zone, I go into it now in very truth. Perhaps when poor Hollyhock is no longer flitting about the place you 'll think more kindly of me, Leuchy. I was willing for your sake to make a final effort to be good, but the wish has died. I 'm a bad lass, and you 'll describe me as I am, when the essay on the kitchen cat is read aloud. Oh Leuchy, I would not be so mean!'

All night long Hollyhock tossed from side to side on her restless couch, thinking and planning how she would perform that feat which would stamp her as the bravest lassie in the school.

There was one action which she could perform, one action which was so full of danger that no other girl in the school would attempt it. It was, in short, the following. On the night when she entered the danger zone, she would enter it on her own Arab horse, Lightning Speed. She could easily get this brilliant little animal over to the Palace of the Kings by the aid of Magsie, who was more devoted to her than ever. She would ride her horse, Lightning Speed, in the dead of night, with the moon shining brightly, up a certain gorge which led to the source of one of the streams that kept the great lake supplied with water.

Lightning Speed was a high-spirited little animal, a thoroughbred Arab no less, and Hollyhock knew that at the top of the gorge, when all things looked so ghostly, he would start at every shadow and at the slightest sound. He was all nerves, was Lightning Speed – all nerves and gallant bearing, and devotion to Hollyhock.

At the top of the gorge was a sudden break in the cliffs, below which roared the mountain stream. The bold girl resolved to leap from the rock on the one side to the opposite rock. She was determined that Lightning Speed would and should obey her, for did not he love her, the bonnie beastie?

She would not have attempted this deed, because she loved the brave steed; but now she had heard of Leucha's conduct to her, her mind was made up. She and Lightning Speed would leap the gorge, and she had little doubt that they would both land safe on the opposite side.

But this plan of hers, meaning certain death if it failed, was to be kept a profound secret from every one in the school except Magsie, who would be able to confirm what Hollyhock had done when the day and hour arrived.

Hollyhock, having quite made up her mind, at last fell asleep, and next morning went downstairs very calm and peaceful to her usual lessons. She had the calm, heroic look of Brunhilda, the favourite of all Wagner's great heroines. She even muttered to herself, 'If I die, I die, and the fire spirits of the great Brunhilda will surround me. I 'll die rejoicing; but I 'll never, never do a mean deed. No, my bonnie Lightning Speed and I couldn't bring ourselves so low. We are meant for better things, my good steed, and better things we 'll do. I have no fear. Hollyhock is very happy this day of days.'

Her chosen chums and companions couldn't help looking with fresh wonder at her radiant and lovely face. They little knew what was before them. She was kind and sweet to every one, but a little quiet, not quite so restless as usual, but with a wondrous light glowing in her eyes.

The other Flower Girls looked at her in astonishment, but no one had any fear for Hollyhock. She was not the sort of girl to stir fear about herself in others.