Miss Danesbury then withdrew, and Hester ventured to raise her eyes and to look timidly at the head-mistress.

A tall woman, with a beautiful face and silvery white hair, came instantly to meet her, laid her two hands on the girl's shoulders, and then, raising her shy little face, imprinted a kiss on her forehead.

"Your mother was one of my earliest pupils, Hester," she said, "and you are--no"--after a pause, "you are not very like her. You are her child, however, my dear, and as such you have a warm welcome from me. Now, come and sit by the fire, and let us talk."

Hester did not feel nearly so constrained with this graceful and gracious lady as she had done with her schoolmates. The atmosphere of the room recalled her beloved mother's boudoir at home. The rich dove-colored satin dress, the cap made of Mechlin lace which softened and shaded Mrs. Willis'

silvery hair, appeared homelike to the little girl, who had grown up accustomed to all the luxuries of wealth. Above all, the head-mistress'

mention of her mother drew her heart toward the beautiful face, and attracted her toward the rich, full tones of a voice which could be powerful and commanding at will. Mrs. Willis, notwithstanding her white hair, had a youthful face, and Hester made the comment which came first to her lips:

"I did not think you were old enough to have taught my mother."

"I am sixty, dear, and I have kept this school for thirty years. Your mother was not the only pupil who sent her children to be taught by me when the time came. Now, you can sit on this stool by the fire and tell me about your home. Your mother--ah, poor child, you would rather not talk about her just yet. Helen's daughter must have strong feelings--ah, yes; I see, I see. Another time, darling, when you know me better. Now tell me about your little sister, and your father. You do not know, perhaps, that I am Nan's G.o.dmother?"

After this the head-mistress and the new pupil had a long conversation.

Hester forgot her shyness; her whole heart had gone out instantly to this beautiful woman who had known, and loved, and taught her mother.

"I will try to be good at school," she said at last; "but, oh, please, Mrs. Willis, it does not seem to me to-night as if school-life could be happy."

"It has its trials, Hester; but the brave and the n.o.ble girls often find this time of discipline one of the best in their lives--good at the time, very good to look back on by-and-by. You will find a miniature world around you; you will be surrounded by temptations; and you will have rare chances of proving whether your character can be strong and great and true. I think, as a rule, my girls are happy, and as a rule they turn out well. The great motto of life here, Hester, is earnestness. We are earnest in our work, we are earnest in our play. A half-hearted girl has no chance at Lavender House. In play-time, laugh with the merriest, my child; in school-hours, study with the most studious. Do you understand me?"

"I try to, a little," said Hester, "but it seems all very strange just now."

"No doubt it does, and at first you will have to encounter many perplexities and to fight many battles. Never mind, if you have the right spirit within you, you will come out on the winning side. Now, tell me, have you made any acquaintances as yet among the girls?"

"Yes--Cecil Temple has been kind to me."

"Cecil is one of my dearest pupils; cultivate her friendship, Hester--she is honorable, she is sympathizing. I am not afraid to say that Cecil has a great heart."

"There is another girl," continued Hester, "who has spoken to me. I need not make her my friend, need I?"

"Who is she, dear?"

"Miss Forest--I don't like her."

"What! our school favorite. You will change your mind, I expect--but that is the gong for prayers. You shall come with me to chapel, to-night, and I will introduce you to Mr. Everard."

CHAPTER VI.

"I AM UNHAPPY."

Between forty and fifty young girls a.s.sembled night and morning for prayers in the pretty chapel which adjoined Lavender House. This chapel had been reconstructed from the ruins of an ancient priory, on the site of which the house was built. The walls, and even the beautiful eastern window, belonged to a far-off date. The roof had been carefully reared in accordance with the style of the east window, and the whole effect was beautiful and impressive. Mrs. Willis was particularly fond of her own chapel. Here she hoped the girls' best lessons might be learned, and here she had even once or twice brought a refractory pupil, and tried what a gentle word or two spoken in these old and sacred walls might effect.

Here, on wet Sundays the girls a.s.sembled for service; and here, every evening at nine o'clock, came the vicar of the large parish to which Lavender House belonged, to conduct evening prayers. He was an old man, and a great friend of Mrs. Willis', and he often told her that he considered these young girls some of the most important members of his flock.

Here Hester knelt to-night. It is to be doubted whether in her confusion, and in the strange loneliness which even Mrs. Willis had scarcely removed, she prayed much. It is certain she did not join in the evening hymn, which, with the aid of an organ and some sweet girl-voices, was beautifully and almost pathetically rendered. After evening prayers had come to an end, Mrs. Willis took Hester's hand and led her up to the old, white-headed vicar.

"This is my new pupil, Mr. Everard, or rather I should say, our new pupil. Her education depends as much on you as on me."

The vicar held out his hands, and took Hester's within them, and then drew her forward to the light.

"This little face does not seem quite strange to me," he said. "Have I ever seen you before, my dear?"

"No, sir," replied Hester.

"You have seen her mother," said Mrs. Willis--"Do you remember your favorite pupil, Helen Anstey, of long ago?"

"Ah! indeed--indeed! I shall never forget Helen. And are you her child, little one?"

But Hester's face had grown white. The solemn service in the chapel, joined to all the excitement and anxieties of the day, had strung up her sensitive nerves to a pitch higher than she could endure. Suddenly, as the vicar spoke to her, and Mrs. Willis looked kindly down at her new pupil, the chapel seemed to reel round, the pupils one by one disappeared, and the tired girl only saved herself from fainting by a sudden burst of tears.

"Oh, I am unhappy," she sobbed, "without my mother! Please, please, don't talk to me about my mother."

She could scarcely take in the gentle words which her two friends said to her, and she hardly noticed when Mrs. Willis did such a wonderful thing as to stoop down and kiss a second time the lips of a new pupil.

Finally she found herself consigned to Miss Danesbury's care, who hurried her off to her room, and helped her to undress and tucked her into her little bed.

"Now, love, you shall have some hot gruel. No, not a word. You ate little or no tea to-night--I watched you from my distant table. Half your loneliness is caused by want of food--I know it, my love; I am a very practical person. Now, eat your gruel, and then shut your eyes and go to sleep."

"You are very kind to me," said Hester, "and so is Mrs. Willis, and so is Mr. Everard, and I like Cecil Temple--but, oh, I wish Annie Forest was not in the school!"

"Hush, my dear, I implore of you. You pain me by these words. I am quite confident that Annie will be your best friend yet."

Hester's lips said nothing, but her eyes answered "Never" as plainly as eyes could speak.

CHAPTER VII.

A DAY AT SCHOOL.

If Hester Thornton went to sleep that night under a sort of dreamy, hazy impression that school was a place without a great deal of order, with many kind and sympathizing faces, and with some not so agreeable; if she went to sleep under the impression that she had dropped into a sort of medley, that she had found herself in a vast new world where certain personages exercised undoubtedly a strong moral influence, but where on the whole a number of other people did pretty much what they pleased--she awoke in the morning to find her preconceived ideas scattered to the four winds.

There was nothing of apparent liberty about the Lavender House arrangements in the early morning hours. In the first place, it seemed quite the middle of the night when Hester was awakened by a loud gong, which clanged through the house and caused her to sit up in bed in a considerable state of fright and perplexity. A moment or two later a neatly-dressed maid-servant came into the room with a can of hot water; she lit a pair of candles on the mantel-piece, and, with the remark that the second gong would sound in half an hour, and that all the young ladies would be expected to a.s.semble in the chapel at seven o'clock precisely, she left the room.

Hester pulled her pretty little gold watch from under her pillow, and saw with a sigh that it was now half-past six.

"What odious hours they keep in this horrid place!" she said to herself.

"Well, well, I always did know that school would be unendurable."

She waited for five minutes before she got up, and then she dressed herself languidly, and, if the truth must be told, in a very untidy fashion. She managed to be dressed by the time the second gong sounded, but she had only one moment to give to her private prayers. She reflected, however, that this did not greatly matter as she was going down to prayers immediately in the chapel.

The service in the chapel the night before had impressed her more deeply than she cared to own, and she followed her companions down stairs with a certain feeling of pleasure at the thought of again seeing Mr. Everard and Mrs. Willis. She wondered if they would take much notice of her this morning, and she thought it just possible that Mr. Everard, who had looked at her so compa.s.sionately the night before, might be induced, for the sake of his old friendship with her mother, to take her home with him to spend the day. She thought she would rather like to spend a day with Mr. Everard, and she fancied he was the sort of person who would influence her and help her to be good. Hester fancied that if some very interesting and quite out of the common person took her in hand, she might be formed into something extremely n.o.ble--n.o.ble enough even to forgive Annie Forest.