can tell me if Mrs Willis is at home--but of course she is."
"No, sir," answered Hester; "I am sorry to tell you that Mrs Willis isaway. She has been called away on very, very sad business; she won'tcome back to-night."
Something in Hester's tone caused the stranger to look at herattentively; he jumped off the dog-cart and came to her side.
"See, here, Miss--"
"Thornton," put in Hester.
"Yes, Miss--Miss Thornton, perhaps you can manage for me as well as MrsWillis; after all I don't particularly want to see her. If you belongto Lavender House, you, of course, know my--I mean you have aschool-mate here, a little, pretty gipsy rogue called Forest--littleAnnie Forest. I want to see her--can you take me to her!"
"You are her father?" gasped Hester.
"Yes, my dear child, I am her father. Now you can take me to her atonce."
Hester covered her face.
"Oh, I cannot," she said--"I cannot take you to Annie. Oh, sir, if youknew all, you would feel inclined to kill me. Don't ask me aboutAnnie--don't, don't."
The stranger looked fairly nonplussed and not a little alarmed. Just atthis moment Nan's tiny fingers touched his hand.
"Me'll lake 'oo to my Annie," she said--"mine poor Annie. Annie's vedysick, but me'll take 'oo."
The tall, foreign-looking man lifted Nan into his arms.
"Sick, is she?" he answered. "Look here young lady," he added, turningto Hester, "whatever you have got to say, I am sure you will try and sayit; you will pity a father's anxiety and master your own feelings.Where _is_ my little girl?"
Hester hastily dried her tears.
"She is in a cottage near Oakley, sir."
"Indeed! Oakley is some miles from here?"
"And she is very ill."
"What of?"
"Fever; they--they fear she may die."
"Take me to her," said the stranger. "If she is ill and dying she wantsme. Take me to her at once. Here, jump on the dog-cart; and, littleone, you shall come too."
So furiously did Captain Forest drive that in a very little over anhour's time his panting horse stopped at a few steps from the cottage.He called to a boy to hold him, and, accompanied by Hester, and carryingNan in his arms, he stood on the threshold of Mrs Williams' humblelittle abode. Mr Everard was coming out.
"Hester," he said, "you here? I was coming for you."
"Oh, then she is worse?"
"She is conscious, and has asked for you. Yes, she is very, very ill."
"Mr Everard, this gentleman is Annie's father."
Mr Everard looked pityingly at Captain Forest.
"You have come back at a sad hour, sir," he said. "But no, it cannotharm her to see you. Come with me."
Captain Forest went first into the sick-room; Hester waited outside.She had the little kitchen to herself, for all the Williamses, with theexception of the good mother, had moved for the time being to otherquarters. Surely Mr Everard would come for her in a moment? SurelyCaptain Forest, who had gone into the sick-room with Nan in his arms,would quickly return? There was no sound. All was absolute quiet. Howsoon would Hester be summoned? Could she--could she bear to look atAnnie's dying face? Her agony drove her down on her knees.
"Oh, if you would only spare Annie!" she prayed to God. Then she wipedher eyes. This terrible suspense seemed more than she could bear.Suddenly the bedroom door was softly and silently opened, and MrEverard came out.
"She sleeps," he said; "there is a shadow of hope. Little Nan has doneit. Nan asked to lie down beside her and she said, `Poor Annie! poorAnnie!' and stroked her cheek; and in some way, I don't know how, thetwo have gone to sleep together. Annie did not even glance at herfather; she was quite taken up with Nan. You can come to the door andlook at her, Hester."
Hester did so. A time had been when she could scarcely have borne thatsight without a pang of jealousy; now she turned to Mr Everard:
"I--I could even give her the heart of little Nan to keep her here," shemurmured.
CHAPTER FIFTY ONE.
THE PRIZE ESSAY.
Annie did not die. The fever passed away in that long and refreshingsleep, while Nan's cool hand lay against her cheek. She came slowly,slowly back to life--to a fresh, a new, and a glad life. Hester, frombeing her enemy, was now her dearest and warmest friend. Her father wasat home again, and she could no longer think or speak of herself aslonely or sad. She recovered, and in future days reigned as a greaterfavourite than ever at Lavender House. It is only fair to say thatTiger never went back to the gipsies, but devoted himself first andforemost to Annie, and then to the Captain, who pronounced him a capitaldog, and when he heard his story vowed he never would part with him.
Owing to Annie's illness, and to all the trouble and confusion whichimmediately ensued, Mrs Willis did not give away her prizes at theusual time; but when her scholars once more assembled at Lavender Houseshe astonished several of them by a few words.
"My dears," she said, standing in her accustomed place at the head ofthe long school-room, "I intend now, before our first day of lessonsbegins, to distribute those prizes which would have been yours, underordinary circumstances, on the twenty-first of June. The prizes will bedistributed during the afternoon recess: but here, and now, I wish tosay something about--and also to give away--the prize for Englishcomposition. Six essays, all written with more or less care, have beengiven to me to inspect. There are reasons which we need not now go intowhich made it impossible to me to say anything in favour of a themecalled `The River,' written by my late pupil, Miss Russell: but I cancordially praise a very nice historical sketch of Marie Antoinette, thework of Hester Thornton. Mary Price has also written a study whichpleases me much, as it shows thought and even a little originality. Theremainder of the six essays simply reach an ordinary average. You willbe surprised therefore, my dears, to learn that I do not award the prizeto any of these themes, but rather to a seventh composition, which wasput into my hands yesterday by Miss Danesbury. It is crude andunfinished, and doubtless but for her recent illness would have receivedmany corrections: but these few pages, which are called `A LonelyChild,' drew tears from my eyes; crude as they are, they have the meritof real originality. They are too morbid to read to you, girls, and Isincerely trust and pray the young writer may never pen anything so sadagain. Such as they are, however, they rank first in the order ofmerit, and the prize is hers. Annie, my dear, come forward."
Annie left her seat, and, amid the cheers of her companions, went up toMrs Willis, who placed a locket, attached to a slender gold chain,round her neck; the locket contained a miniature of the head-mistress'smuch-loved face.
"After all, think of our Annie Forest turning out clever, as well asbeing the prettiest and dearest girl in the school I exclaimed severalor her companions."
"Only I do wish," added one, "that Mrs Willis had let us see the essay.Annie, treasure, come here; tell us what the `Lonely Child' was about."
"I don't remember," answered Annie. "I don't know what loneliness meansnow, so how can I describe it?"
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The End.
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