"You are the matter. Oh, why-_why_ did you do it?"

"I do what?" said Evelyn, a little startled, and turning very pale.

"Oh! you know you did it, and-and-- There is Sylvia Leeson coming across the gra.s.s. Do let Sylvia speak to you. Oh, you know-you know you did it!"

"What is the matter?" said Sylvia, running up, panting and breathless.

"I have been asked to breakfast here. Such fun! I slipped off without father knowing. But are not you two going to school? Why was I asked?

Audrey, what are you crying about?"

"About Evelyn. I am awfully unhappy--"

"Have you told, Evelyn?" asked Sylvia breathlessly.

"No," said Evelyn; "and if you do, Sylvia--"

"Sylvia, do you know about this?" cried Audrey.

"About what?" asked Sylvia.

"About the book which got injured at Miss Henderson's school."

Sylvia glanced at Evelyn; then her face flushed, her eyes brightened, and she said emphatically:

"I know; and dear little Evelyn will tell you herself.-Won't you, darling-won't you?"

Evelyn looked from one to the other.

"You are enough, both of you, to drive me mad," she said. "Do you think for a single moment that I am going to speak against myself? I hate you, Sylvia, as much as I ever loved you."

Before either girl could prevent her she slipped away, and flying round the shrubberies, was lost to view.

"Then she did do it?" said Audrey. "She told you?"

Sylvia shut her lips.

"I must not say any more," she answered.

"But, Sylvia, it is no secret. Miss Henderson knows; there is circ.u.mstantial evidence. Mother told me last night. Evelyn will be exposed before the whole school."

Now Jasper, for wise reasons, had said nothing to Sylvia of Evelyn's proposed flight to The Priory, and consequently she was unaware that the naughty girl had no intention of exposing herself to public disgrace.

"She must be brought to confess," continued Audrey, "and you must find her and talk to her. You must show her how hopeless and helpless she is.

Show her that if she tells, the disgrace will not be quite so awful. Oh, do please get her to tell!"

"I can but try," said Sylvia; "only, somehow," she added, "I have not yet quite fathomed Evelyn."

"But I thought she was fond of you?"

"You see what she said. She did confide something to me, only I must not tell you any more; and she is angry with me because she thinks I have not respected her confidence. Oh, what is to be done? Yes, I will go and have a talk with her. Go in, please, Audrey; you look dead tired."

"Oh! as if anything mattered," said Audrey. "I could almost wish that I were dead; the disgrace is past enduring."

CHAPTER XXVII.-THE STRANGE VISITOR IN THE BACK BEDROOM.

In vain Sylvia pleaded and argued. She brought all her persuasions to bear; she brought all her natural sweetness to the fore. She tried love, with which she was so largely endowed; she tried tact, which had been given to her in full measure; she tried the gentle touch of scorn and sarcasm; finally she tried anger, but for all she said and did she might as well have held her peace. Evelyn put on that stubbornness with which she could encase herself as in armor; nowhere could Sylvia find a crack or a crevice through which her words might pierce the obdurate and naughty little heart. What was to be done? At last she gave up in despair. Audrey met her outside Evelyn's room. Sylvia shook her head.

"Don't question me," she said. "I am very unhappy. I pity you from my heart. I can say nothing; I am bound in honor to say nothing. Poor Evelyn will reap her own punishment."

"If," said Audrey, "you have failed I give up all hope."

After lunch Evelyn and Audrey went back to school. There were a good many cla.s.ses to be held that afternoon-one for deportment, another for dancing, another for recitation. Evelyn could recite extremely well when she chose. She looked almost pretty when she recited some of the spirited ballads of her native land for the benefit of the school. Her eyes glowed, darkened, and deepened; the pallor of her face was transformed and beautified by a faint blush. There was a heart somewhere within her; as Audrey watched her she was obliged to acknowledge that fact.

"She is thinking of her dead mother now," thought the girl. "Oh, if only that mother had been different we should not be placed in our present terrible position!"

It was the custom of the school for the girls on recitation afternoons to do their pieces in the great hall. Miss Henderson, Miss Lucy, and a few visitors generally came to listen to the recitations. Miss Thompson was the recitation mistress, and right well did she perform her task. If a girl had any dramatic power, if a girl had any talent for seeing behind the story and behind the dream of the poet, Miss Thompson was the one to bring that gift to the surface. Evelyn, who was a dramatist by nature, became like wax in her hands; the way in which she recited that afternoon brought a feeling of astonishment to those who listened to her.

"What remarkable little girl is that?" said a lady of the neighboring town to Miss Henderson.

"She is a Tasmanian and Squire Edward Wynford's niece," replied Miss Henderson; but it was evident that she was not to be drawn out on the subject, nor would she allow herself to express any approbation of Evelyn's really remarkable powers.

Audrey's piece, compared with Evelyn's, was tame and wanting in spirit.

It was well rendered, it is true, but the ring of pa.s.sion was absent.

"Really," said the same lady again, "I doubt whether recitations such as Miss Evelyn Wynford has given are good for the school; surely girls ought not to have their minds overexcited with such things!"

Miss Henderson was again silent.

The time pa.s.sed by, and the close of the day arrived. Just as the girls were putting on their cloaks and hats preparatory to going home, and some were collecting round and praising Evelyn for her remarkable performance of the afternoon, Miss Henderson appeared on the scene. She touched the little girl on the arm.

"One moment," she said.

"What do you want?" said Evelyn, backing.

"To speak to you, my dear."

Audrey gave Evelyn a beseeching look. Perhaps if Audrey had refrained from looking at that moment, Evelyn, excited by her triumph, touched by the plaudits of her companions, might have done what she was expected to do, and what immediately followed need not have taken place. But Evelyn hated Audrey, and if for no other reason but to annoy her she would stand by her guns.

Miss Henderson took her hand, and entered a room adjoining the cloakroom. She closed the door, and said:

"The week is nearly up. You know what will happen to-morrow?"

"Yes," said Evelyn, lowering her eyes.

"You will be present?"