A World of Girls: The Story of a School

“Thornton,” put in Hester.

“Yes, Miss – Miss Thornton, perhaps you can manage for me as well as Mrs Willis; after all I don’t particularly want to see her. If you belong to Lavender House, you, of course, know my – I mean you have a school-mate here, a little, pretty gipsy rogue called Forest – little Annie Forest. I want to see her – can you take me to her!”

“You are her father?” gasped Hester.

“Yes, my dear child, I am her father. Now you can take me to her at once.”

Hester covered her face.

“Oh, I cannot,” she said – “I cannot take you to Annie. Oh, sir, if you knew all, you would feel inclined to kill me. Don’t ask me about Annie – don’t, don’t.”

The stranger looked fairly nonplussed and not a little alarmed. Just at this moment Nan’s tiny fingers touched his hand.

“Me’ll lake ’oo to my Annie,” she said – “mine poor Annie. Annie’s vedy sick, but me’ll take ’oo.”

The tall, foreign-looking man lifted Nan into his arms.

“Sick, is she?” he answered. “Look here young lady,” he added, turning to Hester, “whatever you have got to say, I am sure you will try and say it; you will pity a father’s anxiety and master your own feelings. Where is my little girl?”

Hester hastily dried her tears.

“She is in a cottage near Oakley, sir.”

“Indeed! Oakley is some miles from here?”

“And she is very ill.”

“What of?”

“Fever; they – they fear she may die.”

“Take me to her,” said the stranger. “If she is ill and dying she wants me. Take me to her at once. Here, jump on the dog-cart; and, little one, you shall come too.”

So furiously did Captain Forest drive that in a very little over an hour’s time his panting horse stopped at a few steps from the cottage. He called to a boy to hold him, and, accompanied by Hester, and carrying Nan in his arms, he stood on the threshold of Mrs Williams’ humble little abode. Mr Everard was coming out.

“Hester,” he said, “you here? I was coming for you.”

“Oh, then she is worse?”

“She is conscious, and has asked for you. Yes, she is very, very ill.”

“Mr Everard, this gentleman is Annie’s father.”

Mr Everard looked pityingly at Captain Forest.

“You have come back at a sad hour, sir,” he said. “But no, it cannot harm her to see you. Come with me.”

Captain Forest went first into the sick-room; Hester waited outside. She had the little kitchen to herself, for all the Williamses, with the exception of the good mother, had moved for the time being to other quarters. Surely Mr Everard would come for her in a moment? Surely Captain Forest, who had gone into the sick-room with Nan in his arms, would quickly return? There was no sound. All was absolute quiet. How soon would Hester be summoned? Could she – could she bear to look at Annie’s dying face? Her agony drove her down on her knees.

“Oh, if you would only spare Annie!” she prayed to God. Then she wiped her eyes. This terrible suspense seemed more than she could bear. Suddenly the bedroom door was softly and silently opened, and Mr Everard came out.

“She sleeps,” he said; “there is a shadow of hope. Little Nan has done it. Nan asked to lie down beside her and she said, ‘Poor Annie! poor Annie!’ and stroked her cheek; and in some way, I don’t know how, the two have gone to sleep together. Annie did not even glance at her father; she was quite taken up with Nan. You can come to the door and look at her, Hester.”

Hester did so. A time had been when she could scarcely have borne that sight without a pang of jealousy; now she turned to Mr Everard:

“I – I could even give her the heart of little Nan to keep her here,” she murmured.

Chapter Fifty One

The Prize Essay

Annie did not die. The fever passed away in that long and refreshing sleep, while Nan’s cool hand lay against her cheek. She came slowly, slowly back to life – to a fresh, a new, and a glad life. Hester, from being her enemy, was now her dearest and warmest friend. Her father was at home again, and she could no longer think or speak of herself as lonely or sad. She recovered, and in future days reigned as a greater favourite than ever at Lavender House. It is only fair to say that Tiger never went back to the gipsies, but devoted himself first and foremost to Annie, and then to the Captain, who pronounced him a capital dog, and when he heard his story vowed he never would part with him.

Owing to Annie’s illness, and to all the trouble and confusion which immediately ensued, Mrs Willis did not give away her prizes at the usual time; but when her scholars once more assembled at Lavender House she astonished several of them by a few words.

“My dears,” she said, standing in her accustomed place at the head of the long school-room, “I intend now, before our first day of lessons begins, to distribute those prizes which would have been yours, under ordinary circumstances, on the twenty-first of June. The prizes will be distributed during the afternoon recess: but here, and now, I wish to say something about – and also to give away – the prize for English composition. Six essays, all written with more or less care, have been given to me to inspect. There are reasons which we need not now go into which made it impossible to me to say anything in favour of a theme called ‘The River,’ written by my late pupil, Miss Russell: but I can cordially praise a very nice historical sketch of Marie Antoinette, the work of Hester Thornton. Mary Price has also written a study which pleases me much, as it shows thought and even a little originality. The remainder of the six essays simply reach an ordinary average. You will be surprised therefore, my dears, to learn that I do not award the prize to any of these themes, but rather to a seventh composition, which was put into my hands yesterday by Miss Danesbury. It is crude and unfinished, and doubtless but for her recent illness would have received many corrections: but these few pages, which are called ‘A Lonely Child,’ drew tears from my eyes; crude as they are, they have the merit of real originality. They are too morbid to read to you, girls, and I sincerely trust and pray the young writer may never pen anything so sad again. Such as they are, however, they rank first in the order of merit, and the prize is hers. Annie, my dear, come forward.”

Annie left her seat, and, amid the cheers of her companions, went up to Mrs Willis, who placed a locket, attached to a slender gold chain, round her neck; the locket contained a miniature of the head-mistress’s much-loved face.

“After all, think of our Annie Forest turning out clever, as well as being the prettiest and dearest girl in the school I exclaimed several or her companions.”

“Only I do wish,” added one, “that Mrs Willis had let us see the essay. Annie, treasure, come here; tell us what the ‘Lonely Child’ was about.”

“I don’t remember,” answered Annie. “I don’t know what loneliness means now, so how can I describe it?”

The End.