meanwhile sylvia was thoroughly enjoying herself. she started for the castle in the highest spirits. her walk during the morning hours had not fatigued her; and when, soon after twelve o’clock, she walked slowly and thoughtfully up the avenue, a happier, prettier girl could scarcely be seen. the good food she had enjoyed since jasper had appeared on the scene had already begun to tell. her cheeks were plump, her eyes bright; her somewhat pale complexion was creamy in tint and thoroughly healthy. her dress, too, effected wonders. sylvia would look well in a cotton frock; she would look well as a milkmaid, as a cottage girl; but she also had that indescribable grace which would enable her to fill a loftier station. and now, in her rich furs and dark-brown costume, she looked fit to move in any society. she held evelyn’s letter in her hand. her one fear was that evelyn would remark on her own costume transmogrified for sylvia’s benefit.
“well, if she does, i don’t much care,” thought the happy girl. “after all, truth is best. why should i deceive? i deceived when i was here last, when i wore audrey’s dress. i had not the 243 courage then that i have now. somehow to-day i feel happy and not afraid of anything.”
she was met, just before she reached the front entrance, by audrey and evelyn.
“here, evelyn,” she cried—“here is a note for you.”
evelyn took it quickly. she did not want audrey to know that jasper was living at the priory. she turned aside and read her note, and audrey devoted herself to sylvia. audrey had liked sylvia before; she liked her better than ever now. she was far too polite to glance at her improved dress; that somehow seemed to tell her that happier circumstances had dawned for sylvia, and a sense of rejoicing visited her.
“i am so very glad you have come!” she said. “evelyn and i have been planning how we are to spend the day. we want to give you, and ourselves also, a right good time. do you know that evelyn and i are schoolgirls now? is it not strange? dear miss sinclair has left us. we miss her terribly; but i think we shall like school-life—eh, eve?”
evelyn had finished jasper’s letter, and had thrust it into her pocket.
“i hate school-life!” she said emphatically.
“oh eve! but why?” asked audrey. “i thought you were making a great many friends at school.”
“wherever i go i shall make friends,” replied evelyn in a careless tone. “that, of course, is due to my position. but i do not know, after all,” 244 she continued, “that i like fair-weather friends. mothery used to tell me that i must be careful when with them. she said they would, one and all, expect me to do something for them. now, i hate people who want you to do things for them. for my part, i shall soon let my so-called friends know that i am not that sort of girl.”
“let us walk about now,” said audrey. “it will be lunch-time before long; afterwards i thought we might go for a ride. can you ride, sylvia?”
“i used to ride once,” she answered, coloring high with pleasure.
“i can lend you a habit; and we have a very nice horse—quite quiet, and at the same time spirited.”
“i am not afraid of any horses,” answered the girl. “i should like a ride immensely.”
“we will have lunch, then a ride, then a good cozy chat together by the schoolroom fire, then dinner; and then, what do you say to a dance? we have asked some young friends to come to the castle to-night for the purpose.”
“i must not be too late in going home,” said sylvia. “and,” she added, “i have not brought a dress for the evening.”
“oh, we must manage that,” said audrey. “what a good thing that you and i are the same height! now, shall we walk round the shrubbery?”
“the shrubbery always reminds me,” said sylvia, “of the first day we met.”
“yes. i was very angry with you that day,” said audrey, with a laugh. “you must know that 245 i always hated that old custom of throwing the castle open to every one on new year’s day.”
“but i am too glad of it,” said sylvia. “it made me know you, and evelyn too.”
“don’t forget, audrey,” said evelyn at that moment, “that sylvia is really my friend. it was i who first brought her to the castle.—you do not forget that, do you, sylvia?”
“no,” said sylvia, smiling. “and i like you both awfully. but do tell me about your school—do, please.”
“well,” said audrey, “there is a rather exciting thing to tell—something unpleasant, too. perhaps you ought not to know.”
“please—please tell me. i am quite dying to hear about it.”
audrey then described the mysterious damage done to sesame and lilies.
“miss henderson was told,” she said, “and yesterday morning she spoke to the entire school. she is going to punish the person who did it very severely if she can find her; and if that person does not confess, i believe the whole school is to be put more or less into coventry.”
“but how does she know that any of the girls did it?” was sylvia’s answer. “there are servants in the house. has she questioned them?”
“she has; but it so happens that the servants are quite placed above suspicion, for the book was whole at a certain hour the very first day we came to school, and that evening it was found in its 246 mutilated condition. during all those hours it happened to be in the fourth form schoolroom.”
“yes,” said evelyn in a careless tone. “it is quite horrid for me, you know, for i am a fourth form girl. i ought not to be. i ought to be in the sixth form with audrey. but there! those unpleasant mistresses have no penetration.”
“but why should you wish to be in a higher form than your acquirements warrant?” replied sylvia. “oh,” she added, with enthusiasm, “don’t i envy you both your luck! should i not love to be at school in order to work hard!”
“by the way, sylvia,” said audrey suddenly, “how have you been educated?”
“why, anyhow,” said the girl. “i have taught myself mostly. but please do not ask me any questions. i don’t want to think of my own life at all to-day; i am so very happy at being with you two.”
audrey immediately turned the conversation; but soon, by a sort of instinct, it crept back again to the curious occurrence which had taken place at miss henderson’s school.
“please do not speak of it at lunch,” said audrey, “for we have not told mother or father anything about it. we hope that this disgraceful thing will not be made public, but that the culprit will confess.”
“much chance of that!” said evelyn; and she nudged sylvia’s arm, on which she happened to be leaning. 247
the girls presently went into the house. lunch followed. lady frances was extremely kind to sylvia—in fact, she made a pet of her. she looked with admiration at the pretty and suitable costume, and wondered in her own heart what she could do for the little girl.
“i like her,” she said to herself. “she suits me better than any girl i have ever met except my own dear audrey. oh, how i wish she were the heiress instead of evelyn!”
evelyn was fairly well behaved; she had learnt to suppress herself. she was now outwardly dutiful to lady frances, and was, without any seeming in the matter, affectionate to her uncle. the squire was always specially kind to evelyn; but he liked young girls, and took notice of sylvia also, trying to draw her out. he spoke to her about her father. he told her that he had once known a distinguished man of the name, and wondered if it could be the same. sylvia colored painfully, and showed by many signs that the conversation distressed her.
“it cannot be the same, of course,” said the squire lightly, “for my friend robert leeson was a man who was likely to rise to the very top of his profession. he was a barrister of extreme eminence. i shall never forget the brilliant way he spoke in a cause célèbre which occupied public attention not long ago. he won the case for his clients, and covered himself with well-earned glory.”
sylvia’s eyes sparkled; then they grew dim with unshed tears. she lowered her eyes and looked 248 on her plate. lady frances nodded softly to herself.
“the same—doubtless the same,” she said to herself. “a most distinguished man. how terribly sad! i must inquire into this; edward has unexpectedly given me the clue.”
the girls went for a ride after lunch, and the rest of the delightful day passed swiftly. sylvia counted the hours. whenever she looked at the clock her face grew a little sadder. half-hour after half-hour of the precious time was going by. when should she have such a grand treat again? at last it was time to go up-stairs to dress for dinner.
“now, you must come to my room, sylvia,” said evelyn. “yes, i insist,” she added, “for i was in reality your first friend.”
sylvia was quite willing to comply. she soon found herself in evelyn’s extremely pretty blue-and-silver room. how comfortable it looked—how luxurious, how sweet, how refreshing to the eyes! the cleanliness and perfect order of the room, the brightness of the fire, the calm, proper look of read as she stood by waiting to dress evelyn for dinner, all impressed sylvia.
“i like this life,” she said suddenly. “perhaps it is bad for me even to see it, but i like it; i confess as much.”
“perhaps, miss leeson,” said read just then in a very courteous voice, “you will not object to miss audrey lending you the same dress you wore the 249 last time you were here? it has been nicely made up, and looks very fresh and new.”
as read spoke she pointed to the lovely indian muslin robe which lay across evelyn’s bed.
“please, read,” said evelyn suddenly, “don’t stay to help me to dress to-night; sylvia will do that. i want to have a chat with her; i have a lot to say.”
“i will certainly help evelyn if i can,” replied sylvia.
“very well, miss,” replied read. “to tell you the truth, i shall be rather relieved; my mistress requires a fresh tucker to be put into the dress she means to wear this evening, and i have not quite finished it. then you will excuse me, young ladies. if you want anything, will you have the goodness to ring?”
the next moment read had departed.
“now, that is right,” said evelyn. “now we shall have a cozy time; there is nearly an hour before we need go down-stairs. how do you like my room, sylvia?”
“very much indeed. i see the second bed has gone.”
“oh yes. i do not mind a scrap sleeping alone now; in fact, i rather prefer it. sylvia, i want so badly to confide in you!”
“to confide in me! how? why?”
“i want to ask you about jasper. oh yes, she wants to see me. i can manage to slip out about nine o’clock on tuesday next; we are not to dine 250 down-stairs on tuesday night, for there is a big dinner party. she can come to meet me then; i shall be standing by the stile in the shrubbery.”
“but surely lady frances will not like you to be out so late!”
“as if i minded her! sylvia, for goodness’ sake don’t tell me that you are growing goody-goody.”
“no; i never was that,” replied sylvia. “i don’t think i could be; it is not in me, i am afraid.”
“i hope not; i don’t think jasper would encourage that sort of thing. yes, i have a lot to tell her, and you may say from me that i don’t care for school.”
“oh, i am so sorry! it is incomprehensible to me, for i should think that you would love it.”
“for some reasons i might have endured it; but then, you see, there is that awkward thing about the ruskin book.”
“the ruskin book!” said sylvia. she turned white, and her heart began to beat. “surely—surely, evelyn, you have had nothing to do with the tearing out of the first pages of sesame and lilies!”
“you won’t tell—you promise you won’t tell?” said evelyn, nodding her head, and her eyes looking very bright.
“oh! i don’t know. this is dreadful; please relieve my anxiety.”
“you will not tell; you dare not!” said evelyn, with passion. “if you did i would tell about jasper—i would. oh! i would not leave a stone unturned to make your life miserable. there, sylvia, forgive 251 me; i did not mean to scold. i like you so much, dear sylvia; and i am so glad you have jasper with you, and it suits me to perfection. but i did tear the leaves out of the book; yes, i did, and i am glad i did; and you must never, never tell.”
“but, eve—oh, eve! why did you do such a dreadful thing?”
“i did it in a fit of temper, to spite that horrid miss thompson; i hate her so! she was so intolerably cheeky; she made me stay in during recreation on the very first day, and she accused me of telling lies, and when she had left the room i saw the odious book lying on the table. i had seen her reading it before, and i thought it was her book; and almost before i had time to think, the pages were out and torn up and in the fire. if i had known it was miss henderson’s book, of course, i should not have done it. but i did not know. i meant to punish horrid old thompson, and it seems i have succeeded better than i expected.”
“but, eve—eve, the whole school is suspected now. what are you going to do?”
“do!” replied evelyn. “nothing.”
“but you have been asked, have you not, whether you knew anything about the injury to the book?”
“i have, and i told a nice little whopper—a nice pretty little whopper—a dear, charming little whopper—and i mean to stick to it.”
“eve!”
“you look shocked. well, cheer up; it has not 252 been your fault. i must confide in some one, so i have told you, and you may tell jasper if you like. dear old jasper! she will applaud me for my spirit. oh dear! do you know, sylvia, i think you are rather a tiresome girl. i thought you too would have admired the plucky way i have acted.”
“how can i admire deceit and lies?” replied sylvia in a low tone.
“you dare say those words to me!”
“yes, i dare. oh, you have made me unhappy! oh, you have destroyed my day! oh eve, eve, why did you do it?”
“you won’t tell on me, please, sylvia? you have promised that, have you not?”
“oh, why should i tell? it is not my place. but why did you do it?”
“if you will not tell, nothing matters. i have done it, and it is not your affair.”
“yes, it is, now that you have confided in me. oh, you have made me unhappy!”
“you are a goose! but you may tell dear jasper; and tell her too that her little eve will wait for her at the turnstile on tuesday night at nine o’clock. now then, let’s get ready or we shall be late for dinner.”
