A Modern Tomboy by L. T. Meade (e book reader pc txt) 📕

the sitting-rooms. She closed the door behind them and bolted it.

"Why do you do that?" he said.

"Because I am not sure of things. I want to take you into my confidence, and I don't want any one to hear."

"Well, Miss Cunliffe, you must be brief."

"First of all, may I ask you what you think of little Agnes? Is she in danger?"

"Undoubtedly she is in danger."

"Is she so much in danger that she is likely to die?"

"Unless she gets better soon, unless the strange pressure on her brain is removed, she will die," said the doctor. "The shock has been much more severe than any one could have believed possible, even from such an ugly thing occurring. But, be that as it may, she is in extreme danger of her life."

"Thank you," said Rosamund.

"Then you don't want to say anything more?"

"I don't think I do."

"I will come in again to-night. The child's case is interesting. She is a dear little creature."

The doctor went away, and Rosamund entered the schoolroom. The girls were trying to perform their usual tasks. Irene was bending over a history-book. There was such a sadness now pervading the house, such a necessary stillness, that all life seemed to have gone out of it. The wintry weather continued, and it was as gloomy outside as in. Miss Archer was in vain explaining a rather interesting point in English history, to which no one was attending much, when Rosamund entered the room. All the girls seemed to feel that she had news.

She had. She marched up to the top of the room and stood there. Irene only raised her head; but Lucy, who was pale and had black shadows under her eyes, and Phyllis Flower, who had certainly looked far from well for the last fortnight, glanced at her with considerable interest.

"I have something to say," said Rosamund.

There was a dead silence for a moment; then Miss Archer said, "I am giving my history lecture, my dear."

"You will postpone it, for life—human life—is more precious than facts in old history," said Rosamund.

"Certainly, my dear," said Miss Archer in quite a meek voice; and she sat down and prepared to listen with as much interest as the others.

"It is this," said Rosamund. "Little Agnes Frost—I have just seen the doctor—is most dangerously ill." Phyllis Flower gave a gasp. "I won't go into the particulars of her illness; but the doctor says that unless a certain load of terror can be immediately removed from her mind she will die. Yes, she will die. Now, girls, it is quite plain to me, as it is doubtless to all of you, that a most cruel practical joke was played on little Agnes. Some people can stand practical jokes; some people cannot. But those who are cruel enough to exercise them upon little children are really too contemptible even to be spoken about. I wish this girl or that girl joy who knows that she may be the cause of the death of so sweet a child as Agnes Frost."

Irene lifted a face of agony. She struggled to speak, but no words came.

"You most of you think," continued Rosamund, who had watched Irene, and saw the look on her face, "that my friend Irene Ashleigh is the guilty person; but I am quite as certain as I am standing here that she is not. I have watched Irene for some time; and although she did all kinds of naughty things—very naughty things—months ago, she has abstained from anything of the kind for some time. In short, I believe her to be innocent, and I am going to ask her a direct question to that effect. Now, I shall believe her word, for with all her sins she never told a lie yet. Irene, were you the cause of Agnes Frost's terrible shock?"

"I was not," said Irene stoutly. She stood up as she spoke, and Rosamund went up and took her hand.

"Then some one else has done it. I believe Irene's word."

"And so do I," said Laura Everett.

"And so do I," said Annie Millar.

"And I also," exclaimed Agnes Sparkes.

But Phyllis Flower and Lucy Merriman were silent.

"Phyllis, what is your opinion?" said Rosamund suddenly. "Don't hesitate now. If you or any one else in this school has been tempted to commit a dastardly and wicked deed, don't let the thought that you may have caused a child to die rest on your conscience for all your days. You will be miserable. Had you or had you not anything to do with the fright which little Agnes received?"

"Oh!" said Phyllis; and she suddenly left her seat and fell on her knees. She covered her face with her hands; she swayed backwards and forwards. "Oh, I know—I know! I can't help myself. I did it."

"You did it—you?" said Rosamund sternly.

"Phyllis!" cried Lucy.

"Phyllis, you must speak up. The child's life is at stake. You must speak out and tell the truth."

"Then I will," said Lucy in a defiant tone. "I didn't know you were such a coward, Phyllis."

"Yes, I was a coward," said Phyllis. "I will tell my part of it. I did want a week in London, and I was tempted, and I put the hedgehog into Agnes's bed."

"You yourself did that? You did that yourself—alone?"

"That is all I am going to tell."

"Then I will tell the rest," exclaimed Lucy. "I made her do it. I was jealous of you, Rosamund, and I always hated you, and I was even more jealous of that horrid Irene and her love for Agnes. I only thought that I would punish her and you by taking Agnes away from her, and I think I have succeeded; but I never thought it would make Agnes ill. I am very, very, very sorry for that;" and, to the surprise of everybody, Lucy, the proud, the haughty, the reserved, burst into tears.

No one took much notice of her tears, for all eyes were fixed on Irene and the strange look which was filling her face. After a pause she went straight up to Lucy and took her hand.

"Lucy, will you come with me upstairs?"

"What do you want me to do?" said Lucy, in great astonishment.

"I want you to come with me, that is all."

"But why?"

"If you are at all sorry, will you come? There isn't a minute to lose."

"Yes, go with her—go for heaven's sake!" said Rosamund; and Lucy found herself going.

They went up the softly carpeted stairs and down the silent corridor, and then the two girls paused before a door which was partly ajar. The room was darkened, and Miss Frost was sitting by a little bed, and a little voice kept on crying suddenly, "Oh, there never was any Irene, there never was any Irene, and I loved her so! I loved her so! But she was a fairy, and the fairies took her back again, and—and—oh, I want to die! I want to die!"

The little hot hands were stretched outside the bedclothes, the beautiful dark eyes were open wide, and just at that moment Irene, very pale, still holding Lucy's hand, entered the room. Miss Frost stood up in speechless horror.

"Do sit down again, Miss Frost," said Irene; and she went straight up to little Agnes, who, to the astonishment of every one, no longer shrank from her, but, on the contrary, allowed her to hold one of her hands. Irene then turned to Lucy.

"Lucy," she said, "speak the truth now this minute, and I will forgive you."

"It was I who did it," said Lucy. "Go to sleep, and forget all about it. Irene isn't a changeling at all, and she never had anything to do with the fairies. I was jealous because you loved her and only her, and I wanted you to hate her, and I got Phyllis Flower to help me, and we put the hedgehog into your bed; but we didn't guess—we couldn't guess—that it would make you so ill."

Little Agnes looked with wide eyes at the speaker.

"Go away now," said Irene. "I think she understands. You go away also, Frosty. Please, please go!"

Miss Frost and Lucy found themselves impelled to leave the room, while Irene lay down on the bed beside the little girl, and taking both her hands, held them fast and whispered softly in the little ear:

"I am no changeling, but your own Irene, and I would rather die than injure one hair of your head. Come close, darling; come close. It wasn't I, but another, and I am no changeling."

"Oh, my own Irene! My own, own Irene!" whispered the little voice; and then it grew fainter, and there came a smile on the tiny face, and in a few minutes' time the tired bright eyes closed, and the child slept.

When the doctor came that evening little Agnes was still sleeping, and Irene was still holding her hands. The fever was going down moment by moment. The doctor came in and said "Hush!" and whispered to Irene that she must on no account stir. She must be close to little Agnes, when she woke, and he himself would stay in the room, for the child would be very weak; but doubtless the fever would have left her. He was much puzzled to account for the change; but Rosamund was the one to enlighten him. She just told him that some very mischievous girls had played a trick, but she mentioned no names. For Lucy seemed really broken-hearted; and as to Phyllis Flower, she had cried so hard that her eyes were scarcely visible.

About midnight little Agnes woke in her right mind. She saw Irene, and lifting a tiny white hand, she stroked her cheek.

"I have had a very bad dream; but I don't seem to remember anything," she said.

"Only that you are with me," said Irene; "and you will be with me all my life—won't you, little darling?"

By slow degrees little Agnes got well, and when she was well enough she and Irene and Rosamund left the school; and from that day, as far as I can tell, Irene has been a changed character: thoughtful though spirited, beautiful, talented, but with much consideration for others, and the comfort and joy of her mother's heart. But the one she loves best on earth is the one whom she calls her own little Agnes.

THE END.

Other books by A. L. BURT COMPANY Marjorie Dean College Series BY PAULINE LESTER. Author of the Famous Marjorie Dean High School Series.

Those who have read the Marjorie Dean High School Series will be eager to read this new series, as Marjorie Dean continues to be the heroine in these stories.

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