it?" said Annie. "Why do you follow me?"
"I want you to go at once to fetch the doctor. I have ordered Dobbin tobe saddled, and Billy will bring him round to the front door for you.Do rush upstairs and put on your riding-habit. Be quick, child; bequick."
Annie flew upstairs. The village of Rashleigh was between three andfour miles away, for the old parish was a very extensive one, and theRectory happened to be situated a long way from the village.
Annie had just sprung into the saddle, and was arranging her habitpreparatory to riding to Rashleigh, when Mrs Shelf came out.
"Take this to the butcher's, Annie," she said, handing the girl aletter, "and be sure you get a receipt from him. Ask him to give youwhat I have ordered on this piece of paper, and bring it back with you."
"All right," said Annie carelessly. She started on her ride. When shehad gone a very short way she dropped the reins on the old pony's neckand began to think. She had never for a single moment expected theobstacle which now stood between her and her desires. She had thoughtthat she could easily get round Uncle Maurice, but she had not reallyanalysed his character. He was unselfish of the unselfish--that sheknew; but she had failed to remember that he was a man who was alwaysactuated by the very highest religious principles. He was, in short,unworldly. To do right meant far more with him than to be great andgrand and rich and powerful. All those things which to Annie meant lifeand happiness were less than nothing to Uncle Maurice. Lady Lushingtonmight be the richest and the grandest woman on earth, but if she was notalso a good woman nothing would induce him to entrust one so precious asAnnie to her care. The rector would make his inquiries; nothing thatAnnie could do would stop him. Even supposing the result werefavourable--which Annie rather doubted, for she knew quite well thatLady Lushington was a most worldly woman--the plans made for her by thegreat lady in Paris could not be carried out. It was already too lateto post a letter to Mrs Lyttelton that day; even if she were still atLyttelton School, she could not get it before Sunday morning, and herreply, under the most favourable circumstances, could not reach thelittle old Welsh Rectory until Tuesday morning. But in all probabilityMr Brooke's letter would have to follow Mrs Lyttelton, who had doubtlesslong before now left Hendon. Mrs Lyttelton's answer would, therefore,be late, and when it came it would most likely not be what Anniedesired. Whatever happened, Mrs Lyttelton would tell the truth; she wasthe sort of woman who never shirked her duties.
At the best, therefore, Annie could not reach the Grand Hotel in Parisby Tuesday night, and at the worst she could not go at all. Was she,who had sinned so deeply in order to obtain her heart's desire, to bebalked of everything at the eleventh hour? Was Priscilla to have thingsto her liking? Was Mabel to have a great and royal time? And was Annieto be left alone--all alone--in the hideous Rectory, with one stupidwoman to talk to her about preserves and pickles, and one stupid oldman? Oh, well, he was not quite that; he was a dear old uncle, butnevertheless he _was_ rather prosy, and she was young; she could notendure her life at the Rectory. Something must be done.
She was thinking these thoughts when she suddenly saw advancing to meether a gig which contained no less a person than Dr Brett.
"Oh doctor!" cried the girl, riding up to him, "will you please call atthe Rectory? How lucky it is that I should have met you! I was goingto Rashleigh to leave you a message."
"Welcome back from school, Miss Annie," said Dr Brett, a stout, elderlyman with a florid face. "Is anything wrong, my dear?" he added.
"I don't think that there is; but Uncle Maurice is fanciful, and MrsShelf more so. Will you just look in and give uncle something to puthim right?"
"Of course I will go at once. But, my dear Miss Annie, you are mistakenwhen you call the rector fanciful; I never knew any one less so. I haveoften told him that he overworks, and that he ought to be careful. Itis in the head that the mischief lies; and he is an old man, my dearMiss Annie, and has led a strenuous life. I am glad that you met me; itwill save time."
The doctor drove away, and Annie's first intention was to turn herpony's steps back again in the direction of Rashleigh Rectory, but asshe was about to do so her hand came in contact with the letteraddressed to Dawson the butcher. She might as well take it on; anythingwas better than dawdling away her time at the dull Rectory. Then, too,she could post her letter herself to Mabel, adding something to it so asto assure her friend that the question of joining her was onlypostponed. Besides--but this was an afterthought--there were somethings wanted at Dawson's. Annie again touched the letter, and as shedid so her eyes rested on the signature. It was in her uncle'swell-known hand. She was to give this letter to Dawson, and he was togive her a receipt. A receipt meant that he was to acknowledge somemoney.
Annie's heart gave a sudden leap. Was it possible that there was moneyin the letter? She felt the crimson colour rushing to her cheeks; asuffocating feeling just for a minute visited her heart. Then, urgingthe pony forward, she rode as fast as she could in the direction ofRashleigh.
CHAPTER TWELVE.
HER GREAT SIN.
No one would have supposed that Annie Brooke, brought up so carefully bysuch an uncle as the Rev Maurice Brooke, would so easily yield to onetemptation after another. But it is one of the most surprising and truethings in life that it is the first wrong-doing that counts. It is overthe first wrong action that we struggle and hesitate. We shrink awaythen from the edge of the abyss, and if we do yield to temptation ourconsciences speak loudly.
But conscience is of so delicate a fibre, so sensitive an organisation,that if she is neglected her voice grows feeble. She ceases to reproachwhen reproach is useless, and so each fall, be it great or little, isfelt less than the last.
A few months ago, even in her young life, Annie would not have believedit possible that she could have brought herself to open her uncle'sletter. Nevertheless, a mile out of Rashleigh she did so. Within theletter lay a cheque. It was an open cheque, payable to bearer andsigned by the rector. The cheque was for twenty pounds. A bill of thebutcher's lay within. This bill amounted to twenty pounds. The rector,therefore, was sending Dawson, the well-known village butcher, a chequefor twenty pounds to pay the yearly account. It was the fashion atRashleigh for the principal trades-people to be paid once a year. Thistwenty pounds, therefore, stood for the supply of meat of various sortswhich was used at the Rectory during the year.
Twenty pounds! Annie looked at it. Her eyes shone. "Take this, andyou are all right," whispered a voice. "With this you can easily getoff to London, and from there to Paris. All you want is money. Well,here is money. You must write to your uncle when you get to Paris, andconfess to him then. He will forgive you. He will be shocked; but hewill forgive you. Of course he will."
Annie considered the whole position. "I have done a lot ofuncomfortable things," she thought. "I managed that affair of theessays, and I used poor Susan Martin's poems for my purpose; and--and--Ihave got Mabel into no end of a scrape; it is my duty to see poor Mabelthrough. This thing is horrid! I know it is. I hate myself for doingit; but, after all, the money has been thrown in my way. Twenty pounds!I can buy some little articles of dress, too. Dawson will cash thisfor me; oh, of course he will. It does seem as if I were meant to doit; it is the only way out. Uncle Maurice is terrible when he takes, asit were, the bit between his teeth. Yes, I must do it; yes, I will. Itis the only, only way."
Before Annie and her pony had gone another quarter of a mile Dawson'sbill had been torn into hundreds of tiny fragments, which floated awayon the summer breeze, and the open cheque in the old rector'shandwriting, with his signature at the bottom and his name endorsing itbehind, was folded carefully up in Annie's purse.
It was a pretty-looking girl--for excitement always added to Annie'scharms--who rode at last into the little village. She went straight toDawson's, sprang off her pony, and entered the shop.
Old Dawson, who had known her from her babyhood, welcomed her back witheffusion.
&n
bsp; "Dear me, now, miss," he said, "I am that glad to see you! How I wishmy missis was in! Why, you have grown into quite a young lady, MissAnnie."
"Of course," replied Annie, "I am grown up, although I am not leavingschool just yet. Please, Mr Dawson, I want you to give me--"
She took a piece of paper from her pocket and laid it on the counter.The man glanced at Mrs Shelf's orders, and desiring a foreman to attendto them, returned to talk to Annie.
"And please," continued the girl, her heart now jumping into her mouth,"uncle would be so much obliged if you could cash this for him."
Dawson glanced at the cheque.
"Of course, miss," he said. "How will you have it?"
"In gold, please," said Annie.
"I can give you fifteen pounds in gold, miss. Will you take the rest ina five-pound note?"
Annie agreed. Two or three minutes later, with her little parcel ofmeat put into a basket for her, and twenty pounds in her pocket, she wasriding towards the post-office.
There she dismounted, and asking for a sheet of the best note-paper,wrote a line to Lady Lushington. It ran as follows:
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Dear Lady Lushington,--Thank you ever so much for your most kindinvitation, which I take pleasure in accepting. My uncle is so gladthat you have asked me, and I thank you now in his name as well as myown. I shall be in Paris on Tuesday night, so will you kindly send yourmaid, as you suggest, to meet me at the railway station? Please give mylove to Mabel.--Yours very sincerely and gratefully, Annie Brooke."
When the letter was finished it was put into a separate envelope fromthe one which had already been written to Mabel, and then the two wereaddressed and stamped and dropped by Annie's own hand into the box ofthe village post-office. How excited she felt, and how triumphant!Yes--oh yes--she had surmounted every difficulty now, for long beforeher theft with regard to the cheque had been discovered she would haveleft the country. She could be agreeable now to every one. She couldsmile at her neighbours; she could talk to the village children; and,above all things, she could and would be very, very nice to UncleMaurice.
When she arrived back at the Rectory such a rosy-faced, bright-eyed,pretty-looking girl walked into Mrs Shelf's presence that that goodwoman hardly knew her. The sulky, disagreeable, selfish Annie of thatmorning had vanished, and a girl who was only too anxious to do what shecould for every one appeared in her place.
"I met Dr Brett, Mrs Shelf--wasn't it a piece of luck?--and sent him onto see Uncle Maurice. Has he been, Mrs Shelf?"
"Oh yes, my dear, he has; and I am glad to tell you he thinks that yourdear uncle, with care and quiet, will soon be himself again. The doctorthinks a great lot of your being here, Annie, and says that your companywill do your uncle more good than anything else in the world. He wantscheering up, he says, and to have his mind distracted from all hisparish work. I know you will do what you can--won't you?"
"Of course I shall," said Annie. "And here are the things from thebutcher's," she added.
"It was very thoughtful of you, Annie, to ride on to Rashleigh," saidMrs Shelf. "I did want these sweetbreads. I mean to make a verydelicate little stew out of them for your uncle's dinner. The doctorsays that he wants a lot of building up. He is an old man, my dear, andif we are not very precious of him, and careful of him, we sha'n't keephim long. There are few of his like in this world, Annie, and it willbe a sad day for many when the Lord calls him."
"Oh, but that won't be for years and years," said Annie, who dislikedthis sort of talk immensely. "Well," she added, "I will go and sit withuncle now for a bit, and will make his tea for him presently; I knowjust how he likes it."
"Do, my dear. You know where his favourite cups and saucers are, and Iam baking some special tea-cakes in the oven; and you can boil thekettle yourself, can't you, Annie? for I shall be as busy as a beelooking after Peggie and the churning. That wench would try any one;she hasn't a bit of head on her shoulders. And, by the way, Annie, whatabout the receipt? You paid Dawson, didn't you?"
Annie was leaving the kitchen. She turned her head slightly. "Dawsonwill send the receipt," she said. "To tell you the truth, I was in sucha hurry to get back that I didn't wait for it."
"Well, my dear," said Mrs Shelf, "that is all right; I expect it willarrive on Monday. The cart won't be here before then, for we've got ourweek's supply of meat in. It came this morning."
"Splendid," thought Annie. "By Monday I shall be away."
She almost skipped into her uncle's study. The old man was betteralready. He was lying back in his chair, and was reading a paper whichhad come by the afternoon's post.
"Ah, here you are, my love!" he said.
"Here I am, uncle. I am so glad I met Dr Brett; he has made you betteralready."
"He has, child; he always does me good." Annie drew a chair forward,and pushed her hair back from her forehead. The impatient look had lefther face. It looked tranquil and at its best.
"By the way, child," said Mr Brooke, "you will want me to write thatletter for you."
"You must not worry about it now, really, uncle," said Annie, laying herhand on his.
"It will do quite well to-morrow--quite well," she added. "You knowthat whatever your Annie is, she would do nothing to make you worse."
"My dear little girl," said the old man, deeply affected by what heconsidered such thoughtfulness, "you may be sure that all my thoughtswith regard to you are prompted by real love for you. I don't pretendthat I have not looked forward very much indeed to these holidays.Nevertheless, I cannot forget that I am old, my love, and you are young.The young must have their day, dear, and the pleasure of the old is towatch them enjoying it. While you were out I have been thinking over mylittle money matters, and I think I can quite manage to give you a fewextra pounds over and above your fare to Paris--a ten-pound note,perhaps, to buy some pretty little articles of dress."
"Thank you so much, uncle," said Annie, speaking in her sweetest tone.
"But my dear child, this will depend altogether on what Mrs Lytteltonsays. But I expect the best, dear; for all her girls are nice, and yousay that Miss Lushington is your special friend."
"My very greatest," said Annie--"a sweet girl--a poetess!"
"Indeed, Annie? She shows gifts at this early age? How veryinteresting! I am always impressed by young efforts; I like toencourage them. You have not by chance any of her little effusions byyou?"
Now Annie had brought poor Susan Martin's manuscript book with her tothe Rectory. She thought for a minute. Would it be safe to show theseverses to the Rector? After a minute she said:
"I think I have. I will look in my trunk after tea."
"Do, my love; I shall be much interested. I used to indulge in verseswhen I was young myself, dear. Ah, those far-off days! And I had mydreams of greatness too. We all have our little ambitions when we areyoung. I wonder what yours are, my little Annie."
"Oh, I don't want to be clever at all," said Annie; "I just want to havea good time--and to make you happy," she added as an afterthought,putting out her small hand and laying it on his.
"Bless you, my darling--bless you! You are the sunshine of my life.Yes--thank God, I am much better this afternoon; that horrid feeling inmy head has passed away. It gives me anxiety now and then, but only onyour account, my child. As far as I am concerned, I am ready andwaiting--only waiting to obey. I have had my warning--most old peoplehave, dear; but for your sake I would live a little."
"Of course you will live for many, many years longer, Uncle Maurice,"said Annie, rising and kissing him. "And now you are not going to bedismal, or to talk horrid things about--about dying. I am going to giveyou your tea; you always love the tea that Annie makes for you."
She flitted out of the room. She was the gayest of the gay during therest of that evening. She chatted, and laughed, and made herselfpleasant to every one; and when Uncle Maurice went to bed, feeling
almost quite well again, he thanked God on his knees for having givenhim so bonny a creature as Annie to be the light and joy of his old age.
Meanwhile Annie herself, seated by her open window, with the moonlightfalling full upon her, was counting her money--that money which she hadstolen from the faithful and affectionate old man. She put it in rowsbefore her on the table. Fifteen beautiful, bright golden sovereigns;and there was also a five-pound note! The note looked a little dirtyand as though it had passed through many hands.
Annie sat by the window and made her plans. Whether her consciencewould prick her by-and-by remained to be proved; but on the presentoccasion it was quite tired out, stupefied by all those things whichmiserable Annie had done to try it. She felt, therefore, quite at herease, and made her arrangements with care.
It would not do for her to arrive in Paris before the appointed evening.She had, therefore, the whole of to-morrow to spend at the Rectory, andalso the whole of Sunday. Monday, too, might be spent there; and shewould have done this but for the fact that the butcher's cart called onMonday morning, and that Mrs Shelf would notice the absence of Dawson'sreceipt. At first, of course, she would not be greatly surprised, andwould content herself with writing him a note demanding it. It might bepossible, however, that she would go to Rashleigh to see him. In greatastonishment, he would ask many questions of Mrs Shelf, and