Aunt Judith Part 13

"Of course Ada will win the prize," was the general comment, "she is so clever, and Mr. King always praises her essays. Nellie can't come near her in the way of composition; but we must all try to do our best, for the honour of the school."

The elder girls, who were not included in the list of compet.i.tors, felt inclined to second these remarks, and Ada smiled triumphantly when she heard them whispered abroad. There was little doubt in her own mind as to who was likely to be the successful candidate, and she only wondered which subject would best show forth her brilliancy of style and composition.

Winnie and Nellie, firm friends still in spite of all restraints, consulted together, and spoke of the utter uselessness of their most strenuous endeavours. "We've no chance against Ada," they said disconsolately, "but like the others we'll have to attempt something."

"What will you try, Winnie?" inquired Nellie. "I think I'll tackle 'the French Revolution.'"

Winnie's brow was wrinkled in perplexity. "Do you know, Nell," she said at length, looking up with a curious gleam in her eyes, "I never tried very hard in all my life to write a really good essay. I just mixed anything together and popped it down higgledy-piggledy style, as d.i.c.k would say. Yet sometimes I have beautiful thoughts, and they run together in such beautiful words that I think I may manage to produce a respectable paper after all. I know nothing about the French Revolution, simply nothing. I have never read any of Sir Walter Scott's novels, and could not criticise or review one to save my life.

But Christmas joys--ah, yes, I might attempt that;" and Winnie looked hopeful at this point.

"Very well, Win, we've decided," responded Nellie; then, Agnes Drummond coming forward and addressing them, their conversation was interrupted for the present.

Ada Irvine's triumph was by no means so complete as she fancied it would be, though there was still much to cause her satisfaction.

Almost every day she had the pleasure of seeing Winnie grow furious and Nellie wince under some cutting sarcasm thrown out with well-directed aim by some of the most fas.h.i.+onable girls in the school, and not even the former's reappearance and champions.h.i.+p could allay to any extent the open insults which beset the defenceless girl during school hours.

"Go! you are not my friends," the stanch little ally had said when she found how matters stood on her return after her illness. "I hate and despise every one of you from the bottom of my heart. You call yourselves ladies, but I tell you no true lady would lower herself to utter such words as fall from your lips. I know who your ringleader is, and if the heartiest hatred will do her any good, she has mine.

But act as you please; only remember Nellie is now, and ever will be, the one true friend of my life. And as for her aunts, let me tell you you are not worthy to touch the hem of their garments."

"Oh, nonsense, Winnie!" one of the girls had replied, in a half-condescending manner; "I am sure you can't forget your mother's opinion on the subject."

"And who informed you about my mother's opinion? It must have been Ada; and that throws light on what has puzzled me lately. I think I may thank her for all this trouble I have been and am still experiencing. No, do not try to defend her; one day we shall be quits."

"But Ada is never rude or disagreeable to you now, Win," pleaded another girl. "There has been a marked change in her manner lately.

She is very gentle and kind to you. As for blaming her about telling tales, that is hardly fair. She really said very little concerning Mrs. Blake and her opinion of Nellie. Where she got her information we do not know, but she told us decidedly it was not from your step-mother."

Winnie looked incredulous. "That is quite sufficient," she replied with dignity; "I would rather hear no more. But you may tell Ada from me that I am not to be deceived by her new tactics, and have no desire to possess such a treasure as a serpent-friend."

The subject had then been dropped, and from that time Winnie would have nothing to do with any girl who uttered a single word against her friend. Ada she treated with supreme indifference, and disdained to accept a proffered friends.h.i.+p vouchsafed to suit that young lady's amiable plans. As regarded Nellie, she never walked with her after school hours, or sought her society so frequently as she had done in the happy bygone days (Miss Latimer had strictly forbidden that); but still the love betwixt the two was warm and true, and Ada felt her hatred deepen as she saw how all her endeavours failed to break the strong bond of friends.h.i.+p binding the one to the other. A certain circ.u.mstance, however, caused her immense satisfaction--namely, Mrs.

Elder's growing dislike of Nellie Latimer. The lady-princ.i.p.al was, unfortunately, guilty of favouritism, and ever since Ada had been placed under her charge she had shown a marked preference for and indulgence towards her. Such being the case, one can readily imagine how a woman of such a weak, selfish nature would resent the quiet dethronement of her young favourite, and see the honours she had been accustomed to take now won by an insignificant girl of no particular birth or station in society. Ada, not slow to find all this out, viewed it with supreme delight, and was careful to fan the flame by various hints and insinuations thrown out with becoming modesty.

Nellie marked the change, but bore it uncomplainingly, striving to live it down and let the discipline accomplish its own sharp yet beneficial work. "I shall withdraw you from the school should you choose, Nellie," Miss Latimer had said once when the girl broke down and wept over the heavy burden laid upon her. "But I would like you to fight it out, and grow better, braver, and n.o.bler under the conflict." That was sufficient for Nellie, who, meekly relifting the old cross, strove to carry it cheerfully, feeling amply rewarded for her quiet endurance when she daily realized the rare love and tenderness that surrounded her in the peaceful home at Broomhill Road.

The examination day was fast approaching, and the prize essays, which had to be given in a week beforehand, were delivered over to the lady-princ.i.p.al's charge--neat rolls of paper prettily tied up with gaily-coloured knots of ribbon. Then followed more excitement, till the hour arrived when guests and pupils met together in the large school-room, and the usual performance took place before the eyes of smiling mothers and friends. At length it was over, and the clergyman stepping forward to award the prizes, Winnie found some leisure to gaze around and scan the sea of faces in front of her.

There was Mrs. Drummond, calm and placid as usual; her own step-mother and Edith, both looking so fresh and fair in their bright summer attire, and--but here Winnie caught a glimpse of a n.o.ble, true face looking at her from under the brim of a quiet Quaker bonnet, and in a moment her little face was all aglow with a great throb of love.

What occurred after that seemed a blank. She never heard Nellie's name called repeatedly, or noted Mrs. Blake's haughty look as the young girl modestly received her prizes and blushed under the words of commendation uttered by the clergyman. Her thoughts were far away in the past, and she was living those two happy days over again at Dingle Cottage, when the world appeared so wondrously fair, and life full of bright laughing suns.h.i.+ne.

But now came a pause in the proceedings. The prizes were all distributed, and pupils and friends wakened to a state of great expectancy as old Mr. Corbett stood up by the minister's side and nervously prepared to make his oration. After a few preliminary remarks customary on the occasion, he spoke of the surprise and pleasure he had experienced in reading over the essays delivered to him by Mrs. Elder, his old and esteemed friend. They displayed much talent and brilliancy of style, and reflected great credit on the school. One especially amazed him (here Ada's head drooped modestly) by the rich, beautiful thoughts, set, as it were, in such quaint, original language.

He was almost startled by the amount of genius s.h.i.+ning forth from every sentence; and although the essay was written in a crude girlish style, it was worthy of the highest commendation, and he had great pleasure in awarding the prize to--Miss Winnifred Blake.

There was a long silence, followed by murmurs of amazement and congratulation. But Winnie did not seem to hear them; she only sat gazing dreamily, with dim, dazed eyes, as if hardly capable of realizing the good fortune which had befallen her.

"Rise, dear," whispered Elsie Drummond, who was standing close by; "every one is waiting to see you receive the prize. We are all so glad over your success. Now go;" and she gave the child a gentle push in the clergyman's direction. The words wakened Winnie, and then, with a great flash, came the realization that she, and not Nellie, had triumphed over Ada; and as the knowledge came home with full power to her heart, her great eyes sparkled their mischievous joy, and she stepped forward, a glad, triumphant gleam s.h.i.+ning in their depths.

Few of the onlookers that day ever forgot the scene before them: the little fairy figure clad in daintiest summer attire; the flushed gipsy face and dark, l.u.s.trous eyes peeping from under the ma.s.s of curly hair; and the wondrously joyous smile which broke over her lips as she bent her pretty head on receiving the glittering medal from the minister's hand. I think Mrs. Blake was proud of her step-daughter for once in her life.

A short time afterwards, just as she was preparing to start homeward, Winnie remembered that her music was lying in one of the school-rooms, and bidding some of the girls wait her return she bounded up the steep flight of stairs to go in search of it.

On reaching the top step, however, Ada met her, and the pale, angry face and haughty mien roused every malicious feeling in Winnie's nature. Looking up with a face in which wicked triumph and delight were plainly depicted, she said sweetly, "O Ada, would you care to inspect my medal? You have been so kind to me lately I am sure you will rejoice at my wonderful success."

Ada returned her gaze with one of steady, contemptuous disdain, and dropping the mask of friends.h.i.+p which had been so hard for her to wear, she replied haughtily, "Wonderful indeed! so wonderful, in fact, that I may be pardoned for refusing to credit the essay as being your own composition. Do you think it is natural for a dunce (I repeat the word), who has been in the habit of writing the most childish nonsense, to break on the world suddenly as a genius, and startle every one with her wonderful thoughts? It stands to reason that some underhand work has been going on; and such being the case, I prefer to hold myself aloof from one who could be guilty of any mean, despicable action."

Strong language to use. Winnie's anger rose to a white heat as she listened. "Explain yourself!" cried the enraged child; "I fail to understand your words."

Ada's lip curled. "You are an admirable actress," she said calmly; "you would make your fortune on the stage. Unfortunately, however, I am not easily deceived. You know perfectly well the prize essay is no work of yours."

"Whose then?" in a voice of suppressed pa.s.sion; and the quiet, mocking tones answered,--

"Suspicions are easily roused, and when one can disobey a parent once, one can easily do so again."

Winnie looked bewildered. "You are speaking in riddles," she cried angrily; "I demand a proper explanation."

"Then you shall have it," replied Ada, spitefully enjoying her momentary triumph. "Mrs. Elder, Miss Smith, and ever so many of the girls believe that your wonderful Miss Latimer a.s.sisted with your essay. Nay, do not interrupt: we give you credit for the bare outline, but the originality and quaint rich thoughts are decidedly beyond the powers of a dunce."

Winnie listened in amazement, and as the last words fell slowly from the lips of the cold, haughty girl, she cried out in her bitter anger,--

"It is false! false! and you know that too; but, Ada Irvine, I can almost excuse your insulting words. It must be humiliating to see a dunce, and one towards whom you bear so much affection, win a prize of which you deemed yourself secure. I forgive you when I think how hard it must be to feel yourself the laughing-stock of the school; and I would remind you in the future to value your talents at their true worth."

Winnie paused, and it seemed, to use a common-place phrase, as if the tables were turned; for the little girl looked cool and calm now, while her adversary's face was white and set with pa.s.sion. Springing forward she raised her hand, and Winnie, in order to avert the blow, stepped back, forgetful of her dangerous position. Then rang through the house a wild scream followed by the sound of a heavy fall; and the startled inmates, gathering from various quarters, found lying at the foot of the steep stairs a prostrate figure with white upturned face and firmly-closed eyes.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A prostrate figure with white, upturned face.]

CHAPTER XV.

HOW SHALL I LIVE THROUGH THE LONG, LONG YEARS?

A balmy summer morning in the month of July. Outside, and far up overhead, a dappled sky s.h.i.+ning down on a world of light and beauty; green verdant slopes and wide sweeps of meadowland glistening still with the early dew; flowers blossoming everywhere, from the modest daisy and golden b.u.t.tercup to the queenliest rose and fairest lily; birds singing from every bush and tree their morning trill of flute-like melody; bees humming busily hither and thither; b.u.t.terflies flitting idly by or resting snugly in the heart of a flower; in short, the world of nature all awake and joying with a pure, glad joy in the golden summer suns.h.i.+ne.

Inside a darkened room, with softly-shaded blinds and peaceful hush brooding over all, a girl--one might almost say a child--lying quietly on a dainty bed with white, weary face and closed eyes, round which dark lines of pain and suffering are plainly circled; and lastly, a young lady nestling back in a low basket-chair and keeping tender watch over the slight figure stretched so motionless before her. Suddenly the heavy lids unclose, and a pair of tired eyes are raised, with a sad, pathetic look, to the watcher's face.

"Is that you, Edith?" asks the weak voice in low, feeble tones; and the young lady, bending down to press a kiss on the white brow, answers,--

"Yes, dear; and I am so glad you have enjoyed such a nice long sleep."

The child raised one thin, fragile hand, and pus.h.i.+ng back the hair from her damp forehead, spoke once more. "I was dreaming, Edith,--dreaming the old days were back again, and that d.i.c.k and I were having such fun in the oak parlour. Archie Trollope was there too, and we were chasing each other round and round the room; but neither d.i.c.k nor Archie could catch me, my feet seemed so nimble. I thought it was true, Edith, and a great weight rolled from my heart; but oh"--and the low wail accompanying the words pained the listener sorely--"I awoke and found it was all a dream."

"My poor little Winnie!" replied the young lady, smoothing the pained lines from the invalid's brow with soft, gentle touch. But the child had not yet finished.

"Edith," she continued, a wild, haunting look of unrest stealing into her eyes, "I am so tired lying here day after day. I want to be out in the suns.h.i.+ne with the birds and the flowers. Tell me, when shall I be able to walk in the sunlight once more?"

Edith's face was wet with tears. "Try to be patient, dear," she said in a somewhat broken voice; "one does not recover very quickly from an illness such as yours."

Winnie seemed dissatisfied. "You don't look me straight in the face when you speak, Edith, and your voice has a little tremble in it.

Hus.h.!.+ hear how the birds are singing! They know I dearly love the suns.h.i.+ne, and are calling me out into the midst of it; I hear them every day warbling so happily. Do you think they ever wonder why I never come--why I never dance up and down the garden walks and spend hours with them and the flowers as I did last year? And the sea, Edith--some nights, when the wind is sleeping and not a leaf stirring on the trees, I can hear the waves crooning a low, sweet song as they wash along the wide beach of sand. They also seem to be calling me out into their midst; and I--O Edith, I cannot come."