"Well, don't do it. I will get some one else."

"And, in the second place," continued Sibyl, "even if I were willing to do it, I don't know how. If Betty chooses to hide things--parcels or anything of that sort--I can't find out where she puts them."

"You can watch her," said f.a.n.n.y. "Now, if you have any gumption about you--and it is my strong belief that you have--you will be able to tell me this time to-morrow something about Betty Vivian and her movements.

If by this time to-morrow you know nothing--why, I will relieve you of the task, and you will be as you were before. But if, on the other hand, you help me to save the honor of a great school--which is, I a.s.sure you, at the present moment in serious peril--I shall do my utmost to get you admitted to the Speciality Club. Now, I think that is all."

As f.a.n.n.y concluded she shouted to Susie Rushworth, who was going towards the arbor at the top of the grounds, and Sibyl found herself all alone.

f.a.n.n.y had taken her a good long way. They had pa.s.sed through a plantation of young fir-trees to one of the vegetable-gardens, and thence through an orchard, where the gra.s.s was long and dank at this time of year. Somehow or other, Sibyl felt chilled to the bone and very miserable. She had never liked f.a.n.n.y less than she did at this moment.

But she was not strong-minded, and f.a.n.n.y was one of the most important girls in the school. She was rich, her father was a man of great distinction; she might be head-girl of the school, and probably would when Margaret Grant left; she was also quite an old member of the Specialities. Besides f.a.n.n.y, even Martha West seemed to fade into insignificance. It was as though the friend of the Prime Minister--the greatest possible friend--had held out a helping hand to a struggling n.o.body, and offered that n.o.body a dazzling position. Sibyl was that poor little n.o.body, and f.a.n.n.y's words were weighted with such power that the girl trembled and felt herself shaking all over.

Sibyl's love for Martha was innocent, pure, and good. Her admiration for Betty was the generous and romantic affection which a little schoolgirl gives to another girl older than herself who is both brilliant and captivating. But, after all, Betty had lost her sceptre and laid down her crown. Betty, for some extraordinary reason, was in disgrace, and f.a.n.n.y was in the zenith of her power. It would be magnificent to be a Speciality! How those girls who thought little or nothing of Sibyl now would admire her when she pa.s.sed into that glorious state! She thought of herself as joining the other Specialities in arranging programmes, in devising entertainments; she thought of the privileges which would be hers; she thought of that delightful private sitting-room into which she had once dared to peep, and then shot out her little face again, half-terrified at her own audacity. There was no one in the room at the moment; but it did look cosy--the chairs so easy and comfortable, and all covered with such a delicate shade of blue. Sibyl knew that blue became her. She thought how nice she would look sitting in one of those chairs and being hail-fellow-well-met with Margaret Grant, and Martha her own friend, and all the others. Even Betty would envy her then. She and Betty would change places. It would be her part to advise Betty what to do and what to wear. Oh, it was a very dazzling prospect! And she could gain the coveted distinction--but how?

Sibyl felt her heart beating very fast. She had not been trained in a high school of morals. Her father was a very hard-working clergyman with a large family of eight children. Her mother was dead; her elder sisters were earning their own living. Mrs. Haddo had heard of Sibyl, and had taken her into the school on special terms, feeling sure that charity was well expended in such a case. Mr. Ray was far too busy over his numerous duties to look after Sibyl as her mother would have done had she lived. The little girl was brought up anyhow, and her new life at Haddo Court was a revelation to her in more ways than one. She was not pretty; she was not clever; she was not strong-minded; she was very easily influenced. A good girl could have done much for her--Martha had done her very best; but a bad girl could do even more.

While Sibyl was dallying with temptation, thinking to herself how attractive it would be to feel such an important person as f.a.n.n.y Crawford, she looked down from the height where she was standing and saw Betty Vivian walking slowly across the common.

Betty was alone. Her head was slightly bent, but the rest of her young figure was bolt upright. She was going towards the spot where those spa.r.s.e clumps of heather occupied their neglected position at one side of the "forest primeval."

When first Sibyl saw Betty her heart gave a great throb of longing to rush to her, to fling her arms round her, to kiss her, to cling to her side. But she suppressed that impulse. She loved Betty, but she was afraid of her. Betty was the last sort of girl to put up with what she considered liberties; Sibyl was a person to whom she was utterly indifferent, and she would by no means have liked Sibyl to kiss her.

From Sibyl's vantage-ground, therefore, she watched Betty, herself unseen. Then it suddenly occurred to her that she might continue to watch her, but from a more favorable point of view.

There was a little knoll at one end of the orchard, and there was a very old gnarled apple-tree at the edge of the knoll. If Sibyl ran fast she could climb into the apple-tree and look right down on to the common. No sooner did the thought come to her than she resolved to act on it.

Knowledge is always power, and she need not tell f.a.n.n.y anything at all unless she liked. She could be faithful to poor Betty, who was in disgrace, and at the same time she might know something about her. It was so very odd that Betty was expelled from the Specialities. She could not possibly have resigned, for had she done so there would have been a great fuss, and everything would have been explained to the satisfaction of the school; whereas that mysterious sentence on the blackboard left the whole thing involved in darkest night. What had Betty done? Had she really told a lie about what she had found in the old stump of oak? Was it not a piece of wood after all? Had she really sent Sibyl into the flower-garden to gather marguerites and make herself a figure of fun at the Specialities' entertainment? Had she done it to get rid of her just because--because she wanted--she wanted to remove something from the stump of the old oak-tree? Oh, if Betty were that sort--if it were possible--even Sibyl Ray felt that she could not love her any longer! It was f.a.n.n.y, after all, who was a n.o.ble girl. f.a.n.n.y wanted to get to the bottom of things. f.a.n.n.y herself could not do what an unimportant little girl like Sibyl could do. After all, there was nothing shabby in it. If it were shabby, f.a.n.n.y Crawford, the last girl in the school to do wrong, would not have asked her to attend to the matter.

Sibyl therefore climbed into the old apple-tree and perched amongst its branches, and gazed eagerly down on the bit of common land. She was far nearer to Betty than Betty had the least idea of. She saw her walk towards the pieces of heather, but could not, from her point of view, see what the plants were. She had really no idea that there was any special heather in the grounds; she was not interested in a stupid thing like heather. But she did see Betty go on her knees, and she did see her pull up a root of some sort or other, and she did see her take something out and look at it and put it back again. Then Betty returned very slowly across the common towards the house.

Sibyl was fairly panting now with excitement. Was there ever, ever in all the world, such an easy way of becoming a Speciality? Betty had a secret; and she, Sibyl, had found it out without the slightest difficulty. Betty had hidden something in the old oak, and now she had buried it under some plants at the edge of the common. Sibyl forgot pretence, she forgot honor, she forgot everything but the luring voice of f.a.n.n.y Crawford and her keen desire to perfect her quest. At that time of year few girls troubled themselves to walk across the "forest primeval." It was a sort of place that was pleasant enough in warm days of summer, but damp and dull and dreary at this season, when the girls of Haddo Court preferred the upper walks, or the hockey-ground, or the different places where the various games were played. Certainly the "forest primeval" did not occupy much of their attention.

It was getting a little dusk; but Sibyl, too excited to care, scrambled down from her tree, and a few minutes later had dashed across the common, and had discovered by the loosened earth the exact spot where Betty had stooped. She was now beside herself with excitement. It was her turn to go on her knees. She was doing good work; she was, according to f.a.n.n.y Crawford, saving the honor of the school. She poked and poked with her fingers, and soon got up the already loosened roots of the piece of heather. Down went her hard little hands into the cold clay until at last they touched the tiny packet, which was sealed and tied firmly with strong string.

"Eureka! I have found it!" was Sibyl's exclamation. She slipped the packet into her pocket, put the heather back into its place, tried to give the disturbed earth the appearance of not having been disturbed at all, and went back to the house. She was so excited she could scarcely contain herself.

The days were getting shorter. Tea was at half-past four, and a kind of light supper at seven o'clock. The girls of the lower school had this meal a little earlier. Sibyl was just in time for tea, which was always served in the great refectory; and here the various members of the upper school were all a.s.sembled--except the Specialities, who had tea in their own private room.

"Well, Sibyl, you are late!" said Sarah b.u.t.t. "I wanted to take a long walk with you. Where have you been?"

"I have been for a walk with f.a.n.n.y Crawford," replied Sibyl with an important air.

Betty, who was helping herself to a cup of tea, glanced up at that moment and fixed her eyes on Sibyl. Sibyl colored furiously and looked away. Betty took no further notice of her, but began to chat with a girl near her. Soon a crowd of girls collected round Betty, and laughed heartily at her remarks.

On any other occasion Sibyl would have joined this group, and been the first to giggle over Betty's witticisms. But the little parcel in her pocket seemed to weigh like lead. It was a weight on her spirits too.

She was most anxious to deliver it over to f.a.n.n.y Crawford, and to keep f.a.n.n.y to her word, in order that she might be proposed as a Speciality at the next meeting. She knew this would not be until Thursday. Oh, it was all too long to wait! But she could put on airs already, for would she not very soon cease to be drinking this weak tea in the refectory?

Would she not be having her own dainty meal in the Specialities' private room?

"How red you are, Sibyl!" was Sarah b.u.t.t's remark. "I suppose the cold wind has caught your cheeks."

"I wish you wouldn't remark on my appearance," said Sibyl.

"Dear, dear! Hoity-toity! How grand we are getting all of a sudden!"

"You needn't snub me in the way you do, Sarah. You'll be treating me very differently before long."

"Indeed, your Royal Highness! And may I ask how and why?"

"You may neither ask how nor why; but events will prove," said Sibyl.

She raised her voice a little incautiously, and once again Betty looked at her. There was something about Betty's glance, at once sorrowful and aloof, which stung Sibyl. Just because she had done Betty a wrong she no longer loved her half as much as she had done. After a pause, she said in a distinct voice, "I am a very great friend of f.a.n.n.y Crawford, and I am going to see her now on special business." With these words she marched out of the refectory.

Some of the girls laughed. Betty was quite silent. No one dared question Betty Vivian with regard to her withdrawal from the Speciality Club, nor did she enlighten them. But when tea was over she went up to Sylvia and Hetty and said a few words to them both. They looked at her in amazement, but made no kind of protest. After speaking to her sisters, Betty left the refectory.

"What can be the matter with your Betty?" asked one of the girls, addressing the twins.

"There's nothing the matter with her," said Sylvia in a stout voice.

"Why are your eyes so red, then?"

"My eyes are red because d.i.c.kie's lost."

"Who's d.i.c.kie?"

"He is the largest spider I ever saw, and he grows bigger and fatter every day. But he is lost. We brought him from Scotland. He'd sting any one who tried to hurt him; so if any of you see him in your bedrooms or hiding under your pillows you'd best shriek out, for he is a dangerous sort, and ought not to be interfered with."

"How perfectly appalling!" said the girl now addressed. "You really oughtn't to keep horrid pets of that sort. And I loathe spiders."

"Oh, well, you're not Scotch," replied Sylvia with a disdainful gesture.

"d.i.c.kie is a darling to those he loves, but very fierce to those he hates."

"And is that really why your eyes are so red?" continued the girl--Hilda Morton by name. "Has it nothing to do with that wonderful sister of yours, and the strange fact that she has been expelled from the Speciality Club?"

"She hasn't been expelled!" said Sylvia in a voice of fury.

"Don't talk nonsense! The fact was mentioned on the blackboard. If you don't believe it, you can come and see for yourself."

"She has left the club, but was not expelled," said Sylvia. "And I hate you, Hilda! You have no right to speak of my sister like that."

Meanwhile two girls were pursuing their different ways. Betty was going towards that wing of the building where Mr. Fairfax's suite of rooms was to be found. She had never yet spoken to him. She wished to speak to him now. The rooms occupied by the Fairfaxes formed a complete little dwelling, with its own kitchen and special servants. These rooms adjoined the chapel; but his family lived apart from the school. It was understood, however, that any girl at Haddo Court was at liberty to ask the chaplain a question in a moment of difficulty.

Betty now rang the bell of the little house. A neat servant opened the door. On inquiring if Mr. Fairfax were within, Betty was told "Yes," and was admitted at once into that gentleman's study.

The clergyman rose at her entrance. He recognized her face, spoke to her kindly, said he was glad she had come to see him, and asked her to sit down. "Is anything the matter, my dear? Is there any way in which I can help you?"

"I don't know," answered the girl. "I thought perhaps you could; it flashed through my mind to-day that perhaps you could. You have seen me in the chapel?"

"Oh yes; yours is not the sort of face one is likely to forget."

"I am not happy," said Betty.

"I am sorry to hear that. But don't you agree with me that we poor human creatures think too much of our own individual happiness and too little of the happiness of others? It seems to me that the golden rule to live by in this: Provided my brother is happy, all is well with me."

"That is true to a certain extent," said Betty; "but--" She paused a minute. Then she said abruptly, "I am not at all the cringing sort, and I am not the girl to grumble, and I love Mrs. Haddo; and, sir, there have been moments when your voice in chapel has given me great consolation. I also love one or two of my schoolfellows. But the fact is, there is something weighing on my conscience, and I cannot tell you what it is. I cannot do the right thing, sir; and I do not see my way ever to do what I suppose you would say was the right thing. I will tell you this much about myself. You have heard of our Speciality Club?"