Three Girls from School

“By the way, child,” said Mr Brooke, “you will want me to write that letter for you.”

“You must not worry about it now, really, uncle,” said Annie, laying her hand on his.

“It will do quite well to-morrow – quite well,” she added. “You know that whatever your Annie is, she would do nothing to make you worse.”

“My dear little girl,” said the old man, deeply affected by what he considered such thoughtfulness, “you may be sure that all my thoughts with regard to you are prompted by real love for you. I don’t pretend that I have not looked forward very much indeed to these holidays. Nevertheless, I cannot forget that I am old, my love, and you are young. The young must have their day, dear, and the pleasure of the old is to watch them enjoying it. While you were out I have been thinking over my little money matters, and I think I can quite manage to give you a few extra pounds over and above your fare to Paris – a ten-pound note, perhaps, to buy some pretty little articles of dress.”

“Thank you so much, uncle,” said Annie, speaking in her sweetest tone.

“But my dear child, this will depend altogether on what Mrs Lyttelton says. But I expect the best, dear; for all her girls are nice, and you say that Miss Lushington is your special friend.”

“My very greatest,” said Annie – “a sweet girl – a poetess!”

“Indeed, Annie? She shows gifts at this early age? How very interesting! I am always impressed by young efforts; I like to encourage them. You have not by chance any of her little effusions by you?”

Now Annie had brought poor Susan Martin’s manuscript book with her to the Rectory. She thought for a minute. Would it be safe to show these verses to the Rector? After a minute she said:

“I think I have. I will look in my trunk after tea.”

“Do, my love; I shall be much interested. I used to indulge in verses when I was young myself, dear. Ah, those far-off days! And I had my dreams of greatness too. We all have our little ambitions when we are young. I wonder what yours are, my little Annie.”

“Oh, I don’t want to be clever at all,” said Annie; “I just want to have a good time – and to make you happy,” she added as an afterthought, putting out her small hand and laying it on his.

“Bless you, my darling – bless you! You are the sunshine of my life. Yes – thank God, I am much better this afternoon; that horrid feeling in my head has passed away. It gives me anxiety now and then, but only on your account, my child. As far as I am concerned, I am ready and waiting – only waiting to obey. I have had my warning – most old people have, dear; but for your sake I would live a little.”

“Of course you will live for many, many years longer, Uncle Maurice,” said Annie, rising and kissing him. “And now you are not going to be dismal, or to talk horrid things about – about dying. I am going to give you your tea; you always love the tea that Annie makes for you.”

She flitted out of the room. She was the gayest of the gay during the rest of that evening. She chatted, and laughed, and made herself pleasant to every one; and when Uncle Maurice went to bed, feeling almost quite well again, he thanked God on his knees for having given him so bonny a creature as Annie to be the light and joy of his old age.

Meanwhile Annie herself, seated by her open window, with the moonlight falling full upon her, was counting her money – that money which she had stolen from the faithful and affectionate old man. She put it in rows before her on the table. Fifteen beautiful, bright golden sovereigns; and there was also a five-pound note! The note looked a little dirty and as though it had passed through many hands.

Annie sat by the window and made her plans. Whether her conscience would prick her by-and-by remained to be proved; but on the present occasion it was quite tired out, stupefied by all those things which miserable Annie had done to try it. She felt, therefore, quite at her ease, and made her arrangements with care.

It would not do for her to arrive in Paris before the appointed evening. She had, therefore, the whole of to-morrow to spend at the Rectory, and also the whole of Sunday. Monday, too, might be spent there; and she would have done this but for the fact that the butcher’s cart called on Monday morning, and that Mrs Shelf would notice the absence of Dawson’s receipt. At first, of course, she would not be greatly surprised, and would content herself with writing him a note demanding it. It might be possible, however, that she would go to Rashleigh to see him. In great astonishment, he would ask many questions of Mrs Shelf, and would naturally tell her that Annie had cashed the cheque for twenty pounds.

Annie was positively sure that her uncle would forgive her even so great a sin as this, but she did not want to be in the house when he knew of her guilt. She resolved, therefore, to leave the Rectory on Monday morning, of course first writing a little note to her uncle telling him what she had done – in fact, making her confession to him, and begging him to forgive her.

“There is nothing else for it,” she thought. “I know the dear old man will be dreadfully disappointed, but he will forgive me; I know he will.”

That evening Annie neglected even to say that semblance of prayer which she was accustomed to utter before she laid her head on her pillow. Somehow, she dared not pray.

The next morning she was up, bright and early, singing gaily about the house. Mr Brooke had quite recovered. He came to meet her as she ran down into the garden.

“Why, Uncle Maurice!” cried the girl. “Oh, you are naughty!”

“I am quite well,” he answered, “and I have good news for you. Who do you think is coming to stay here to-day?”

“Whom?” asked the girl. “My cousin’s son from Australia – John Saxon. I have not seen him since he was a baby. You will have some fun now, Annie, with a young person in the house.”

“Is he really young?” said Annie.

“Young, my dear? I should think so; about five or six and twenty. He’s as good a lad as ever walked. I had a long letter from his mother. She says he is going to pay me a visit, and I may expect him – yes, to-day. You will have something to look forward to now, Annie, if Lady Lushington’s character as a worldly-minded woman prevents my sending you to Paris.”

“But I think I shall go to Paris,” said Annie. She looked very pretty and expectant. The rector uttered a slight sigh.

“Come in, uncle; I must give you your breakfast, even if fifty John Saxons are coming to pay you a visit. Oh yes, of course I am glad.”

But she did not feel so; she had a dim sort of idea that this young man might interfere with her own plans.

Chapter Thirteen

Annie’s Appeal

John Saxon was big and square and muscular. Under ordinary circumstances Annie would have been charmed with his society. He was frankly glad to meet her, and they had not been half-an-hour in each other’s company before they were chatting together as the best of friends.

“We are distant cousins, you know,” said the young man. “I am so glad you are here, Miss Brooke.”

“I am glad to be here, too,” said Annie, “to welcome you; but you won’t have much of my society, for I am going to Paris in a few days.”

“Are you? I am sorry for that.”

“Oh, you won’t stay long either,” said Annie; “you won’t be able to stand the place.”

“But I think I shall like it very much,” he replied. “I love the country, and have never seen English country life before; this place doesn’t seem at all lonely to me after our life in Tasmania. You haven’t an idea what real loneliness is in any part of England; but if you lived fifty or sixty miles away from the nearest neighbour, then you’d have some idea of it.”

“It must be horrible,” said Annie, who was standing that moment in the sunlit garden with an apple-tree behind her and her pretty little figure silhouetted against the evening sky.

“Not for me,” said young Saxon; “I love the life. Your England seems to suffocate me. In London I hadn’t room to breathe, and in that Paris to which you are going, Miss Brooke, I really felt ill.”

“Oh dear!” said Annie; “then you have not my sort of nature.”

He looked at her tentatively. She was fresh and young, and he had never talked to a real English girl before. But, somehow, she did not quite suit him. He was a keen judge of character, and those eyes of hers did not look long enough at any one. They soon lowered their lids as though they were keeping back a secret; and her pretty little mouth could also look unamiable at times. He hated himself for finding these flaws in a creature whom the rector worshipped, but nevertheless he could not help observing them.

Saxon arrived at the Rectory on the afternoon of Saturday, and he and Annie had already become, to all appearance, excellent friends.

When Sunday dawned he accompanied her to church, where the old rector preached one of the best sermons his affectionate congregation had ever listened to. Saxon and Annie were both long to remember that sermon and all that immediately followed, for on the afternoon of that same day the old man had another attack of drowsiness and giddiness. The doctor was sent for, and shook his head.

“He is not at all well,” said Dr Brett; “he is in no condition to stand the slightest shock. He did far too much when he preached to-day. Oh, Miss Annie, you need not look so dismal; I make no doubt we shall pull him round, but we have got to be very careful.”

Annie felt puzzled. Of course she was sorry for her uncle, but she had by no means reached the stage when she would give up her pleasure for him. She was, however, alarmed when the doctor said that the old man was in no condition to stand a shock. Was not a shock being prepared for him? Annie knew well how he loved her. She also knew how strong were his opinions with regard to right and wrong, with regard to goodness and wickedness. To old Mr Brooke Annie’s deed would bring such sorrow that his life, already in danger, might go out under the shock.

The girl felt herself trembling. She turned away from Saxon. He noticed her agitation, and went into the garden. Saxon felt that he had never liked Annie so much before.

“I thought her a rather pretty, rather heartless little thing,” he said to himself; “but I am mistaken. She does love the dear old man very truly.”

Meanwhile Annie was pacing up and down wondering what was to be done. Nothing would induce her to give up Paris; but if only she could go without giving her uncle that terrible shock with regard to the money!

All of a sudden a thought darted through her brain. Why should she not ask her cousin, John Saxon, to lend her twenty pounds? He had talked quite carelessly about his life in Tasmania last night, and, without intending to do so, had given Annie to understand that he was very comfortably off. The more she thought of borrowing money from her cousin, the more easy did it seem to her. If he gave it to her, she would go very early to-morrow to Rashleigh, pay Dawson, and bring back the receipt. Then all would be well. She could write a letter to her uncle explaining that she was forced to go to Paris for a little, but if he were really ill, she would not stay very long. In the meantime John Saxon would look after him. As to the money which she was about to borrow, Annie gave her shoulders a shrug.