Wild Kitty

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  STARS AND MOON, AND GOD BEHIND.

  During the long walk home to Constantine Road the elder and the youngerlady maintained an absolute silence. As soon as they got to the houseMrs. Steward turned to Elma for the first time and spoke.

  "Find out immediately if your mother is in. If she is tell her I wish tosee her. Go; don't stare at me."

  Elma went without a word. Her mother was in, and so was Carrie.

  "Mother," said Elma, "Aunt Charlotte wants to see you."

  "Why, my dear Elma, what is the matter? How queer you look!"

  "Don't mind about me, mother, pray; the expression of my face is notworth considering. Aunt Charlotte is waiting for you in thedining-room."

  Mrs. Lewis gave a profound sigh.

  "How very unreasonable of Charlotte!" she said; "she will doubtless beexpecting more tea and cream and fresh eggs, and other impossibilities."

  "Oh, go mother, and stop talking," said Elma.

  Mrs. Lewis dragged herself up from the sofa on which she was reclining.

  "I really don't know what the world is coming to," she said. "Even myown children are turning out quite disagreeable to me. Dear! dear! whatit is to be a mother! How little those who are fortunate in notpossessing children understand the burden!"

  She went, downstairs slowly, and Elma turned to Carrie.

  Carrie was standing with her back to her; she was making up something intissue-paper.

  "Well, Elma," she said, looking up at her sister, "what is up?"

  "Everything is up," said Elma.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Everything is up and everything is over. What are you doing with thatpaper, Carrie?"

  "I am folding up the money I have just got for Kitty Malone?"

  "The money you have got for Kitty Malone! Has--has Sam Raynes returnedthe sovereigns?"

  "Bless you, poor Sam can't do impossibilities. No; this money hasnothing whatever to do with Sam. I am folding it up, and giving her alittle account with it. We got exactly eleven pounds eleven shillingsfor the clothes and the watch and chain. She can redeem them all withina month if she likes. Here is the pawnbroker's receipt; tell her to keepit until she does. She can redeem them whenever she cares to pay backeleven pounds eleven shillings with interest. My commission at ten percent, is one pound three shillings and tenpence--that leaves a balanceof ten pounds seven shilling and twopence; it will doubtless get hernicely out of her difficulty. She ought to be thankful to me to herdying day. Look here, Elma, if you are worried about things--and I canguess what is the matter pretty well; for I happen to know that KittyMalone made a clean breast of your secret not long ago--you will be gladto get out of the house. Here, take this money to her, and be off, can'tyou?"

  Elma still did not speak. That cold, stunned feeling was pressing roundher heart. She did not much care whether she was in the house or not.Just at that moment, however, a loud slam of the front door caused boththe girls to run to the window. Mrs. Steward had sailed down the steps.Mrs. Steward with her long train streaming behind her, was walking upConstantine Road. The next instant Mrs. Lewis burst into the room.

  "Well, Elma," she cried, "this is a pretty state of things. Your aunthas told me everything. What a miserable woman I am!"

  "Please, don't scold me," said Elma. "I have had enough scolding duringthe last hour to last me my life. Say what you like to me to-morrow."

  "But your aunt says she washes her hands of you. How are you to beeducated? How are you to live? How are you to support yourself?"

  "I don't know. I don't think it much matters."

  "Don't talk in that silly way, Elma; of course it matters. She says toothat you are to be publicly exposed at Middleton School to-morrow, andyour conduct--I must say I could not make out what she was talkingabout; I don't see that you did anything very wrong--but your conduct isto be proclaimed to the school, and that you are to be, if not expelled,something like it. Elma, this is enough to take all my senses away!"

  "Never mind, now, mother; we can talk it all over presently," said Elma."Give me the money, Carrie, and let me go."

  Carrie handed her sister the little parcel without a word. Elma walkedslowly out of the room.

  A moment later she found herself on the dusty road. She reached the topof the ugly street, and then paused to look around her. To her right laythe peaceful valley in which Middleton School was situated. A littlefurther away was the open country, beautiful, verdant, full of summersplendor. Gwin Harley's house could be seen in the distance.

  "If only Gwin had been my friend this morning, all these terrible thingsneed not have happened," thought Elma. "I have nothing to thank Gwinfor; I have nothing to thank Kitty for. I am a miserable, forlorn,forsaken girl. There is nothing before me but the most wretched life.Shall I go to see Kitty? Does Kitty deserve anything at my hands? I havegot ten pounds seven shillings and twopence in my pocket. Why should Inot go right away with the money? I don't think Kitty would prosecuteme; and if she did would it matter? I am so hopeless that I don't thinkanything much worse could happen to me. I know I could not stand beingpublicly exposed to-morrow at the school. I cannot have those hundredsof eyes fixed on me; I, who have always been looked up to, respected,who belonged to the Tug-of-war Society. I cannot, cannot bear it. Whyshould Kitty have this money? She has treated me badly. She promisednot to tell. She had no right to break her word. I cannot see her atpresent; no, I cannot."

  Elma walked down the road. She longed beyond words to get into a freshplace, to be where there was no chance of meeting a Middleton girl. Shewalked faster and faster. Presently she found herself at the littlestation; she had not an idea where to go nor what to do. She had noluggage with her. It would look queer her going away without even ahandbag. It would look very much as if she were running away. All thegirls belonging to Middleton School had to wear a badge on their hats,and Elma would therefore be known. She would be recognized as one of thepupils. Nevertheless she thought she would risk it, for the longing togo away got stronger and stronger.

  The railway station happened to be rather empty at this time. She lookedaround her hastily, saw no one that she knew about, and went into thebooking-office. She hastily made up her mind to take a ticket for alarge seaport town a few miles distant. She asked for a third-classsingle ticket to Saltbury, inquired when the next train came up, and afew moments later found herself on the right platform waiting for it. Itcame in within a quarter of an hour, and Elma took her seat in athird-class compartment. She was relieved to find that she was in thecompany of a good-natured-looking, middle-aged woman who was justreturning to her own home from doing some marketing at Middleton. Shedid not take any notice of Elma, who crouched up in the opposite corner,and sat looking out at the country. The woman left the carriage at thenext station, and Elma continued her journey for the rest of the wayalone. She got to Saltbury within an hour, and stepped out on to theplatform. She had been at Saltbury before with her mother and Carrie.They had once spent a never-to-be-forgotten week there when Mrs. Lewishad a ten-pound note in her pocket which she resolved to devote to atreat at the seaside. Elma wondered if she might venture to go to thelittle cottage in the suburbs of Saltbury where she had spent this week.After reflection, however, she thought that it would not be wise toventure, for if she were missed it would be very easy to trace her toSaltbury, and then this cottage would be the first to seek for her in.Accordingly she went into the more thronged and populous part of thetown. The expensive season had not yet begun, and she presently wentinto a neat little house with "Apartments" written on a card in thewindow. She asked for a bed for the night. The landlady, a ruddy-facedyoung woman, immediately said she could accommodate her, and took Elmaupstairs to the top of the house to show her a neat little bedroom.

  "You can have this for half a crown a night, miss," she said. "Are youlikely to make a long stay?"

  "I don't know," answered Elma; "I can't be sure. I want the room for onenight, and then I'll let you know."

&
nbsp; "Very well, miss, that's quite satisfactory, and I can get in anythingyou like in the way of food. If you happened to wish for a sitting-room,miss--"

  "Oh, no, a bedroom will be enough," answered Elma. "I do not care to goto the expense of a sitting-room."

  "You left your luggage I suppose, miss, at the railway station?"

  Elma colored and then turned pale.

  "No," she said; "I have not brought any luggage with me."

  The woman stared, opening her eyes very wide, now giving Elma a full andparticular attention which she had not hitherto vouchsafed to her. Shesaid nothing further, and Elma went downstairs.

  "I'll go down to the beach for a little," she said. "You might have sometea ready for me when I come back. I am very tired, and should like sometea and toast."

  "And a hegg, miss, or anything of that sort?"

  "No, thank you; just tea and toast, please. Nothing more."

  The woman stared after her as she went down the street. Elma got as faras the beach; she then sat down on a bench and gazed out at the waves.The tide was coming in. The beach at Saltbury was celebrated, andchildren were playing about, amusing themselves gathering shells, makingsand-castles, and otherwise disporting themselves after the manner oftheir kind. A little boy was wading far out. Elma watched him withlack-luster eyes. She wondered vaguely how long he would be allowed towade, and how deep he might go. He got as far as his knees, and thenturned back. As he was going back he fell, wetting himself and cryingout lustily.

  Elma continued to gaze at him with eyes which scarcely saw.

  "He thinks he is hurt," she said to herself, "that he has had aterrible misfortune. How little he knows what real pain means, and whatreal misfortune is! Here am I with money in my pocket which does notbelong to me, having run away from home, disgraced for life, miserablefor life. Oh! what shall I do?"

  It had been a very hot day, but the evening was chilly, and Elmashivered as she went back to her lodgings in South Street. She hadbrought away no wraps with her, and her thin cotton dress was notsufficient to keep out the chill of the sea breezes. She thought shewould be glad to get under shelter, to go to bed, to wrap herself up andcover her face and court sleep. When she got to the door, however, theyoung landlady, who was evidently waiting for her, came out on to thesteps.

  "If you please, miss," she said, "I am really very sorry, but my husbandthinks----"

  "What?" said Elma.

  "That as you have no luggage, miss (you know it ain't customary for usto take in ladies without luggage)----"

  "Then you mean--" said Elma, turning very white and pale.

  "Yes, miss, I'm ever so sorry."

  "You can't give me the room even for one night?"

  "We can't really, miss."

  "But I can pay in advance," said Elma eagerly.

  "I'm ever so sorry, miss; but another lady came just as you left, andshe had a box and a handbag, and everything proper, and as she wantedthe room very badly and as we had her before, we have let it to her,miss. I am sure I am very sorry not to oblige; but I dare say--Thereare a great many other apartments down this road, miss."

  "Thank you," said Elma; "it does not matter at all."

  She spoke with a voice of ice; pride, a remnant of pride, came to heraid. She would not let the woman see how distressed she was.

  "Good-evening, miss," said the young landlady. "I'm real sorry not tooblige."

  "Oh, it doesn't matter," said Elma; "I dare say I can manage."

  She walked down South Street, knowing that the landlady was watching heras she disappeared. She soon came to a corner where four roads met.Where should she go? What could she do? Where was she to have shelterfor the night?

  It occurred to her that after all there was nothing now left to her butto return to Middleton. She hurried up to the railway station, and askedwhen the next train would start. A porter, who was standing just insidethe station informed her that the last train for Middleton had left fiveminutes ago.

  "The next will be at seven to-morrow morning," he said.

  "Thank you," answered Elma. She would not allow any of the dismay on herface to appear.

  "After all, it is too absurd that I can't have shelter," she said toherself, "when I have over ten pounds in my pocket. What can thelandlady have meant? Surely, if I pay my way that is all that isnecessary."

  But, all the same, she did not like to go and inquire at any otherlodging. She could not stand meeting once again the stony stare of alandlady when she explained that she had no luggage, none at all. Itoccurred to her that she might go into a shop and buy some night-gearand a small handbag, but she rejected the idea almost as quickly as itcame to her.

  "It would only waste the money," she said to herself, "and where is theuse? I suppose I can manage to spend the night somewhere. Thankgoodness, it is a fine summer's night; I might do worse than spend it inthe open air."

  She wandered away, and presently passing a small restaurant, went in andordered a cup of tea for herself, and some bread and butter. She drankthe tea, but found that to eat choked her. The outlook before her wasmore miserable moment by moment. She was driven to such despair that itseemed of very little consequence to her whether she succeeded ingetting away from Middleton School, from the censorious eyes of thewhole of her world, or not. Everything was up with her. She keptrepeating that moodily, drearily under her breath. Everything was up;she had not a friend in the wide, wide world.

  Having finished her meager meal, she went out again into South Street.She was horrified when she saw the name at one end of the street. Shedid not want to pass by that neat little house which contained that snuglittle bedroom where she had hoped to cover her eyes from the light, andcourt sleep, in order to get rid of her misery for a few hours.

  She had now reached the neighborhood of the shore. The tide was nearlyfull in; the great, broad expanse of beach was covered. The childrenhad all gone home to supper and to bed. The stars were coming out in thesky; a full moon was riding in majesty across the heavens. It seemed toElma, fine as the night was, that the sea moaned in an unreasonable andvery dreadful manner. She had to press her hands to her ears to shutaway the sound of that moaning sea. She determined to go inland. Therewas plenty of time, plenty. She could get back to the station by sevenin the morning, wait for the first train which returned to Middleton,and reach the school after all in time for her exposure.

  She turned her steps now countrywise, and after walking for a mile ortwo found that she was too weary to go any further. She crept inside anarrow opening in a hedge, and got into a field. Here she was absolutelyalone; not a human being was in sight. As far as she could tell therewas not a living creature near. She felt the grass; it was heavy withdew. She had always heard that it was very dangerous to sit down ongrass soaked with dew, but danger now was of no moment to her.

  "It would be rather nice to be ill; it would be rather nice to die." Shehad nothing left to live for. Her whole life had been a mistake. She hadtried hard to get away from her own set, the set in which she was born.She had made a mess of it; she had failed. Her own set--thenarrow-minded, the vulgar, the low--were the only ones who could claimher, who could touch her, who could have anything in common with her.How terribly shocked Miss Sherrard had been at what she had done. Howdisgusted, how coldly, terribly cruel Aunt Charlotte had been; but hermother had thought very little about it, and Carrie would love her justas much after her disgraceful conduct as she had done before.

  "I belong to them, and they belong to me," thought poor Elma. "Myambitions were wrong; I shall sink now, and become a second Carrie. No,I shall never marry a Sam Raynes, but I shall become a sour old maid.Perhaps I shall do charring some day, there is no saying. I did wrong totry to raise myself. I----"

  She never saw where her fault lay. She was not really repentant for herwrong-doing. The consequences were terrible, but the sin did not troubleher.

  After a time, terribly exhausted and weary, she lay down just as she wason the soaking wet grass and fell asleep. Sh
e had been chilled and tiredbefore she slept; but when in the very middle of the night she awoke shehad never known anything like the bitter cold which she experienced. Shecould not at first remember where she was; but all too soon memory witha flash returned to her. She remembered all the events of yesterday. Sheknew that she was a runaway, that she had stolen money in her pocket.She might be arrested and put in prison; there was no saying what awfulfate lay before her. In the dead of night lying there she became reallyfrightened; she almost felt as if she could scream aloud in her terror.How empty the world seemed, how hollow! She wished the stars overheadwould not blink at her; she wished the moon would go behind a cloud; shefelt as if God Himself was looking at her through the face of the moon,and she did not like it. She covered her face with her cold andtrembling hands, and tried to shut away what she felt might be the faceof God Himself.

  "I have been a very wicked girl," she moaned, and now, for the firsttime, she thought not so much of the consequences as of the sin. Tearsrained from her eyes; she sat up and covered her face.

  "God help me! Please, God, don't be too angry, with me; I am the mostmiserable girl in the world," she faltered.

  After that frightened cry or prayer she felt more comfortable; and now,staggering to her feet, she saw, standing about ten yards away, andlooking at her fixedly out of its large and luminous eyes, a brown cow.There were several more cows in the field, and this one had come up, andwas gazing inquiringly at her. The motherly creature could not imaginewhat desolate and queer young thing this was, up and awake in the middleof the night. Such creatures as Elma, in the cow's experience, were notto be seen at these inclement hours. It lashed its long tail slowly fromside to side, and kept gazing at her; and Elma looked at it, and hernervous terrors grew worse. The cow had horns; suppose it came near, andtried to horn her. She was not a country girl, and did not understandcountry creatures. A bitter cry of abject terror rose from her lips. Shedarted past the animal, rushed out by the way she had come into thefield, and found herself once more on the highroad.

  The cow, its curiosity very faintly tickled by the appearance of Elma onthe scene, placidly resumed its feeding, and the terrified girl ran asif she had wings to her feet up the highroad.

  In after days she was never able to tell how she spent the remainder ofthat night; but the longest hours only herald in the dawn, and at lastthe sun arose and the worst of her fears were over. The sun warmed her,and took away the dreadful feeling of chill which she was experiencing.She wandered about, sitting down now and then, too feeble, too tired,too utterly depressed to have room even for active fears, and at lastthe time came when she might again present herself at the station.