Meg's Friend Part 24

"I thought so," she said.

Miss Reeves took the jewel, lifting her hand to enjoin silence.

"What does this mean?" she asked.

"I return Miss Pinkett's diamond," Meg replied.

"Do you mean to say that you took it notwithstanding your repudiation of the accusation which shamed some of us into believing you innocent?"

"I restore it now," said Meg huskily.

"Had you heard that the boxes were to be searched?" demanded Miss Reeves.

"Yes," said Meg.

Again there was a pause.

"I will stake my word upon it, there is a mystery," said Signora Vallaria, fixing her dark eyes upon Meg.

"Miss Beecham," resumed Miss Reeves, "did you take this diamond?"

Meg remained silent.

"I repeat the question," said Miss Reeves. "Did you take this diamond?"

"I restore it, and I am ready to submit to any punishment you may decree. Is that not sufficient answer?"

Again there was a murmur round the room.

"I am afraid it is a sufficient answer," said Miss Reeves gravely. "The punishment is expulsion from school. I give you till to-morrow morning, Miss Beecham, to explain your strange conduct. You cannot attend the party. You have turned an occasion of festivity into one of humiliation and unhappiness for us all. Go upstairs. You can no longer occupy the dormitory with your fellow-pupils. You will be taken to a room on the other side of the corridor where you will sleep alone. Miss Grantley will show you the way."

Meg turned to follow her guide in silence. The stern girl seemed turned to stone.

CHAPTER XVII.

POOR MEG.

Through the evening Meg heard the intolerable dance music going on and on. Little by little there came to her in her isolation the realization of the thankless load she had taken upon herself--a burden of guilt of the meanest kind. What would Mr. Standish think of her now? He had for some time past fallen into the background of her thoughts; but now there returned to her the memory of this friend of her childhood. With anguish she felt that when they met again, instead of appearing before him grown into a lady, full of the grace of blossomed womanly ways, and with the dignity which comes of loving protection to the weak, what would she seem to him? For years, thought Meg, for all her life, she must seem a miserable wretch and a thief.

She walked up and down the little room contemplating this picture. She could not face the prospect; and still, as there rose before her that vision of a cringing, shrinking child, an atom of terror outlined there against the darkness, appealing to her, Meg once more took up the load of guilt. Up and down she wandered, unable to concentrate her thoughts, sometimes contemplating how two hours ago she was a different being--all the change that had happened in two little hours!--then feeling that one comfort remained to her--the thought of Elsie's grat.i.tude. In an alien world this little blossom of love would sweeten her lot. She turned from the realization of her own ruin to linger on this consolation that round Elsie's heart would hang the rich perfume of thankfulness for the sacrifice she had made. And then still, as she walked up and down, she thought how downstairs as they danced they all knew it. She was worse to them than a beggar in the streets. "If I were to go downstairs they would all shrink from me," she muttered bitterly. There was a stain upon her never to be wiped off. In two years would it be forgotten? she asked herself drearily. No, it would not. In three years? No, it never will, answered the thought; and then always, like the burden of her plaint, that Mr. Standish would hear of it.

The intolerable dance music stopped at last. She heard the rustle of dresses, the rush of feet. The party was over. The girls were going to bed. The gas was turned off and the house was plunged into darkness.

Meg lay down upon her bed and from sheer fatigue of sorrow fell asleep.

She woke with the dawn, and for a moment she forgot what had happened.

Then the heavy misery shaped itself and pressed upon her soul again. The calm morning held a promise of hope. What would the day bring her? Would not Elsie tell?

Just before the bell for prayers rang she heard a step outside. The handle of the door turned and Miss Reeves entered.

There was a moment of silence as the head mistress and the pupil faced each other.

"Meg, how did that diamond come into your possession?" Miss Reeves asked, not unkindly.

Meg did not answer.

"Will you not explain? I have come here to win your confidence. Why did you not return it before the order came for searching the boxes?"

A pa.s.sing moment of temptation came to Meg to explain, to admit that certain reasons kept her silent, but she sternly repressed the impulse.

She repeated what she had said before--she had restored the jewel, was that not enough? She would say nothing more.

"Then," said Miss Reeves sternly, "I can give but one interpretation to your obstinate silence. You are guilty of an act which seems to me the meanest that ever occurred in my school. There remains but one course for me to take. I will write to your guardian. You must be removed at once. The disgrace of your presence must be removed from your comrades.

You will join your schoolfellows at prayer-times only. Your meals will be brought up and served to you here. I must forbid you to address any of your schoolfellows; nor must you speak to any of your teachers except to make the small reparation of a full confession."

Miss Reeves turned and left the room with cold stateliness. Meg remained standing where she was till the prayer-bell rang. The fury of the night was over. Her mind seemed a void. She could think no more, scarcely could she suffer. When the bell ceased, she left the room. A few laggard girls were hurrying out of the dormitory. They pa.s.sed her with averted faces and in silence; and they whispered with each other. There came upon Meg the first bitterness of the realization that she was an outcast from the community.

She entered the room where all were a.s.sembled, feeling dizzy. Then a sort of courage of indignation came upon her, for she was innocent. She looked in the direction of Elsie's place, eager to receive a glance that would repay her for all that she was bearing; but Elsie's eyes were carefully turned in another direction, and she appeared bent upon hiding behind another girl, as if to avoid seeing Meg. A pang of anguish shot through Meg's heart. Was that little hand lifted with the others against her? Was Elsie also thrusting her out as did all those who refused her fellows.h.i.+p in their lot? She felt so dazed that she remained for a moment standing, unaware of the general kneeling around her as Miss Reeves' voice was raised in prayer. Then her heart began to harden, and she looked toward Elsie no more.

When the girls were filing out she thought she would give Elsie another chance. The child must pa.s.s her in going out. Meg was conscious of her pet's approach, although she did not openly look her way. She felt if she watched Elsie and the child made an advance it would not be spontaneous. And yet, when there came no furtive touch on her hand, no whispered word as Elsie pa.s.sed, Meg could not withhold from glancing toward her. Yes, Elsie had pa.s.sed with eyes averted. That last link of sympathy which had given her hope gave way and broke.

Meg went up to her room, and the day pa.s.sed. She sat with her chin buried in her hands looking heavily out. She felt stunned; she no longer protested or pondered over the future. At prayer-time that evening she did not look toward Elsie.

The next morning there was again a moment of forgetfulness when she awoke. Then again the horror gradually shaped itself, but this morning nature brought to her no rea.s.surance. At the sound of the bell Meg rose with a heart like lead. She dressed herself and went down slowly. A mood of indignant bitterness had replaced the chilled misery of her bewildered heart. After prayers Miss Reeves informed her that she had received a letter from Mr. Fullbloom. He would fetch her away that afternoon. She must be prepared to leave then.

Meg received the news mutely, and went upstairs to begin her packing as directed.

She mechanically folded and put her belongings into her trunk. When she took out the presents Mr. Standish had given her, and that bore the marks of much handling, a movement of enraged despair seized her, and she trembled. "He'll never care to see me again, and how could I see him?" she muttered.

The girls were out in the playground as she finished her task. "I'll be glad to get away!" she said, as she sat on her box a moment and looked round her. But even as she said this her mind called up before her the departure. "Where am I going to?" she muttered. With compressed lips she whispered to herself as she rose, "No matter! no matter!"

It was two o'clock; in less than an hour she knew Mr. Fullbloom would be here. Her trunk, locked and strapped, stood in a corner; her hat and cloak lay upon it ready to be put on at his summons. No one had come near her. All her preparations were made. The old restlessness had returned; and she was walking up and down, thinking, thinking where was she to go to. What would happen to her?

"Meg! Meg!" said a little voice in a whisper. She turned; it was Elsie standing on the threshold of the door. There was a pause, during which Meg eyed the little figure, huddling up into a corner, its hands convulsively working together with a pitiful resemblance to older grief.

"Speak to me, Meg! won't you speak to me? I am so miserable," lisped the child piteously.

"You ought to be," replied Meg.

"If they would only let me go away with you!" moaned the child. "Oh, Meg, if they would only let me go away with you!"

"How could they let you go with me? I am a thief; you are a white, pure, innocent child," Meg said in bitter sarcasm.

"It is I who am wicked, not you. Oh, Meg, I love you so much, I love you so much!" reiterated the child, with that piteous quaver in her voice, stealing into the room, still wringing her little hands.

"Love me!" repeated Meg, her voice shrilly bitter; "and you do as the others do. You turn your face away when I come into the room."