Meg's Friend: A Story for Girls

  CHAPTER XIII.

  THE OLD GENTLEMAN AGAIN.

  Meg listened to the thump, thump of the little crutch going off into thedusk, and to the sound of merry whistling, and she turned to pursue herway. The thought of that small lad with his crooked leg and his greatcourage roused her spirit. No obstacle now appeared too great toovercome, no road too long to walk in order to achieve her object; andshe trudged bravely along.

  She was very hungry. Her feet were beginning to ache again; but she wasnot going to stop yet; nothing would induce her to do this; so long asshe could hold out she would walk. She would then look out for a properresting-place in which to spend the night, and set off on her journey inthe early morning. She tried to distract her mind by weighing the meritsof sleeping up in a tree, or down on the ground, or in a haystack; buther thoughts would fix themselves upon nothing but upon something to eatand drink. She passed a village where all the cottagers seemed to be attheir supper. Meg trudged valorously along, neither looking to right orleft. Still she debated whether the time had come for breaking into thatthreepenny-piece. She looked at the matter all round. It stood betweenher and starvation. Until she reached Mrs. Browne's house she hadnothing else to count upon.

  Was she hungry enough yet? Had supper-time come? A whiff of the perfumeof buns and hot loaves from a wayside shop decided the question. Shefelt weak and limp from longing for food, and she went in. There weretumblers of milk on the counter. A halfpennyworth of milk and apennyworth of bread must make up her meal. The remaining penny andhalfpenny must be left to pay for her breakfast to-morrow. She drank themilk in the shop, and she ate the bread in the open air, sitting on acommon outside the village among great ferns. Meg thought she had nevertasted bread so delicious as this. She felt as if she would like tosleep here among the crisp ferns; but she got up, resolved to walk allthe way to London if the daylight would but last.

  The fingerpost pointed down a road bordered on either side by pinetrees. It ran through a wood. The west glowed before her, and the treesmarshaled darkly against the light. The birds flew twittering acrossthe sky, and all the insects seemed to be singing good-night to the day.The straight road seemed to stretch like a white ribbon before Meg. Itwas very lonely. She did not like the solitude; but she would not admitto herself that she was frightened. Yet an awe was creeping over her.The trees seemed supremely dignified. She felt very small andinsignificant as she walked under their silence.

  After awhile she heard a sound. It was a distant rumble. She lookedround. A cart was coming along. It was filled with hay. Meg thought howpleasant it would be to creep within, tuck herself inside the hay, andsleep while the plodding horse bore her on to her destination. Sheloitered and waited until the cart passed, and then went right out intothe road; but at the sight of the large, red-faced man, whose chin wasresting on his chest and whose eyes were closed, Meg went quickly backinto the path. The rumble of the cart died away, and again nothing washeard but the twitter of birds and the drone of the insects. Presentlyshe heard a voice spreading in song through the dusk. It sang loud anddiscordantly. In Meg's childish experiences songs sung in such tones hada place; she gave a fierce little shiver, and hid behind the trees. Shewas naturally fearless; but she remained quiet as a little ghost untilthe figure, with unsteady gait, had passed. Then Meg resumed her waydeterminedly.

  All at once she began to realize how tired she was. It seemed as if shehad lost all her strength. She must lie down. In the faint light andsilence, amid the calm trees, she must lie down and rest.

  How quiet and still it was, as if all nature were bidding Meg trust toits protection and sleep till morning.

  She looked around. There were no hayricks, but there were clumps of fernand soft sand covered thickly with the brown needles of pine. Then againMeg thought she heard the rumble of wheels, distant like wheels heard ina dream, not jolting wheels, but soft swift-rolling wheels. A carriagedrawn by two horses was driving down the road toward London. Megdreamily remembered how once she had driven in just such a beautifulcarriage by Mr. Fullbloom's side; how easily they had traveled. In herweariness came a longing to be taken up into this carriage and to bedriven along. She stood looking in its direction. It came nearer. It wasan open carriage; a man was sitting inside it alone. She discerned thegleam of white hair on which the western light fell. Then she becameaware of a stern face thrust forward, looking out at her. She had seenthat face before. Where had she seen it? She dreamily remembered. It wasthat of the old gentleman who had bidden her never mention herchildhood.

  At a word from him the carriage stopped, and he beckoned to Meg. Shehesitated to come forward; she felt inclined to run away. There was avague motive in that impulse of flight. It partook of all the past alarmand misery, and she felt very much as if she stood on the brink of aprecipice. The old gentleman beckoned again impatiently, and a grotesqueidea flitted through Meg's mind that she must have lain under that tree,gone to sleep, and had a dream. The carriage, the horses, the servants,the dreaded old gentleman, were all a vision that would pass if she madean effort. She shut her eyes. When she opened them there was the figurestill bending forward.

  It beckoned to her. "Come here!" said a voice; but Meg did not move.

  "Drive on!" exclaimed the impatient voice, and the carriage moved off.

  A sudden revulsion of terror seized Meg as she watched it driving away.She roused herself and began to run.

  Again the figure stooped forward--beckoned to her as the carriagestopped.

  Meg approached.

  "Are you not Meg--Meg Beecham?" the old gentleman said in a voice ofstern surprise.

  "Yes, sir," Meg answered faintly. There was a pause; the cold blue eyesrested heavily upon her as they had done that day, and their gazesuggested dislike.

  "Come inside. I do not hear you," her interlocutor said, opening thecarriage door. He did not stretch his hand out to help her; and Megscrambled up, and at his bidding sat down on the seat opposite.

  "Why are you here at this hour and alone? Why is your dress and yourwhole appearance so soiled and tattered? Have you strayed from yourteachers? Have you lost your way?"

  "No, sir," answered Meg.

  "No, what?" repeated the old gentleman. "I do not understand youranswer."

  "I have not lost my way," said Meg.

  "Then where are the persons in whose charge you are? Where are yourschoolfellows?"

  "They are not here. I did not go out with them," said Meg, and pausedagain.

  Her dauntlessness was quelled by fatigue, and by the chill weight ofthese eyes fixed upon her.

  "Will you answer me plainly? Why are you here, and why are you alone?"

  "I have run away," said Meg with a flicker of her old spirit.

  "Run away from school?" asked the old gentleman in an icy voice.

  Meg nodded.

  There was an awful pause.

  "Why have you run away?"

  "Because," said Meg, "they despise me--they say I shame the school.That's why I've run away."

  "You say you have not lost your way," replied the old gentleman, takingno heed of her answer. "Where were you going to?"

  "To London."

  "To London!" repeated her interlocutor. "What would you have donethere?"

  "I would have gone to Mrs. Browne. I would have asked my way until Ifound her house."

  There came a pause, during which the old gentleman looked at her andmuttered himself.

  Meg thought she heard him say, "Like parent, like child. The same evildisposition." Then lifting his voice, he called to the coachman, "Driveto Greyling; when you get there ask the way to Moorhouse, Miss Reeves'school for young ladies."

  "No, no! I will not go back!--I will not!" cried Meg, jumping to herfeet as the carriage began to turn round.

  "You shall go back," said the old gentleman, pushing her down in theseat opposite and holding her there.

  The carriage moved swiftly, and so noiselessly that Meg heard every wordher companion said.

  "You shall go
back this time; but if ever you seek to run away from thatschool again, no one will take you back again. You shall be left toachieve your own willful ruin. I will wash my hands of you forever.

  "Listen," he continued, with upraised finger, as Meg, awed by hismanner, did not reply. "Do you know what will happen if you try toescape from that school again? You will become a pauper. You will haveto beg by the roadside. You will sink lower and lower, until you getinto the workhouse."

  "No!" cried Meg, with a flash of confidence. "Mrs. Browne will take mein."

  "Mrs. Browne has left that house. It is occupied by strangers who do notknow you, who would shut its doors upon you."

  "Gone!" repeated Meg, aghast. "Where is she gone to?"

  "You will never know," said the stranger. Then after a moment heresumed: "If I had not been driving down that road this evening youwould have begun your downward course already. Remember what I say toyou. If you try to escape again you will become a little casual. Aruffianly porter will let you in and order you about, you will be putinto a dirty bath, obliged to wear clothes other beggars have wornbefore you."

  "No, no! It can't be--it won't be!" cried Meg.

  "Who will prevent it?" said the old gentleman.

  "Mr. Standish. He is my friend--he shall prevent it! I will write tohim--he will fetch me away!" cried Meg incoherently, with a despairingsense of the futility of her assertions.

  "Where will you write to him?" asked the stranger sharply. "Listen,child. You do not deserve that I should trouble myself on your account,and it seems as if you did not care to deserve that I should. There wasone whom I loved who proved base and ungrateful. I left him to hisfate."

  He paused. Meg had not understood this mysterious speech. Her blood grewcold. After a moment the stranger resumed: "I do not doubt this Mr.Standish showed you much kindness, and I will not blame you because youare grateful to him; but from the moment you left your former life Mr.Standish passed out of it. He does not know where you are. He never willknow. You do not know where he is. I do not know it; I could tell younothing about him. Dismiss him from your thoughts." He made a gesture asif, with his uplifted hand, he were tearing the tie between her and thatfriend of her childhood. "Remember you owe duty and gratitude to anothernow. Be silent!"

  "Oh, I want to know where he is--I want to know!" cried Meg, breakingagain into incoherent appeal.

  The old gentleman did not reply. He sat there silent, his face growingdimmer as the evening deepened. Suddenly Meg realized the desolationthat had overtaken her, and throwing herself forward with her face pronedown upon the cushions, she burst into weeping, with speechless sobs.

  The stranger made no effort to comfort her. When the paroxysm of weepinghad spent itself Meg turned her head, and saw that the night had come.The stars were out in the sky. By their light she dimly discerned theold gentleman's face. She thought that he was looking at her, then shesaw that he lay back with his eyes closed, as if asleep.

  She did not move. A hope and an assurance which had hitherto filled herheart had gone out of her life, and she lay there an atom of despairlost in a void of desolation. The carriage drove noiselessly on. She wasvaguely aware of the still freshness of the night spreading about her.She knew when the carriage stopped, and when lights flashed, andfamiliar voices, speaking excitedly, sounded near. Still she did notstir.

  She confusedly heard the old gentleman ask for Miss Reeves, and thislady reply. She recognized Miss Grantley's accents angrily asserting sheought not to be taken back. Then again she knew the stranger requestedthat she should be put to bed and given some food, while he had aprivate talk with the head-mistress.

  Meg felt herself taken out; she recognized that she was in Rachel'sarms. She was carried upstairs and undressed. She made no resistance,except to refuse the food Rachel pressed upon her.

  At last she lay in bed and in the dark, communing and wrestling withher soul--living the troublous day over again. Sometimes thinkingthat she was once more struggling up that dusty highway; that she wasfalling and stumbling along; drifting away and then coming back tohalf-consciousness; and then dreamily hearing the thump, thump ofcrutches coming toward her, and catching a glimpse of a bright, boldface looking at her.

  As she lay there oppressed by the weariness and bewilderment of thatfeverish time, a thirst for comfort rose in her little heart. Shevaguely heard the rumble of carriage-wheels driving away, and she knewthe old gentleman was gone.

  In her sadness and longing for solace Meg was dropping off to sleep,when suddenly and softly she felt a kiss alight upon her forehead. Shedid not stir or question; she was too exhausted to wonder or to fear.After the day's fever and alarm she could not quail or wonder any more.

  She fancied she heard light steps leave the room; but that kiss hadbrought the solace she yearned for, and she fell asleep.