schoolgirls desired things sobadly as all this. Twenty pounds--it is nothing; it is yours for theasking. Here, I will give it to you now."
He put his hand into his pocket and took out four five-pound notes.
"Here," he said, "if this will make you happy and save your friend fromthe fate of being a village dressmaker, take it, and welcome."
"I don't know how to thank you," said Annie, trembling all over. "Oh!I don't know how."
"Don't thank me," he replied a little stiffly. "The thing is a merebagatelle."
"You shall have it back as soon as possible," said Annie.
"At your convenience," he replied. He still spoke stiffly.
She folded up the money and pushed the notes inside her gloves. Herwhole face had changed, and to John Saxon, who watched her, it had notchanged for the better. The pathos and entreaty had gone out of it. Itwas a hard little face once more; and again he noticed that want ofcandour and that inability to look any one straight in the face which hehad already observed in her eyes. He wondered uneasily if he had donewrong in lending her the money; but what was he to do? She must reallywant it, poor little thing! and after all, to Saxon, who was accustomedto great journeys taken at a moment's notice, and who had visitedAmerica and most of the habitable globe--although this was his firstvisit to England--a little trip to Paris meant less, than nothing.
"When do you propose to go?" he said to the girl when they presentlyrose to their feet.
"I should like to go to-morrow; in fact. I must if I am to meet Mabeland Lady Lushington."
"Then perhaps it would do if I broke the information to your uncleto-morrow morning?"
"Yes; that will do _quite_ beautifully. Oh! I don't really know how tothank you."
"Effect your worthy object, Annie, and I shall have obtained all thethanks I need," was the young man's reply.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
"IT RELATES TO YOUR NIECE ANNIE."
It seemed to Annie that she had got quite close to John Saxon when heand she sat together on that boulder overhanging the valley below. Butwhen they returned to the Rectory a barrier was once again erectedbetween them.
She had little or nothing to say to her cousin, and he had little ornothing to communicate to her. Mr Brooke was better. He was awake andinclined for company. Annie and Saxon both sat with him after supper.He asked Annie to sing for him. She had a sweet though commonplacevoice.
She sat down by the little, old piano, played hymn tunes, and sang twoor three of the best-known hymns. By-and-by Saxon took her place. Hehad a lovely tenor voice, and the difference between his singing andAnnie's was so marked that Mrs Shelf crept into the room to listen, andthe old clergyman sat gently moving his hand up and down to keep time tothe perfect rhythm and the exquisite, rich tones of the singer.
"Nearer, my God, to Thee," sang John Saxon.
Mr Brooke looked at Annie. Her head was bowed. Instinctively he putout his hand and laid it on her shoulder. "E'en though it be a crossthat raiseth me," sang the sweet voice.
"A cross that raiseth me," murmured old Mr Brooke. His hand rested alittle heavier on the slim young shoulder. Annie felt herselftrembling. Her worldly thoughts could not desert her even at thatsacred moment.
She had escaped a terrible danger, for even she, bad as she was, wouldnot jeopardise the life of the old man who loved her best in the world.All fear of that was over now, and she would win a delightful time inParis into the bargain. She was quite sure that John could manage heruncle.
The next morning the strange attack which had rendered Mr Brooke'scondition one of such anxiety had to all appearance? passed away. Hewas a little weak still, and his head a trifle dizzy; but he was able topotter about the garden leaning on John Saxon's arm.
Annie, who was anxious to go as soon as possible to Rashleigh, ran up toJohn for a minute.
"I have to ride to Rashleigh to get some things for Mrs Shelf," shesaid. "While I am away tell him--I know you will do it beautifully--tell him how necessary it is, and that I shall come back whenever hesends for me. Do it now, please; for you know that I must leave herethis afternoon."
Accordingly, while Annie was trotting on horseback in to Rashleigh withthat money which was to be exchanged for the necessary receipt fromDawson, Saxon broached the subject of Paris to the old man.
"There is a little matter, sir," he said, "which I should like to speakto you about."
"And what is that, John?"
"It relates to your niece Annie."
"Ah, dear child!" said the old man; "and what about her?"
"She seems to be in distress," continued Saxon. "Oh, please don'tworry, sir; her great anxiety is to prevent your worrying."
"Dear, dear child! So thoughtful of her," murmured the clergyman.
"You were rather bad, you know, yesterday, and she and I took a walktogether while you were having your sleep. It was then she confided tome that she has been invited to Paris."
"I know, John," said old Mr Brooke, turning and looking fixedly at theyoung man; "and I am the last to prevent her going; but, naturally, Iwant to know something about the woman who has invited her--a certainLady Lushington. I never heard her name before. Annie tells me thatLady Lushington's niece is her greatest school friend; and I feelassured that my Annie would not have a school friend who was not in allrespects worthy--that goes without saying; nevertheless, a young girlhas to be guarded. Don't you agree with me, John?"
"Certainly I do, sir. Still, if you will permit me to say so, Annieseems very sensible."
"She is wonderfully so; my Annie's little head is screwed the right wayon her shoulders--not a doubt whatever on that point. But the thing isthis. I can inquire of Mrs Lyttelton what she knows with regard to LadyLushington. If matters are favourable the child shall go. Can anythingbe more reasonable?"
"In one sense, sir, nothing can be more reasonable; but in another, yourmaking this condition forces poor Annie practically to give up herinvitation."
"Eh? How so? How so?"
"Well, you see, it is this way. If she cannot join Lady Lushington onTuesday evening--that is, to-morrow--she cannot join her at all, forthis lady is leaving Paris on the following day. Annie can either gowith her or not go with her. There is, therefore, you will perceive,sir, no time to communicate with Mrs Lyttelton."
"That is true," said Mr Brooke. "But why didn't Annie tell me soherself?"
"She couldn't bear to worry you. Poor child! she was put out very much,but she meant to give up her visit rather than worry you." Saxonwondered, as he was uttering the last words, if he were straining at thetruth. He continued now abruptly: "And that is not all. From what yourniece tells me, she goes, or hopes to go, to Paris for a very differentreason from mere selfish pleasure. There is a young friend of hers whomshe hopes most seriously to benefit by this visit. She will not tell mehow, but she assures me emphatically that it is so."
"Dear, dear!" said the old man. "Sweet of her! sweet of her! And youthink--you really think I ought to waive my objection and trust mychild?"
"She earnestly hopes that you will do so, sir--that you will permit herat least to go for a day or two, and then recall her if it isessential."
"Oh, I wouldn't do that; I wouldn't for a moment be so selfish."
"But she herself would wish to come back to you if you were reallyindisposed."
"I would not be so selfish, John--not for a moment. Yes, you haveopened my eyes; the dear child shall certainly go. It is adisappointment not to have her, but if we old folks cannot take a fewlittle crosses when we are so near the summit of the hill, and all thecrosses and all the difficulties are almost smoothed away, what are weworth, my dear young sir? Oh, I should be the last to stand in the wayof my dear little girl."
"On the other hand," said Saxon, "Annie would be extremely unworthy ifshe stayed away from you did you really need her. To go to Paris, totransact her necessary business, and then quickly to return is a verydifferent matter. And now, sir, don't let
us talk any more about it.Let me bring you back to your study, and let me fetch you a glass ofgood port wine." Saxon met Annie as she was returning with Dawson'sreceipt in her pocket.
"Good news!" he said, smiling at her. She felt herself turning pale.
"Oh, does he consent?"
"He does, and only as he could--right willingly and with all his heart.He is a man in ten thousand! I told him that you would not stay if hewere really ill I shall trust you, therefore, to come back as soon asever I send you word that it is necessary. Will you promise me that?"
"Of course, of course," she replied.
"Well, go to him now. Don't stay long. Remember that he is weak andwill feel the parting. He has said nothing about money; and as you havesufficient you had better not worry him for the present."
Annie's conference with her uncle was of short duration. He kissed hertwo or three times, but there were no tears in his eyes.
"You should have confided in me, Annie," he said once. "I am not anunreasonable man. I thought this was a pleasure visit; I did not knowthat my dear little girl had a noble and unselfish project at the backof everything. My Annie will herself know if Lady Lushington is thesort of woman I should like her to be with. If you find her as I shouldlike her to be found, stay with her, Annie, until I recall you. You seehow I trust you, my darling."
"You do, you do," answered the girl; "and I love you," she added, "as Inever loved you before."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
A TRAVELLING COMPANION.
Nothing interfered with Annie's arrangements. She left Rashleigh by thetrain by which she had always intended to go up to town. She took aroom at the Grosvenor Hotel for the night, spending what little time shehad in doing some necessary shopping.
Her intention was to write to Uncle Maurice for further funds on herarrival at the Grand Hotel. She would know there Lady Lushington'smovements, and could tell her uncle where to forward letters. There wasone thing, however, which brought rather a sting with it. There was amemory which she did not care to recall; that was the look on JohnSaxon's face when he bade her good-bye.
John Saxon had been her very good friend. He had helped her with fundsso that her wicked action with regard to Dawson's cheque would never nowbe discovered. He had also smoothed the way for her with her uncle.She had gone away from the Rectory with Uncle Maurice's blessingsounding in her ears; and although Mrs Shelf was decidedly chuff, andmuttered things under her breath, and declared resolutely that she hadno patience with gadabouts, and that there was a time for preserving,and not for preserving, and a time for nursing, and not for nursing; anda time for pleasuring, and not for pleasuring, these things made littleimpression on Annie; but John Saxon, who was silent and said nothing atall, made her feel uncomfortable. Just at the end he made a solitaryremark:
"Give us your address as soon as possible; for, if necessary, I willtelegraph for you. And now good-bye. I trust you will enjoy yourselfand--and--save your friend."
Then the train had whizzed out of sight. She no longer saw the uprightfigure and the manly face, and she no longer felt the disapproval in thevoice and the want of confidence in the eyes. But the memory of thesethings remained with her, and she wanted to shut them away.
The next morning she was in good time at Victoria Station. But what washer amazement to find standing on the same platform, and evidentlyintending to go to Dover by the same train, no less a person than herold schoolfellow, Priscilla Weir!
"You look surprised, Annie," said Priscilla. "Nevertheless, no less athing has happened than that I am going to Paris too. Lady Lushingtonhas invited me, and as she is good enough to pay all my expenses, youand I are travelling together. I had no time to let you know, or Iwould have done so. I hope you are pleased. But I don't suppose,"added Priscilla, "that it makes much difference whether you are pleasedor not."
"I don't suppose it does," answered Annie, who was secretly very muchannoyed. "Well, of course," she continued, "we had best travel in thesame carriage."
The girls found their seats, and after a time, when the bustle ofdeparture was over, Annie turned to Priscilla.
"How has this come about?" she asked.
"It was Mabel's doing;" said Priscilla--"Mabel's, and partly, I think,Mrs Lyttelton's. Mrs Lyttelton found it rather inconvenient to keep meat the school during the holidays, for a good many of the rooms are tobe redecorated. I couldn't go to Uncle Josiah; and I cannot tell youhow or why, but I had a long letter from Mabel, most jolly andaffectionate, asking me to join her aunt and herself, and telling methat you would be sure to be of the party. There was enclosed a letterfrom Lady Lushington, sending me a cheque; and although I scarcely carefor this sort of invitation, yet I have been forced to accept it. I amon my way now to share your fun. I can quite well believe that this isnot agreeable to you, but it really cannot be helped."
"Oh, agreeable or disagreeable, we must make the best of it," saidAnnie. "Of coarse," she added, "I am glad to have a companion. There'sno reason, Priscilla, why we should not be the best of friends. It didseem rather funny, at first, to think of you, of all people, joiningthis expedition. But if you are not sorry to be with me, I don't seewhy I should not be pleased to be with you."
"Were I to choose," said Priscilla, "I would much prefer not to beeither with you or Mabel. But that is neither here nor there. I havedone wrong; I am very unhappy. I suppose I shall go on doing wrong nowto the end of the chapter. But I don't want to bother you about it.Let us look out of the window and enjoy the scenery. I suppose that isthe correct thing to do."
Annie still felt a strong sense of irritation. How hard she had workedto get this pleasure for herself, and now, was Priscilla, of all people,to damp her joys? Whatever her faults, however, Annie Brooke wasoutwardly good-natured and essentially good-tempered. There are a greatmany people of this sort in the world. They are lacking in principleand sadly wanting in sincerity, but nevertheless they are pleasant to bewith. They show the sunny side of their character on most occasions,and in small matters are fairly unselfish and inclined to make the bestof things.
Annie now, after a brief time of reflection, made up her mind to makethe best of Priscilla. Priscilla was not to her taste. She was tooconscientious and, in Annie's opinion, far too narrow-minded.Nevertheless, they were outwardly very good friends, and must continueto act their parts. So on board the steamer she made herself pleasant,and useful also, to poor Priscilla, who felt the motion of the boatconsiderably, and had, in short, a bad time. Annie, who was neverseasick in her life, won golden opinions while on board for her goodnessand consideration to Priscilla; and when, finally, they were ensconcedin two comfortable seats _en route_ for Paris, her spirits rose high.She put aside all disagreeable memories and gave herself up toenjoyment.
"We shall have fun," she said. "We must make the very best of things;we must forget all school disagreeables."
"I only hope one thing," said Priscilla, dropping her voice to a lowtone, "and that is that the subject of the prize essay won't bementioned in my presence. You know how I acted with regard to it.Well, I have done the wicked deed, and want if possible, to forget it."
"But why should it be spoken about?"
"Surely," remarked Priscilla, "Lady Lushington is very likely to talk onthe subject. You know it was on account of Mabel winning the prize thatshe has been taken away from school."
"Oh yes," said Annie in an off-hand way; "but I could quite imagine,from what I have heard of Lady Lushington, that she will forget allabout the matter in an incredibly short space of time."
"I hope so," said Priscilla; "it will be all the better for me if shedoes."
"There is one thing you must remember, Priscie," said Annie; "if by anychance she alludes to it, you must keep up the deception."
Priscilla looked at Annie with very wide-open, grey eyes.
"I shall leave the room," she said; "I am not good at being deceitful."Then she added quickly, "There are times when I feel that I ca
n onlyrecover my self-respect by making a clean breast of everything."
"Oh!" said Annie, in some alarm, "you could not possibly do that; thinkwhat awful trouble you would get poor Mabel and me into."
"I know," said Priscilla; "and that is the one thing which keeps meback."
"If I might venture to make the remark," said Annie, "it is the onething which in honour _ought_ to keep you back. There is honour evenamongst thieves, you know," she added a little nervously.
"And that is what I am," said poor Priscilla. "I have practicallystolen my year's schooling; I have, like Esau, sold my birthright for amess of pottage. Oh! what shall I do?"
"Nothing," said Annie; "and please don't talk any more in thatparticularly intense way, for people will begin to stare at us."
Priscilla sank back in her seat. Her head was aching. Annie, on thecontrary, sat very upright, looking fresh, bright, and happy. After atime, however, something occurred which made her feel less comfortable.Priscilla bent towards her and said:
"By the way--I was almost forgetting, and she begged of me so hard notto do so--but will you return her book to Susan Martin?" Annie's facebecame crimson, then