Maureen took no notice of Henny's words, but said something in a low tone to Dominic. The boy and girl between them spoke to the waiter, and made up for the damage inflicted.
"Thou and I will walk quietly home together, Henrietta," said Dinah.
"I don't want to; I want to walk with Dom," said the girl.
"Thou wilt walk with me; Dominic and Maureen, precede us, please. I have words to say to this young maid."
The moment the boy and girl, Maureen and Dominic, found themselves alone, to Maureen's surprise, Dominic lagged back and said a word to Dinah. She raised her delicate arched brows in pain and astonishment, then nodded her head and walked quickly to Felicity with Henrietta.
"Where are you going, Dominic?" said Maureen.
"That horrid scald and burn must be attended to," said the boy. "I am going to take you immediately to Dr. Halsted to have them both dressed."
"They do smart a little," said Maureen, "but the worst pain is over. Oh, Dom, dearest, don't let us make a fuss now. I am so anxious to get back to Felicity."
"But I am not anxious to take you back," said Dominic. "Come along, little mate, come along. This is Dr. Halsted's house."
Maureen really did feel sick and faint. The doctor by great good luck happened to be at home. He immediately dressed the wounded hand and arm and inquired how the accident could have occurred.
"It was my clumsiness," said Maureen. "I don't know how it happened, but I must have caught my foot in the tablecloth. Oh, what's the matter? Oh, Dominic, don't look at me like that!"
"May my cousin lie on your sofa for a few minutes," said Dom, "and I will explain matters to you."
"Ah yes, that is really nice," said Maureen in a grateful tone. "But be quick, Dom, be quick. I feel that I am wanted back at Felicity."
The doctor and the lad left the room; the girl closed her tired eyes gratefully.
"The wound is very trivial," said Dr. Halsted, when he got Dominic into another room, "but I should have thought——"
"You wonder how it happened," interrupted Dominic. "Well, forgive me, I'll tell you. We're Irish folks, sir, and Maureen is about the most precious thing my father and I possess. I brought her here by Mrs. Faithful's request, and you know what she has done for that horrid girl, Daisy Mostyn."
"As my patient, I cannot call her a horrid girl," said the doctor with his grave smile, "but your cousin, as far as I can see, has saved her life. I have just returned from Felicity, and the news with regard to Daisy Mostyn is of the very best."
"There is another girl at the school," said Dominic, "sister to Daisy. That little angel, Maureen, after wearing herself out trying to save the life of one sister, did her best for the other. The other is not ill, except indeed in soul, so she need not come under your professional sympathies, Dr. Halsted. My cousin, Maureen, suggested that she and I should take Henrietta to the hotel where I am staying and give her tea there just by way of a change. You may well suppose that I felt rather sick, for I honestly detest Henrietta Mostyn. However, my good sir, she was all agog to come. She was not a bit anxious about her sister. She had been put by Mrs. Faithful under the care of a nice gentle Quakeress named Dinah."
"I know her well," said the doctor; "she is an admirable person."
"Well," continued Dominic, "luckily, as it happened, Dinah insisted on coming with us. Henrietta was in her usual uproarious spirits—most horridly unsuitable. Upon my word, sir, I felt half sick. Then, what do you think? In the middle of the entertainment she jumped up and contrived, without dear little Maureen noticing it, to sweep a part of the tablecloth round Maureen's feet and legs. I was watching and saw the whole thing and would have prevented Maureen getting up until I disentangled the cloth, but she was too quick for me. There was a little brass urn on the table with a spirit-lamp, and the moment Maureen rose, everything tumbled off—the china and such like were smashed, and she, in her efforts to put out the spirit lamp, was badly burnt and scalded. Now, do you think, sir, that Felicity is a fit place for my cousin?"
"Hmm!" said the doctor. "She is badly wanted there. Upon my word, that is an ugly story you have told me, Mr.——"
"My name is Dominic O'Brien," said the lad.
"Well, you had better talk to her, young sir. Felicity is a curious place, and curious characters are found there from time to time. These characters belong, not to the insane, but to the uncontrolled of the earth. As a rule, and I have attended at the school for many years, my dear friend, Mrs. Faithful, has, by her admirable system, managed to reclaim these naughty girls, and they have left Felicity with their characters altered, and their chance of doing good work in the world assured."
"Thank you," said Dominic. He shook hands with the doctor, who, finding out where he was staying, invited him to come in and have a chat with him that evening. This the boy gratefully accepted. He then whistled for Maureen, who came to him looking very pale, but much as usual.
"Lean on me, acushla machree," said the young lad.
They went in the direction of the school together.
"What in the world were you talking to Dr. Halsted about?" she asked.
"I was telling him how you got that burn."
"But, darling Dom, that was through my awkwardness. I can't imagine how I twisted the table-cloth round my feet."
"You didn't twist it round, aroon, bless your dear little heart. It was the act of that fiery one. I watched her when she was pretending to kiss you. She did it very quickly and cleverly, and I was just about to prevent your rising when you were too quick for me. Oh, dear little Maureen, I can't leave you at Felicity, I can't."
Maureen's clear brown eyes were raised to her cousin's face, "But indeed and truly you can, Dominic, for my work is at Felicity, and even you, and even Uncle Pat, shall not, must not keep me back from my work."
"It's hopeless," said the lad, "quite hopeless. Oh, Maureen darling, even you cannot do the impossible."
"But I can, and I will," was the reply. "I mean that I shall stay at Felicity for the present. I am glad you have explained to me about poor Henrietta. I pity her so much."
"She doesn't deserve a scrap of pity," said the boy.
"Now, Dom, you are not going to put on that horrible cloak of hatred. Oh, Dom, it is so fearful! Once, once I wore it tightly round me for some days, and I shall never forget it—never! Oh, the agony that was in my breast! Of course, Dom, you know the old, old story of the Wind and the Sun. There was a traveller, who was mounting up into the high hills and the wind and the sun had a great quarrel about him and they swore a sort of oath that they'd tear his cloak from him. 'I'll do it,' said the Wind. 'You won't succeed,' replied the Sun; and the traveller, knowing nothing about this, walked up, his cloak around him. Then the Wind came out in a mighty, mighty rage, rushed at him, and tore him and did all that Wind and Tempest could to get rid of his cloak. But the harder the Wind blew and the sharper it stung, the closer did the traveller fold his cloak round him. Then the Sun came out in a great golden beam, and said, 'You have had fair play, Wind, and I haven't interfered. Now, give me a chance.' So the Wind very sulkily died down, and the Sun poured his hot rays over the traveller, and lo, and behold! the traveller first loosened his cloak, and then cast it off and left it behind him on the mountain path. It was the awful Cloak of Hatred. And, Dom, dear Dom, that was what happened to me until the beautiful Sun of God's Love made me cast my cloak of hatred away; and never again, Dominic, will it come back."
"Well, at any rate," said Dom, "you can't prevent my staying at the Rose and Honeysuckle for a day or so longer."
"Oh no, I should quite love to have you."
As the children approached the house, they saw to their surprise Mrs. Faithful and Nurse Annie standing on the doorstep. They both of them looked distracted.
"Oh, Maureen, where have you been?" said Mrs. Faithful; "that poor little Daisy is worse than ever. Neither of the nurses can manage her in the very least. She is crying out for the angel—the white angel. Oh, my dear, dear child, how bad you look! Has anything happened? But I can't wait to hear now. Dinah returned some time ago with Henrietta, and Henrietta looked terribly cross. But run to your room at once, my darling, and get into a clean white frock. Nurse Annie will help you, and then you can go to poor Daisy. We have sent for the doctor, but you are the best doctor of all."
"I won't be a minute—I'll fly," said Maureen.
She dashed up to her room, and with Nurse Annie's aid very soon looked fresh and neat and tidy. Her long soft brown hair fell over her shoulders.
"I am sorry that you have to go back to her," said Nurse Annie, "for you look just fit to drop, but you are the only one who can manage her. Those two poor nurses are in despair. When she woke and found you were not seated by her bedside, she began to cry out for you in the most piteous way. 'I want the White Angel,' she said. You could not be found—you were out—and her temperature, which had gone down so marvellously, has gone up again higher than ever. Oh, I say, Miss Maureen, how have you hurt your hand and arm?"
"My hand and arm were scalded through an accident," said Maureen. "They hurt a little, but nothing to signify. I am quite ready to go to her now."
"Bless you, sweet child, but that dear little hand ought to be in a sling."
"No, no," said Maureen, "she wouldn't like that. It only smarts a trifle."
A minute or two later Maureen was seated by the sick girl's bed. There was a curious, but very perceptible, change in Daisy. She had looked ill in the morning, but now there was a wild excitement about her, and those cheeks, generally so pale, were rosy red with the fire of fever.
"Ah," she said with a sigh of intense relief. "White Angel, you have come back."
"Yes, little Daisy."
"Hold my hand. Soothe me. Let me rest against you."
Maureen immediately put her uninjured hand in Daisy's.
"I want both your darling hands; one isn't enough."
"The other—hurts a little, Daisy, and I—I'm afraid I cannot give it to you."
"Oh, but I must have it," said Daisy, and she gave a fierce grab.
Maureen restrained a scream of pain, then, stifling all emotion by means of a heroism worthy of her nature, she laid both the wounded and the whole hand on Daisy's.
"I'm not going to die, am I?" asked Daisy.
"Not if I can keep you alive, dear, but—Daisy, it is very beautiful in Heaven."
"You live there, don't you?"
"In spirit, yes," replied Maureen.
"Talk about it," said Daisy. "Keep on talking. Do they let naughty girls in?"
"Yes, undoubtedly; those who repent."
"But I—I have been shocking bad," replied Daisy, "and even now there is a girl whom I hate—hate—hate!"
"I know the girl you mean," said Maureen. "Once I hated her myself."
"Did you really! I didn't think angels could hate."
"Well, I hated her."
"Poor thing! It must have been awful when you hated her."
"It was very had for me. I don't hate her or anybody now. The other thing is so much nicer."
"What other thing, White Angel?"
"Why, of course, Love—beautiful, golden Love. Suppose you and I begin to try that glorious thing."
"I'm very weak," said Daisy, "and hot, hot, oh, so hot. Do you think, White Angel, they would let me in at the Golden Gates, if I cease to hate her, the monster they call Maureen?"
"I think so. I'll ask the good Lord about it. You are too weak to pray. Lean on me."
"Oh, I will—I will! It's easy to love you, White Angel. Promise me one thing, please. You won't leave me any more forever! You won't let me go to sleep and then slip away."
"If I do go away, I'll come back very soon. But I'm going to stay with you now."
The whole weight of Daisy's little wasted body was flung across Maureen's wounded hand and arm. Maureen was suffering such tortures that she wondered she didn't faint, but her very pain kept her from this.
Dr. Halsted in a great hurry entered the room. Daisy screamed when she saw him.
"Go away! Go away! I've got a White Angel curing me. Get out of this, you old horror. Oh, hurrah, hurrah! Wherever is Henny? Not that I care. I have got the White Angel; she's worth ten thousand Hennies. Wasn't it fun when I dropped all the laudanum into the mash, and the horse had such beautiful eyes. He gobbled and gobbled and I—I stirred and stirred. I don't seem to remember much else. I think I'm drowsy. Don't you touch me, you horror. The White Angel is my doctor. She is telling me about a place called Heaven."
"My dear child," said Dr. Halsted. He did not address the sick girl, but Maureen. "She is lying on your wounded arm! Let me arrange you more comfortably."
"Don't touch her. I'll kill you if you do!" shrieked Daisy, and then she went off into a dead faint.
During that faint the doctor and the nurses were able to release Maureen from her torments, but she absolutely refused to leave Daisy's side.
"I have promised to stay with her," said Maureen. "When she comes to again, she will want me. Oh, Dr. Halsted, is she very ill?"
"Yes, child, this is a most serious and unlooked-for relapse. I will put you at this side of her, so that she can lean against the hand and arm that are not injured. Nurses, a word with you both."
All during that night, that long and yet short night, Maureen retained her seat by Daisy's bedside, but although the poor girl quickly got over her swoon, she did not recover consciousness.
She mumbled and muttered and tossed and talked of White Angels and of her own special White Angel, whom she loved as she had never loved anyone before.
The doctor stayed in the house all night, and so, for that matter, did Dominic, and the nurses supported Maureen with food and necessary stimulants.
As the morning broke, and the first rays of a golden day streamed in at one of the windows, Daisy opened her eyes wide and looked steadfastly and long at Maureen.
"Why—why," she said. "Stoop close to me. You are not an angel. I know you now. You are Maureen, and I love you. I love-you-better-than-anyone-else-in-the-whole-world."
With these words, uttered under great difficulty, and with long pauses between, the queer little spirit of Daisy Mostyn seemed to pass into a world where even she could be properly trained.
"Stoop close to me.... You are Maureen, and I love
you."—Page 288.
Maureen lay down in the Chamber of Peace and slept for long hours. It was very nearly noon on the following day when she awoke. She was quite refreshed, quite calm and very happy.
"Dear little Daisy," she murmured under her breath. Mrs. Faithful herself brought the girl a most carefully prepared breakfast.
"You ought to stay in bed, darling," she said. "You have gone through too much. Dominic and I both wish it."
"I stay in bed?" said Maureen, with one of her radiant smiles. "But I'm perfectly well, and I've got to attend to Henrietta now."
"Oh, my child, that poor, poor girl. Do you know, Maureen, that we have not dared to tell her."
"I am glad," said Maureen, after a pause. "I will tell her myself in my own way. Will you, dear Mrs. Faithful, ask Dom to collect heaps and heaps of white flowers—all the daisies and white wild flowers he can find and have them ready for me in a basket?"
"Yes, dearest, yes."
"I want to make her look beautiful before Henrietta sees her," continued Maureen. "Have you locked the door of that room?"
"Yes, dear; girls are not accustomed to the sight of death."
"Will you give me the key, please?"
Mrs. Faithful found herself obeying this extraordinary child without a word. She not only gave her the key, but took Maureen's message to Dominic.
When Maureen had finished her breakfast, she washed in the delicious hot bath which adjoined her bedroom and dressed herself in the purest white Indian muslin. It clung in soft folds to her slim young figure. Then, as she left the room, she encountered Dominic, who was waiting for her in the corridor outside. He had a basket under his arm filled with all sorts of white flowers.
Maureen hastily produced wire and a thimble, needle, scissors and thread, then she and Dominic went in the direction of the Infirmary.
"I've never seen anyone dead, you know," said Dominic, pausing for an instant before that shut door.
"You never loved her in life, Dom, but you will love her now," said Maureen. "She is far, far above us all now. In the moment of death that evil spirit which so tormented her passed away forever, and the Spirit of Love came instead, and God sent one of his most beautiful Angels and took her home, poor little Daisy!"
"Maureen, how queerly you speak."
"Come and see for yourself," said Maureen. "The last thing she said before she left us was, 'I love you, Maureen, better than anyone else in the whole world.'"
"Did she really?" said Dominic.
"Now, come and see," continued Maureen.
She unlocked the door, and the boy and girl entered the Infirmary. All the windows were wide open. There was a sweet gentle air blowing through the long room. A white sheet covered the head and slight figure of the girl.
Maureen gently removed the white sheet, and they both saw a tiny face, a face which had never once been beautiful in life, but now looked lovely. There was a faint smile on the lips. Daisy looked something like a lily flower, broken at the stem.
Maureen bent and kissed her.
"Good-morning, darling," she said. "Now, Dom, be quick, be quick. She is very cold, but I think somehow her spirit hears. Don't you know those words of Mrs. Barbauld's,
"Now, Dom, let us cover her with flowers. Flowers everywhere—flowers round her little head—flowers in her cold, wee hands—flowers scattered about her. We'll make wreaths presently, you and I, but that is enough for the present. Oh, she looks at last what she was meant to be. How, I must go to Henrietta."
Dom and his cousin left the Infirmary; Maureen put the key into her pocket. For one minute she knelt down in the Chamber of Peace and prayed very earnestly, then she went slowly with a shining light in her eyes to Dinah's room. She had forgotten about her scalded and burnt hand and arm; she forgot everything but the task which lay before her. She entered the room with a confident step and that beautiful light shining in her eyes; Dinah, who of course knew, but had not told Henrietta, was trying to occupy that young lady with some bead work.
Henrietta said the beads were dull in colour; she only liked bright things. The moment she saw Maureen she scowled and said, "Get away, brat!"
Henrietta, alas, was again placed in the punishment chair. Maureen looked at her with infinite sadness.
"Get away; why don't you go?" she continued. "Dinah, me honey, take care of thy money; oh, Dinah, do let's get on with these beads."
"No," said Dinah, "I will not."
"Why not?" said Henrietta in amazement; "what ails thee, sweet maid?"
"Naught ever ails me," replied Dinah. "The peace of God which passes all understanding dwells in my heart. I know no sorrow; I feel no fear."
"Thou art very goody-goody," said Henrietta. "Now that this scamp has come, can we not play Puss-in-the-corner? That will be jolly good sport."
"Thou wilt stay where thou art," said Dinah. "Maureen, sit here."
She placed a little chair not far from Henny. Maureen sat down, but only for a minute, then she rose and said in a voice which was arresting and compelling so that even the wild girl who was tied in the chair noticed it, "I have something to tell you."
"What a bother," said Henrietta; "is it about Daisy? Is she well enough to come and see me? I heard yesterday that she was fine. Catch anything doing Daisy much harm; but however did you get all your hand and arm bandaged up? Was she scratching you? It was like her, little witch."
"No," replied Maureen. "It was you who did that, Henrietta, when you twisted the tablecloth round my legs. I got both scalded and burnt by the little brass urn and the spirit lamp."
"I told thee so," interrupted Dinah.
"But it is nothing," said Maureen, "nothing at all! I do not feel it indeed, Henrietta."
"There now, I said it was nothing," said Henrietta.
"But I want to tell you about Daisy."
"Yes, how is the imp?"
"Quite well. I have come to take you to her."
"I thought she couldn't do without me long. I am the only one she ever loved, poor little bit, poor bitteen. If she's quite well, she might come to me, but it would be more fun going to her."
"Wilt thou go quietly and reverently," interrupted Dinah, "otherwise I will not undo thy cords."
"Why, what is the matter?" said Henrietta. "She, the brat, says she is quite well."
"Even so," replied Dinah; "but I must get thy answer."
"Oh, I'll be good," said Henrietta; "I'll have lashins and lavins to say to her. Poor little snippet; but what puzzles me is to know why I should go reverently, and you both look queer, very queer. Is my Dysy really well?"
"She is, most assuredly, quite well, Henrietta."
"I will be good, then, and go to her. I have lots and lots to say to her."
Dinah immediately slipped the cords, which fastened the rebellious girl into the chair. She looked with emphasis at Maureen, but Maureen would not meet her eyes.
As soon as ever Henrietta was free, Maureen took her hand. "Come," she said.
Dinah hesitated for a moment, and then resolved to follow them. They went out of Dinah's room, Henrietta talking rapidly and loudly, Maureen very still and calm.
At last they reached the door of the Infirmary. Maureen took the key out of her pocket.
"What's the matter with you, Maureen?" said Henrietta, a little puzzled at last. "You don't look somehow natural. Oh, and there is that old Dinah following us. I shall have no fun unless I'm alone with my Daisy. Is it true that she is really well?"
"Yes, darling."
"Darling! You call me darling?"
"There are two ways of getting well," said Maureen. "Little Daisy has chosen the better way. Come at once. See how beautiful she is."
"Daisy beautiful! You must be joking."
Dinah took up her position outside the door. The two girls entered.
"Henny," said Maureen suddenly, "I'm afraid you will get something of a shock, for you will see your poor little sister as God meant her to be. The Evil Spirit has left her, and the very last thing she said was, 'I love you, Maureen; I love you!' Now, look for yourself at her dear little face."
Quickly and deftly Maureen lifted the sheet and showed the dead girl covered with flowers.
Henrietta was indeed startled at last. She gave a great ringing, piercing cry, "Why, this is never my Daisy," she said.
"Yes, yours, and mine, and God's!"
"Is she—is she really dead?" said Henrietta. "I wouldn't know her. She's awfully pretty, little snippet; but why does she smile? Is she glad of her death? And her eyes are tight shut and her freckles are gone, and she looks very, very white, and her hair is as fuzzy-wuzzy as mine. Oh, it's all a joke you are playing on me! Daisy! I say, Daisy! Wake up, wake up! See, snippet, we've a lot to do. Wake up, flower, wake up! Here, I don't often kiss, but I'll kiss you."
Henrietta bent and kissed the cold brow. She had never seen Death; she had never felt the cold chill of Death. She gave one exceeding bitter cry.
"Oh, Maureen, Maureen," she said, "save me! Save me!"
She clung to Maureen in frantic terror. At that moment Dinah entered the room.
"Dinah, look at her! She's dead!"
"Yea, dear heart," replied Dinah, "the good Lord took her from the evil to come. She passed into His arms, breathing out her great and exceeding love for Maureen O'Brien."
"Then I—I will love Maureen, too," said Henrietta. "Maureen, may I? May I?"
"I want you to," said Maureen. "I love you. I will be your sister. I will be your friend. Dinah, dear Dinah, may I take Henrietta into the Chamber of Peace?"
"Yes, thee mayst, wonderful child. Thee mayst do it for one whole hour, and when she comes back to me, I will be exceeding gentle with her."
But just at that moment the strangest of all strange things happened; for little white Daisy—whom all supposed to be dead, to have passed from this earth forever and ever—opened wide her eyes, those eyes rendered wide and big from illness and suffering, and they saw a sight she was never, never to forget. No less a sight than her own Maureen—her own most blessed White Angel, supporting Henny in her arms; and—wonder of all wonders—Henny was kissing her and crying and saying, "As she loved you, poor snippet, why I do declare I just love you, too. Yes, Maureen. Yes, Maureen—I love—love you, too. But look, Maureen! Oh! look—oh! look—look! My Daisy is not dead at all!"
Then what a startling—what an amazing commotion took place—for Dinah would not be Dinah if she did not know what to do. She took the overwrought and excited Henrietta out of the room, and brought Nurse Annie on the scene; and then Dr. Halsted was summoned, and the nurses came back once more, and Daisy slept, but no longer the sleep of death, but the healing sleep of returning life, her thin, little hand clasped in that of the White, White Angel.
Yes, just when even Dr. Halsted thought she was dead, she recovered, slowly, but also surely; and afterwards, when her weak voice could utter the words, she whispered to Maureen, "I was in a deep, deep dream, and a heavy and yet most restful sleep; but through the dream and the sleep I heard poor Henny crying, and the White, White Angel comforting her, so I had to come back to her, and to my very own Maureen, my own Maureen."
Thus were great relief and infinite joy experienced at Felicity; and not only did Daisy recover, but Henny clung to Maureen, sleeping with her night after night in a little bed in the Chamber of Peace, and assuring her of the greatness of her own love. "Why, she means me to take care of you, poor snippet—and of course I will. You may be certain on that point."
Daisy got better, but Maureen really was ill for a time. Then Mr. O'Brien, who was terribly anxious about his darling, suggested that she should now leave the school and come with him and Dominic abroad. But Maureen said, "I'll go nowhere without Henny and Daisy, and I think they are best here for the present. If Daisy continues to improve, Dom can come and take us all out to you for the Christmas holidays. Dom will be able to leave Rugby for the purpose."
This suggestion was finally adopted, and strange as it may seem, Henrietta's and Daisy's characters were so much altered that even Dom did not know them. All their dislike to Maureen was now turned to passionate love. Daisy had grown very gentle, but Henny was still wild.
"Why, she means me to take care of you, you poor snippet," said Henrietta. "If she loves you, little dot, I am bound to do it. My word! I should think so, poor little lone thing that you are. But you'll have your Henny and Daisy in the future to comfort you."
Maureen in her heart of hearts found Henny's constant and violent embraces extremely trying, but she bore them with angelic patience, and she and Henrietta slept together in the Chamber of Peace.
Dinah was their constant attendant, and the school resumed its accustomed work. Miss Pinchin was, however, requested not to return. Mrs. Faithful, who was a rich woman, secured to her a pension for the rest of her days, and in future, under the influence of Maureen, she treated even the naughtiest of the new girls in a different fashion.
Thus passed the first few months after Maureen's arrival. Henny had got a great shock and was much improved; but she was a mass of ignorance and required ordinary teaching. For Maureen's sake she did struggle to work; but the only part of her work she enjoyed was the preparing of her lessons, which she did under Maureen's care.
"I'll always be Fuzzy-wuzzy," she said to Maureen, "although you are the darlingest old pet. I'll always be Fuzzy-wuzzy. Even that angel of a Daisy could never turn me good like you. Besides I am not a bit clever, and I hate lessons."
"Well," said Maureen, "I've been thinking a great deal about you."
"Have you, you precious duck? And where have the thoughts come from?"
"Well, of course, you can be good, if you like. We all can if we like."
"I'm one of those who don't like," said Henrietta.
"Well, even supposing you don't like it, you're having a grand, noble try, both for my sake and Daisy's," said Maureen.
"Do you really think I'm improved?" said Henrietta in amazement.
"Of course I do. I should not know you for the same girl. But now, look at me, Henny. Listen! I want to be downright desperately proud of you and Daisy. I want you to be the top girl of the school. Not in cleverness—for you are not clever, darling—but in the other really important things."
"What do you mean?" said Henrietta. "I thought school was a hot-house to force the brain."
"Some schools are, but not Felicity. I want you to be noted in this school, first for your gentleness."
"Hum!" said Henrietta, "a gentle Fuzzy-wuzzy!"
"Let me go on and say what is in my heart," continued Maureen. "Second, for your unselfishness."
"Turned into a goody-goody," muttered Henrietta.
"No, no, dear child. Forgive me; that is really a silly expression, but turned into one who goes forward and who takes others along with her. And now, think of the jolly time we have before us. We three girls are going to meet Uncle Pat in Rome, that glorious, delightful place, and when the Christmas holidays are over, and you have seen something of another side of life, I am going to ask Mrs. Faithful to put you into the sort of occupation which you can really do well, and which you have a gift for."
"And what on earth is that?" asked Henrietta. "Oh, Maureen, you are entertaining."
"Well, I've been watching you a good bit."
"I should think so. Those eyes of yours would see through—well, through space itself. I often think you can see God."
"Of course I do. I see Him when I am most happy and when my dreams are most beautiful; but whenever He comes to me, awake or asleep, He says the same words, 'Help Henrietta and Daisy to find their lives.'"
"I say, does He really?"
"Well, yes, that is what He does say; and I want you, Henrietta, to find your life. After Christmas is over, I want you to learn all those things which make a home happy. I will speak to Mrs. Faithful on the subject, and she will get you regular teachers, and if she cannot do it herself, you and Daisy can go to another school, where these things are specially taught."
"What things, what things?"
"I will tell you after we come back from Rome. Now, come out and let's have a chat with Margaret Devereux. I want her to be your real friend. It is very bad for you only to have your dear little sister and me."
Henrietta pouted and struggled, but in the end she yielded to the superior force.
Margaret proved herself to be a most fascinating girl, and as she had often been to Rome and knew Italy very well indeed, she soon enthralled both girls with her accounts of the Forum and of the Coliseum by moonlight, and Nero's Golden House, and the great Church of St. Peter's, and the pictures in the Vatican, and the Pope and the cardinals. Margaret had a great gift for description, and even Henny did not miss a word.
Then Maureen suggested that they should not go to Rome a set of ignoramuses, but should write down each day what Margaret had told them. It is true that Maureen did most of the writing, but Henrietta and Daisy were genuinely excited.
"Hurrah for Fuzzy-wuzzy," exclaimed Daisy. "Upon my word, she is coming on."
There was no doubt whatever that Maureen's influence, once extended to Fuzzy-wuzzy, as she was universally called at Felicity, exercised a beneficial effect, but it is also true that a character like Henrietta's could not attain to anything even approaching perfection for many long years.
The poor little girl would have to fight hard for her soul, and the sad thing about her was this, that the soul within her was of a meagre and feeble quality. She was neither clever nor really affectionate. Even poor Daisy had more real life and vitality in her than Henrietta, but neither girl was worth much. No one can account for these things, but doubtless much was to be laid at the door of that selfish mother, who in the most impressionable years of their lives put them in a cheap and common school, taking care indeed of the pence and letting the pounds take care of themselves. But even so, Henrietta and Daisy would never have been great women, although they might and would have been very different from the wild, the reckless, the hopelessly naughty girls who had gone to Templemore.
Daisy's illness was the best thing that could have happened to her, but Henrietta was strong and fierce still. She dreaded death with a great terror. She never forgot the feel of Daisy's cold brow just before she woke from her trance. In consequence she could not bear to be alone at night and slept with Maureen in the Chamber of Peace, much to that poor little girl's own discomfort.
But then Maureen lived for others, and mere physical discomfort was not even to be thought of or mentioned in her vocabulary.
By slow but sure degrees Maureen began to interest the other girls at Felicity in Henrietta and Daisy. There were very few of the exceedingly naughty girls at the school just then. Henrietta was far and away the naughtiest, but she enjoyed her companions and made them laugh with funny stories of the old house at Templemore.
She had by no means Daisy's remarkable powers of mimicry, but she could take off Pegeen and Burke to the life, and the girls simply shrieked and held their sides as they listened to her.
This kind of performance became exceedingly popular in the school, and Henrietta, feeling that "nothing venture, nothing have," proceeded to take off stepfather and mumsie-pumsie and even Maureen. But when she came to this, several girls in the school, Margaret Devereux at their head, marched away with their heads in the air.
"Why, sakes alive, whatever have I done now?" said Henny.
"I don't suppose any of us will let you make game of Maureen," said a dark-eyed girl of the name of Marjorie Clarke.
"Oh, oh," said Henrietta. "Why must she be held so sacred?"
"Because she is sacred," said Marjorie.
The other girls, one and all, agreed with her. Henrietta stood silent, rubbing up her fuzzy head.
"I don't believe she'd mind," was her remark after a pause. "She's a precious darling, she'd let me if it amused me. She'd do anything in the world for me. You see, it's like this, girls. My Dysy put her in my care."
"Oh, no, she didn't. I don't believe a word of that," said Marjorie rather angrily. "And you oughtn't to speak of your dear little sister as Dysy. Her pretty name is Daisy. I don't believe you have any respect in you either for the living or the dead."
"I haven't much," said Fuzzy. "I'm made that way, you see. Goodness gracious, how can I help the way I'm made!"
She looked wild with excitement.
"I tell you what, colleens," she suddenly exclaimed. "I just dote on Maureen. I see her in the distance talking to Margaret Devereux and Daisy. I'll go to her this minute and ask her if I may take her off. She would let me do anything that amused me. She has such a great passion for me."
The girls stood silent in subdued amazement. Henrietta crossed the lawn. Maureen and Margaret were talking about Rome, Margaret taking good care not to breathe a word to Maureen about the way Fuzzy-wuzzy had gone on. Daisy was leaning on Maureen.
"Here I am, you old ducks," said Fuzzy, springing into their midst. "Now I want to ask this little precious one if she minds my taking her off. I haven't Daisy's gift in that direction, but I have it a trifle. You don't mind, do you, Maureen asthore?"
"If you really wish to take me off, Henrietta, and if it gives you pleasure, I hope I shall not be small enough to care."
"Oh, hoity-toity! We are putting on airs, aren't we?"
Here Henrietta boldly winked at Margaret. Margaret did not wink back in reply.
Daisy sprang to the front. "If you dare!" she said in her calm voice, that voice which she had won through pain and victory. "If you really wish to amuse yourself in that disgraceful way, I for one give you up. I did not intend to say anything to Maureen, for I would not hurt her feelings for the world; but I may as well tell you quite plainly and simply that I think, when you begin to take off our relations and friends and your old home, your audience will be nil, for not another girl in the school will listen to you."
"There, take that for your impudence!" said Henrietta, and she tried to slap Daisy, who immediately walked away. Henny burst into shrieks of crying, clasped her arms around Maureen, and said, "Oh, Maureen, acushla machree, what have I done? Oh, indeed, indeed, I didn't mean it, and you know well that I love you better than anyone in the world except little lost and come again Daisy. It's only the fun in me that must bubble to the surface."
"Ah, poor Henny," said Maureen in her gentle voice. "I did so hope that you would never behave like this again. You must come immediately to Daisy and beg her pardon."
"You won't catch me begging pardons."
"Henrietta, thou art wanted," said Dinah, who just then appeared on the scene.
She took the excited girl by the hand and led her into the house, then up to the Room of Useful Employment, where Henny had spent so many wretched hours; here a bright fire was burning, and the whole room looked as neat as the proverbial new pin. Dinah dragged the punishment chair into view.
"Sit thee down, maiden," she said.
"I will not! I will not! I have just been having a lark with the girls, and——"
"Thee didst try to slap thy sister on the cheek. I saw it all. It is ordained that thou sit in the Punishment Chair for the remainder of to-day, and to-night thou dost lie in a little bed by my side."
"What! What! May I not go to Maureen?"
"Thou art not worthy, unhappy maiden." As Dinah uttered the last words, Mrs. Faithful and Nurse Annie came in.
"Henrietta," said the headmistress, "I am inexpressibly shocked, and unless you publicly after Divine Prayer to-morrow morning ask forgiveness of Maureen and your sister, I shall keep you here with Dinah for the holidays, and will not allow you to go to Rome with Maureen and Daisy."
"Oh! oh!" howled Fuzzy.
"Come now, my dear, take your punishment meekly. Maureen has nothing to do with it. What I say I mean. Come, Nurse Annie, help Dinah to place Henrietta in this chair."
So, in spite of Henrietta's frantic struggles, and her boundless rage, into the chair she was put. She was quickly tied down, not in any way uncomfortably, but nevertheless in such a fashion that she could not move her head, her arms or her hands.
Mrs. Faithful and Nurse Annie then quietly left the room. Dinah turned on the bright light of a reading lamp, and resumed her endless sewing.
"Tell me something funny, dear Dinah," said Henrietta after a pause.
Silence, absolute and complete, on the part of Dinah.
"Oh, Dinah, this is too horrible; such a punishment just for a bit of a lark. Art thou not going to speak to me?"
"No," replied Dinah; "not at all to-night."
"Oh, my word, then I'll be as naughty as ever."
Dinah folded her work gravely, then knelt down and began to pray. Henny screamed and roared and went on in her old rebellious fashion. Dinah continued to kneel in voiceless prayer. Taking it all round, it was rather a terrible scene. The infuriated girl, her angry and insulting words, and the calm woman who prayed.
At long last, that prayer, so devout and holy, had its effect. Henrietta began to sniffle, then to sob, then to cry copiously, then to call aloud for Maureen, Maureen! But still Dinah took no notice. She only got up very gently and wiped the tears from the poor swollen face, and presently rang for supper.
Henrietta made frantic efforts to catch her hand, but she was too securely fastened to attain her object. Then she sobbed afresh and Dinah knelt down once more and began to pray.
"I will stop crying if thou wilt not go on," said Henrietta at last in a frenzy. Instantly Dinah rose from her knees. She first of all wiped away Henrietta's fresh flood of tears, she then brought a little basin of warm water and bathed her swollen face, then she combed her hair, not ruffling it up according to the Fuzzy-wuzzy manner. It had not been cut for some months now and was growing long.
Henrietta hated beyond words to look a "show."
"Snip it and fuzz it, Dinah dear," she implored.
Dinah parted it quietly in the middle and put it behind her ears. She then again rang her bell.
Nurse Annie appeared. She was given certain directions in Dinah's clear voice. Ten minutes later supper was brought in for the naughty but now hungry girl. It was quite a plain supper, not the tempting supper which Dinah used to give her. There was a slice of cold meat and a piece of bread, no butter, a little salt, and a glass of cold water.
Dinah cut up the meat into strips and fed Henrietta.
"Oh, thou art worse than ever," said Henrietta.
Dinah made no reply.
Henrietta was so hungry that she dared not refuse the food. She ate every crumb, also, of the bread. She drained the glass of cold water.
Dinah then looked at the clock. She fell down close to Henrietta and suddenly resumed her prayers.
The whole thing was awful, heartbreaking. Henrietta said in a voice which was strangled with misery, "I'll be good, I'll be good. I want to go to bed. Let me go to bed at once, Dinah dear."
Dinah's soft dove eyes were fixed on her face. She asked with her eyes the question she would not put into words. Her beautiful eyes said, "Wilt thee humiliate thyself to-morrow morning?"
Henrietta could not mistake the language. She gave a vigorous nod and let her hair tumble about her head. Immediately Dinah unfastened the slipknots which bound the girl and conveyed her to her own bedroom.
It was a little room not at all like the Chamber of Peace. It was very plain, even severe. Dinah had put away her work and extinguished the reading-lamp before she left the Room of Useful Employment.
She undressed Henrietta and put her into bed. She then lay down beside her, but only partly undressed herself. That is, she merely exchanged her quiet Quaker dress and cap and apron for a dressing-gown also made of the Quaker grey. She then stretched herself beside Henrietta.
Henrietta suddenly clutched one of her hands and kissed it.
"Oh, Dinah, Dinah dear!"
No words of any sort came from Dinah.
Henrietta was so weary that she dropped asleep. She slept all night long without moving.
Early in the morning Dinah got up. Henrietta was still sleeping. Dinah got out one of the hideous punishment dresses—the grey stuff with the ugly sort of white overall.
"I won't—I won't wear that," cried Henny.
Dinah made no comment, but just at this moment Nurse Annie appeared with a sitz-bath. Between Nurse Annie and Dinah, Henrietta was powerless. She was fed with bread-and-milk, quite nourishing and good. Then the punishment dress was put on. Afterwards, between Nurse Annie and Dinah, she went slowly downstairs to the great hall. Maureen was present and Daisy. Prayers were about to begin.
All the love of all the world seemed to shine out of Maureen's eyes. Every girl in the school stared at the culprit in the punishment dress, but Maureen did not even see the dress. She was looking beyond it into the heart of the girl.
Prayers began as usual and came to an end. Then there was a pause, significant, rather appalling.
Suddenly Maureen rose and, taking Henrietta's little cold hand, said, "Come, darling!"
"To the world's end with you, asthore," was Henrietta's reply.
Maureen took her straight up to Daisy.
"Daisy," said Maureen, "she has come to tell you that she is very, very sorry."
"I am indeed, most truly," said Henrietta, and there was absolute conviction in her voice.
"Then of course I forgive you, Fuzzy darling—darling! It was your trying to take off our dearest Maureen that hurt my very soul."
Here she touched Maureen with infinite love and tenderness on the shoulder.
"I quite forgive our Henny," she said.
"Then, my dear Henrietta," said Mrs. Faithful, "there is an end of the matter. You have expressed sorrow and are quite forgiven. Maureen, darling, take her upstairs and remove her punishment frock. We sincerely trust there will not be a repetition of this terrible scene."
During the rest of that day Henrietta was quiet, clinging to Maureen and Daisy and talking very little, but the day after she recovered her usual spirits, for hers was not a nature ever to fret deeply or long.
She ceased, however, to cultivate her gift of mimicry, which was in itself too slight to be of any value.
The Christmas holidays were fast approaching, and Maureen, Henrietta, Daisy and Dominic were to meet the beloved Rector in Rome. Maureen's heart beat high with delight. Henrietta and Daisy were also excited, but not to the same degree.
At last the day when they were to start arrived. They were to be exactly four weeks away. Henrietta enjoyed the travelling very much. They got to Rome at midnight of the second day.
Now many of the girls who read this story will doubtless imagine that Henrietta Mostyn has learned her lesson and will in future be at least an ordinarily good girl, not breaking out into any violent crises of bad temper and naughtiness. But the girls who do think so do not quite realise Henrietta's nature.
For the first couple of days she was delighted with the life at the charming hotel where Mr. O'Brien had taken rooms for his party. The foreign food was also agreeable to her palate. She could talk as much as she pleased, and she certainly did chatter to her heart's content, but the beauty and the glory and the greatness of Rome were not for one like Henrietta.
The great Church of St. Peter's puzzled her, but aroused no respect. The pictures at the Vatican which so enraptured Maureen and Dominic wearied her to distraction. The different churches they visited were all beautiful to Maureen, Dominic, and Mr. O'Brien, but go where they would, see what they might, the only thing that really pleased Henrietta was her food, her admirable food, and the different dresses that the ladies wore who came in and out of the hotel.
As to everything else, it became a weariness of the flesh to the poor child. She did not like the innumerable shops with their lovely photographs and pieces of rare vertu exposed to view, but she gloated over the shops which displayed chocolates, cakes, and other dainty sweetmeats. She liked, too, to see the shops full of colour. She wanted brightness. She had a perfect passion for sweets and very gay beads and for brightness. In short, Henrietta was nothing less than a vigorous little cuckoo hatched in the wrong nest.
She was still, it is true, anxious to please Maureen, but otherwise she was sick of Rome.
One morning the whole party went early to the celebrated Fountain of Trevi, and, as was the custom, Dominic, the Rector, Maureen, and Daisy all drank of the sparkling, delicious water. Maureen filled a glass to the brim and brought it to Henrietta.
"Take it away," said Henny; "I hate cold water."
"Oh," replied Maureen, "but you must try and drink this. There is an old legend about this. You drink, if it is only a little, and it will insure your return again to this darling, splendid Rome."
"That settles the question," replied Henrietta. "If there is a place on this earth I loathe, it is Rome. It is a degree worse, I do declare, than the Punishment Chair, and Dinah praying without uttering a word aloud, and that is saying a good bit."
"Well, Henny, you'll learn to love the wonders of Rome some day. Look, do look, there are some cardinals. Don't they look too wonderful in their crimson robes?"
"I won't look. I don't see anything pretty or beautiful about those affected beings. I say, Maureen, I've got a splitting pain in my nut. Please, Maureen's uncle, for you don't allow me to call you step-daddy, may I go back at once to the Hotel? I promise indeed to be good and, as you are all going to that horrid Vatican, may I not lie down? Please, I cannot stand any more pictures."
"I'm sorry you have a headache," said Maureen. "Perhaps, Uncle Pat, she might go back and lie down. We must try and find something quite light and entertaining for her to-night."
"Oh yes, do, do," said Henny, clapping her hands.
"Henrietta, can I take you at your word; will you be good?" said the Rector. "Dominic and Maureen and Daisy and I are going to meet one of the great professors, who will show us and explain to us the recent excavations in the Forum."
"I honestly promise to be good—I do, indeed," said Henny.
"And you won't leave the Hotel; you promise?"
"Of course, I do. I'll be only too thankful to lie down and keep quiet until it is time to eat. Although I have a headache, I am hungry. I suppose I may eat even though you are out enjoying what would kill me."
"Yes, poor little girl, you may certainly eat. We'll take her back to the Hotel, Maureen, and put her under the care of Victorine, who will let her know when déjeuner is served."
So Henrietta had her way.
Victorine was a dark-eyed Italian girl, who could speak broken English, and promised volubly to see after the signorina, but Mr. O'Brien did not feel thoroughly comfortable as he went off with Maureen and Daisy and Dominic, at leaving this wild creature practically alone.
But Maureen, for once in her life, was selfish. She absolutely forgot Henrietta in the marvels which the great professor poured into her cultured little mind. She listened with awe and wonder.
She was no longer in the country of modern civilisation; she had ceased to be a child of the present day. She was back in the old, old times. She was even with Nero in his unspeakable cruelty—but also in the refinement of this extraordinary being's perfect taste.
She was with the Vestal Virgins. She was under the Arch of Titus. She stood on the banks of the Tiber, that mighty river of ancient times. Her heart thrilled and stood still. Was this narrow turgid stream the mighty fast-flowing river that was known in history, where the great Horatius kept the bridge?
It was some small comfort to the eager little listener when the old professor explained to her how centuries had worked changes and that the river was really a mighty mass of swift-flowing water in the brave days of old.
The learned professor was really charmed with his little companion, and insisted on the entire party coming to lunch with him in his appartement in one of the old palaces.
Finally he took them to see under his own special guidance the greatest picture in the world—Raphael's Transfiguration, that mighty masterpiece, so well known, and never to be forgotten. He explained the full meaning of the picture, Christ in Glory, the awed and terrified disciples, the epileptic boy. He described how, when Raphael died, the picture was scarcely finished, but it was hung over his death-bed as he lay in state, and was carried in his funeral procession.
Finally he recited those great lines of Rogers: