Kitabı oku: «The Girls of St. Wode's», sayfa 12

Annie looked up as she came in.

“Had a good time?” she asked in a light, careless sort of voice.

“I was down by the river,” replied Leslie coldly.

“Has your visitor gone?” asked Annie, not noticing the tone.

“Yes. He returned to London by the 5.30.”

Leslie wondered that Annie did not take alarm when she heard that her visitor had come from London; but the possibility of Mr. Parker’s appearing at Wingfield had evidently never entered her brain. She turned another page of her novel, and read on contentedly.

“How good it is to have a whole afternoon’s real rest,” she said; “and this book is splendid. By the way, have you read it – ‘The Caxtons,’ by Bulwer Lytton?”

“Yes; I have read it,” replied Leslie in a low voice.

“Don’t you want to make any tea this afternoon?” said Annie. “I am so thirsty.”

“I don’t care about tea to-night,” replied Leslie.

“We shall be going down to dinner in less than an hour.”

Annie stifled a sigh, and once more resumed her book. Leslie went and sat with her back to her. She took up a book, but she could not read. As a rule, it was Leslie’s task and privilege to get tea for them both. Annie missed her companion’s gentle attentions. After a minute or two she tumbled down from her seat on the window-sill, and began in a perfunctory manner to get ready for dinner.

Leslie also rose, shook out her dress, put on a fresh tie and collar, and smoothed her hair.

“You are not making much of a toilet this evening,” said Annie.

“Oh, I shall do very well,” replied Leslie.

“Do! I should think you will,” said Annie in a tone almost of affection. “If I had as pretty a face as yours, I should not much mind how I dressed; or, yes, perhaps I should. Perhaps I should give up my whole life to my beautiful face, and spend all my time devising means to make it still more attractive.”

“Don’t,” said Leslie in a sharp voice. The thought that Mr. Parker also supposed that she was vain enough and despicable enough to go into debt for fine clothes returned to her memory with Annie’s words.

“You look sweet,” said Annie. “Come along, take my arm. I am in a mighty good humor, I can tell you, and as hungry as a hawk. I missed the tea which you, you kind little roomfellow, have generally got for me.”

“Go on; don’t wait for me,” said Leslie. “I have forgotten a handkerchief.”

She ran back just when they reached the door. Annie, in some wonder, went downstairs alone. Leslie waited until she had gone.

“Oh, God help me to bear it!” she said, raising a piteous cry to the One who alone could help her. Then, feeling a little better, she went downstairs, and took her place at table.

When dinner was over, one or two girls came up to invite both Annie and Leslie to join them at a cocoa-party.

Leslie looked at Annie with a sort of suppressed eagerness.

“She will be going out presently,” thought the girl. “She will be going to meet that bad fellow, to give him the money – the money which has ruined my life. I shall watch her. I hate being with her, and yet I cannot keep away from her.”

She waited for Annie to speak again.

“Do you want to go?” she said.

“No; I cannot go this evening,” said Annie; “but it will be all right for you, Leslie. You will go, will you not?”

“I shall stay with you.” said Leslie in a dogged sort of voice.

The girls who had invited them looked somewhat surprised and disappointed. They said nothing more, however; and Leslie and Annie went upstairs once more to their own room. Annie went and stood by the open window.

“What can be the matter with you?” she said, turning to her companion. “You do look very queer. You have not been a bit like yourself for the last hour or two.”

Leslie made no reply.

Annie glanced at her again.

“It is so hot to-night,” she said. “I am going out for a stroll. I may not be in until half-past ten, or even later. Why, Leslie Gilroy, you are quite glaring at me; your eyes have got the queerest expression.”

“Never mind about my eyes,” replied Leslie. “I have something to say.” Her quiet was over; she knew that the time for action had come.

“Annie Colchester,” she said, “I know where you are going. You have got a chance, one chance; will you take it?”

“You know where I am going, and I have got a chance – what do you mean? How very queer you look!”

“I will tell you in a few words exactly what I mean. I know everything. There is time yet. Annie, Annie, you cannot mean really to ruin me. I have always been kind to you – that is, I have tried to be kind. You cannot mean quite to ruin me, Annie.”

“To ruin you – to ruin you, Leslie? No; I don’t mean to ruin you.”

It was now Annie’s turn to look pale; her eyes, startled and alarmed, glanced from Leslie to the ground.

“At any rate, don’t keep me now,” she said, a shiver passing through her frame. “When I come back I will talk with you as long as you like; but I am in a great hurry. We can talk over – over what you mean (I am sure I cannot imagine what it can be) when I come back.”

“We must talk now,” cried Leslie; “it will be too late when you come back. Annie, I have something to confess to you; and you – God knows you have something terrible to confess to me; but my confession comes first. I followed you the night before last. After the meeting at East Hall I came back to our room and found you absent. I was restless and miserable about you, and I went out to look for you. I was standing near the boat-house when you landed with – with – ”

“You saw us?” cried Annie. “Then you are a sneak – a spy. You saw us, and you – ”

“Yes, I saw you. I stood in the shadow, and I heard what you said. The man who was with you – ”

“Don’t dare to say a word against him!” cried Annie.

“Yes, I will. He is a rascal; a scoundrel.”

“Oh, he is my brother!” cried Annie; “the only one I love in all the world; and you dare not abuse him. What right have you?”

“I have every right, Annie; I know the truth. He wanted money; I heard him say so. He spoke cruelly to you; and you – you promised to help him. You were in great trouble, and I pitied you from my very soul. I did not know; I could not guess that you would make use of me; the crudest, the most terrible use. You forged a letter in my name, and you took it to my friend, Mr. Parker.”

“How – how can you know?” said Annie. Her voice had sunk to the lowest whisper. Leslie had to strain her ears to catch the words.

“I know in the best possible way, and from the best authority,” replied Leslie. “Mr. Parker came to see me to-day, and he told me everything.”

“And you betrayed me?”

Annie flung herself suddenly on her knees; she covered her face with her shaking hands.

“Oh! and I thought myself safe,” she continued. “I have lived through such awful agony – misery beyond words was mine; and just when I thought myself safe. Oh, I was resting to-day, I was so tired; but all my security was false, and I am done for – ruined. Why was I ever born?”

She uttered a piercing cry, and fell forward on her face and hands.

“Get up, Annie; don’t kneel like that. I did not betray you.”

“You did not betray me? Do you mean what you are saying?” Annie started up now, came close to Leslie, and tried to take her hand. “Mr. Parker came here today, and told you what I did yesterday, and you did not tell him the truth? Oh, you angel! Oh, you darling! All my life, as long as I live, I will live for you, and devote myself to you. Oh, you darling; you brave darling!”

“Don’t,” said Leslie. “You would not speak those words to me if you knew what I felt in my heart. Do you think I love you now? No; I am scarcely sorry for you. I simply feel that I cannot betray you.”

“Then, all is well,” said Annie. “I don’t mind in the least at the present moment whether you hate me or not. I declare now, and I shall always maintain it, that you are the noblest girl in the world.”

“But, Annie, do you quite understand? You cannot mean to go on with this. Now that you know what it is to me, you must – you must make restitution. You cannot allow Mr. Parker to go on thinking day after day, month after month, and year after year, that I was really guilty of the terrible sin and meanness of going into debt for sixty pounds, and then sending you to him to ask him to pay my debt. You cannot mean this, Annie?”

“Yes, I do mean it; and so would you if you had a brother like Rupert, and you felt that all his future depended on your helping him. What are you compared to Rupert? He is the only one in the world I passionately love. Oh, there, the clock has struck ten, and he will be waiting for me. If he does not get that sixty pounds to-night he will be desperate. The police are after him, I know; he will be locked up. Oh! what is your grief compared to his misery? Leslie, I am going out; you did not betray me to-day, and you won’t betray me now. Let me go, let me go.”

“Not without me,” said Leslie with sudden firmness. “If you go, I shall go; but if you refuse, I will speak to – ”

“Oh, don’t! don’t! come if you wish; anything, so that we get to him at once. He will be put in prison, sent to penal servitude; and I shall go mad, raving mad. Come; be quick, be quick!”

Annie dragged Leslie by her arm, not allowing her time to utter another word. The girls flew downstairs together, and a moment later were out, with the stars looking down at them, and the moon shining on the beautiful river.

CHAPTER XXII – THE PROMISE

Annie dragged her companion in the direction of the boat-house. A man was standing in the deepest shadow. When the girls came up he took a step forward, then, seeing two, he started back.

“It is all right, Rupert,” cried Annie. “I – I have got the money.”

Leslie, who was watching him attentively, saw him change color. He had a bronzed cheek and a keen, dark eye. The bronze left his cheek now, and his eyes flashed fire.

“Is it true?” he said.

Annie held out both her hands to him. He clasped them so tight that it was with difficulty she could repress a cry; but as he did so he looked beyond her at Leslie. There was alarm and incredulity in his glance.

“It is all right; I brought her here, or, rather, she would come. It is through her I got it. All my life I must thank her for what she has done for you.”

“This is more than I can bear,” cried Leslie. “I have come here, it is true, Mr. Colchester; but not for the purpose you think. I have come here to tell you what I think of you. I do not know what trouble you have got into, nor do I wish to know; but I do know what your sister has done. I blame her – yes, I blame her most bitterly; but I blame you more.”

“Don’t tell, don’t tell!” cried Annie. She came up to Leslie, and tried to put her hand across her mouth.

“I will tell him; but no one else,” said Leslie. “He must know; he drove you to it, and he must know. Listen,” she added. She came up close to Rupert Colchester, and stared him full in the face.

“Your sister wrote a letter in my name to my best friend. She wrote it to the man who is kinder to me than anyone else in the world. She signed the letter with my signature, and he thought that it came from me. Having written the letter, she made an excuse to go to London yesterday, and took it to him. It contained a request to give me, because I had gone into debt, sixty pounds. The money was to be given in notes and gold. She brought the money back, and now she, not I, is giving it to you.”

“Indeed!” said the man. He started back. He looked from Annie to Leslie.

“I didn’t know you were clever enough for that,” he said; “it seems to run in our blood – I mean the capacity for thieving. I did not know you could do it. You are clever enough, Annie, and you have cheek enough; but to do that, to commit a forgery, and to drag another girl in!”

“It was done for you, and you of all people ought not to blame her,” said Leslie.

“You had cheek,” repeated Colchester. He laid his hand lightly on his sister’s shoulder. “I thank you from my heart, of course, and you, too, Miss – Miss – I don’t know your name.”

“You had better not know it; I don’t want you to. Yes, she did it, and Mr. Parker thinks that I am guilty. Do you quite realize, both of you, what Annie Colchester has done?”

“I realize it fast enough,” said Colchester; “but you are a merciful girl. I see it in your eyes.”

“Nevertheless, I will state the position quite plainly. Your sister, by writing such a letter, committed forgery.”

Annie uttered a deep groan, and covered her face. After a moment she raised her eyes, and glanced at Rupert. He was not looking at her; he was staring at Leslie.

“Try and keep quiet, Annie, and allow me to speak,” continued Leslie. “I do not intend to betray her. But I want you to know, Mr. Colchester, what it has cost me; it has nearly driven me mad. Think what it must mean to me. Mr. Parker imagines that I am the sort of girl who will go into debt, and then come to him to clear me. Do you know that because of this he came to Wingfield to-day? He sought me out; he spoke to me; he was in the deepest distress.”

“And you – you confided in him?” said Rupert Colchester. “Few girls would be noble enough – ”

“Oh, you do her injustice!” interrupted Annie. “She has not told; she has not betrayed us. Is it not brave of her?”

“I have not told,” said Leslie; “but I have had an awful struggle. If I told what Annie has really done it might get her into such fearful trouble that she would be ruined. She would have to leave St. Wode’s; her career would be practically over. Even if the law did not punish her, she would never do any good in this country again. I have saved her from that; but it was a great effort. I have come here to-night, Mr. Colchester, to tell you that you are the one most to blame. I am going to keep this thing to myself; but only on a condition. This is the most bitter moment of my life; this thing that Annie has done on account of you has turned both my present and my future into gall and bitterness. I was the happiest of girls yesterday; now I am the most miserable. My best friend thinks badly of me, and I can never set myself right with him. But I promise here willingly, before God, that I will not tell what Annie has done, if you, on your part, will make me a promise.”

“What is it?” said Colchester. “’Pon my word! you’re a brave sort of girl, and I don’t mind – that is, short of ruining myself.”

“It will not ruin you; it will save you. I want you to promise me to leave Annie alone in the future.”

Annie uttered a sharp cry.

“But I don’t wish to be left alone,” she said. “I cannot live without Rupert.”

“That you will leave Annie alone in the future,” continued Leslie; “that you will never again take money from her. That sixty pounds is my present to you. I exonerate Annie from all blame in the matter. She shall never get into trouble on my account if you, on your part, will keep your word.”

“You are plucky,” said Colchester. He was impressed by Leslie’s manner and by her remarkable beauty. The moon was shining full upon her face, which looked clear and pale and unearthly.

“You are a very plucky girl,” he repeated; “and Annie is in luck to have made you her friend. Yes, I am all right now. This little girl, or, rather, you, Miss” – he paused, but Leslie did not supply the name – “have made it all right for me.”

“Very well; I promise not to tell what Annie has done if you make me a promise not to blackmail her again.”

“Blackmail! that is an ugly word,” said Colchester; “after all, she is my sister.”

“The more shame on you to get your sister into trouble. I have a brother. Do you think he – but there, I cannot speak of him in the same breath with you. If you attempt to blackmail Annie any more I will tell Mr. Parker all about this matter. I will consider that the promise I have made to-day is no longer binding. Now, it rests with yourself. Bid your sister good-by, and go.”

“Oh, I cannot, cannot part with you, Rupert!” cried Annie.

She burst into a bitter flood of tears, flung her arms round her brother’s neck, and laid her head on his shoulder.

“There is nothing – nothing I would not do for you,” she sobbed.

Leslie moved away to a little distance. She had spoken with emphasis and spirit, but never in the whole course of her life had she felt so cold, so bitter. Although she had promised before God not to betray her miserable companion, yet she knew no sense of happiness. It seemed to her that she was setting the seal to her degradation. Never again could she be happy. Always now there would be one person who would think of her as a girl capable of any meanness, any smallness, any deceit. The mere knowledge that someone would so regard her troubled her so much that she wondered if, in the future, she could lead an upright life. And why was she doing it? For Annie did not appreciate her sacrifice, except in as far as it saved Rupert; and as to Rupert himself, it needed only to look into his face to see how weak and worthless he was.

Wrapped in the misery of these thoughts, Leslie did not notice Annie until she came back and touched her on the arm.

“He cannot praise you enough. You do not know what he has been saying of you. He wants to bid you good-by now. He is going to Australia; he has made up his mind. I shall never see him more.”

There was a note of such utter misery in Annie’s voice that Leslie, wretched as she was, started up and shook herself.

“Let him go,” she said. “I do not want to speak to him again.”

“But I so earnestly wish you would. He is terribly touched by what you have done. This may be the turning-point. Do come and shake hands with him.”

“I cannot.”

“You cannot? Leslie, do you think him as bad as all that?”

“He is very bad, Annie, and he is making you bad – and, oh, indirectly he is making me bad too. I cannot go; I can never touch his hand.”

“You are too hard,” said Annie. “I could have loved you for what you have done; but when you speak against him I cannot bear you.”

“Feel just as you please about me,” said Leslie; “but I cannot bid your brother good-by, nor shake hands with him. Come back to me when he has gone, and be quick. We ought to be in the house now. There is no use in our getting into fresh trouble.”

Annie turned slowly away. In about ten minutes she came back to Leslie.

“He has gone,” she said. “He will take his passage for Australia to-morrow. I shall never see him any more.”

Her tone was cold, calm, and low.

“Then let us return to the house,” said Leslie.

They went slowly across the quadrangle, entered by the side door, and went up to their room.

“I wish I was not your roomfellow, Annie,” said Leslie. “I never knew I could feel so bitter towards anyone.”

“You will get over it, dear, and, after all, as Rupert says – ”

“Oh, please don’t mention his name!”

Annie looked at her, a frown coming between her brows.

“I cannot understand you,” she said, after a pause. “You are so noble, and yet you are so hard. Are good, very good, people often like you?”

“I am not good. I don’t think I shall ever be good again,” said poor Leslie. She sat down on the nearest seat, and covered her face with her trembling hands.

Annie switched on the electric light.

“At least there need be no more study,” she said, after a pause.

Leslie did not take the slightest notice.

Annie sat down on a sofa, took up the novel she had been reading that afternoon, and turned a page or two listlessly. Presently she flung it down and uttered a heartrending sigh. That sigh reached Leslie. She looked up, and tried to speak in a cheerful tone.

“Are not you going to get out your books? You know you have so much to do before the honor examination?”

“I do not mean to study any more. Did not you hear me say so?”

“But why? I cannot understand.”

“The motive for study has gone. I shall take my pass exam., and let that suffice. I shall leave Wingfield at the end of term.”

“But why should you give up everything?”

“Why?” said Annie, “why?” She went over and stood by the window. The night wind came in and lifted a tress of her hair and played with it.

Leslie, seated on her own sofa at the farther end of the room, seemed always, in her moments of bitterest grief in the future, to see that tress of hair tossed up and down by the wind. The electric light in the room played on it, and brought out some of its red fire. Annie’s face was ghastly pale; but her eyes were large and too brilliant for health.

“Why should you give up everything?” repeated Leslie, after another pause.

“Why? Can’t you understand? Did you ever have a watch with a broken spring?”

“I think so; yes.”

“It was useless, was it not?”

“Of course; until it was mended.”

“Well, I am like that watch. The spring that guided my life is broken, and, unlike the watch, it can never be mended.”

“You forget that there is such a thing as a watchmaker; even for the human watch,” said Leslie, her tone softening.

“Granted; but I shall not put myself into His hands. Good-night, I am dead tired. I feel numb all over. I am going to bed. I want, beyond everything else on earth, to sleep.”

She threw herself down on her bed without an attempt at undressing.

Leslie started up to remonstrate. If Annie lay like that she would have a terrible cold in the morning. She advanced a step or two across the room, and then paused.

“After all, it does not matter,” she said to herself. “I should not have got into this awful scrape if I had not been good to her. I will leave her alone now. I have ruined myself absolutely and for ever; but I cannot – cannot be friends with her.”

“Rupert has gone, Rupert has gone,” moaned Annie, “and my sun has set.”

Leslie heard the words, but even they did not soften her.

“What has come to me?” she thought. “Has this trouble turned me into a stone?”