Mrs Drummond drove over from Edinburgh in a luxurious motor-car and took her daughter away, promising to send her back to the school on the following Monday morning.

Margaret devotedly loved her mother, and was not long in her presence before the entire story of the ghost and her part therein was revealed.

Mrs Drummond was a most severe Calvinist, a puritan of the narrowest type. She was shocked beyond measure with her daughter's narrative.

She sat down at once and read her a long chapter out of the Holy Book on all liars and their awful fate.

Margaret shivered as she listened to her mother's words.

'My dear,' said Mrs Drummond, 'if you do not confess and get that wicked Hollyhock--what a name!--into the trouble she deserves, you have your share with those of whom I'm reading. I'll come with you on Monday morning, and you 'll stand up in front of the entire school and tell what you and Hollyhock did. Mrs Macintyre will lose her school if such a thing is allowed.'

'But, oh, mother, I do love Hollyhock. Is there no other way out?'

'Having sinned,' said Mrs Drummond, 'you must repent. Having done the wicked thing, you must tell of it. Mrs Macintyre will be very shocked, but I think nothing of that. It is my la.s.sie I have to think of. It was Providence sent me to fetch you home to-day! There's no other way out. Confession--full confession--is the only course. You must stand up and do your part, and that wicked girl will as likely as not be expelled.'

CHAPTER XXI.

THERE IS NO WAY OUT.

Hollyhock did not exactly know how she felt during that visit to the dearly beloved old Garden. Besides the unwelcome presence of Aunt Agnes, there was a fear over her which was wholly and completely moral, for Hollyhock had, as may well be remarked, no physical fear whatsoever. She was the sort of girl, however, to keep even moral fears to herself, and she returned to the Palace of the Kings on Monday morning, hoping for the best. So far everything seemed to be all right.

Leucha rushed to her friend, clasped her and kissed her, said how deeply she had missed her, and how she had longed beyond words during the latter half of Sat.u.r.day and on Sunday for Hollyhock's return.

Meg, then, had been better than Hollyhock expected. When all was said and done, Meg was good and true. Hollyhock made up her mind to be specially good to Meg in future, to compensate her for her late neglect--in short, to soothe her ruffled feelings and to feel for her that love and admiration which the Scots girl had given to her in the past. But where was Meg?

Hollyhock's quick eyes looked round the room, looked round the s.p.a.cious hall, looked round the vast breakfast parlour. There was no sign of Meg anywhere. This puzzled her a little, but did not render her uneasy; and as no other girl in the school said a word about Meg Drummond--she was not a favourite by any means, and never would be--Hollyhock came to the conclusion that the poor thing must be ill, and must have taken to her bed, in which case she would inquire for her tenderly when the right time came, and thank her affectionately for her loving forbearance.

But, alack and alas! just as breakfast was coming to an end, there was a whir and a hoot, and a motor-car was heard rushing up the s.p.a.cious avenue and stopping before the great front-door.

A girl who was seated next to Hollyhock said, 'That must be Meg Drummond coming back. About an hour after you left us, Hollyhock, her mother came and fetched her. Why, there she is, to be sure, and her mother along with her. Whatever can be wrong?'

Hollyhock felt a fearful sinking at her heart. She longed to rush Leucha, poor little Leucha, out of the school, to hide her, to screen her from what was certain to follow. But she was too stunned by these unexpected events to say a word or take any action.

'You are a little white, Hollyhock,' said Leucha, who was seated at her side. 'Don't you feel well?'

'Oh, Leucha darling, don't ask me. It's all up with me,' groaned Hollyhock. 'Oh Leucha, say once again that you love me!'

'Love you, Holly? I love no one in the world as I love you!'

'Well, you have said it for the last time,' thought poor Hollyhock to herself. Her little victory, her little triumph, was at an end, for Hollyhock knew Leucha far too well to believe for an instant that she would forgive a horrible hoax played upon her.

If Meg Drummond was a cold, severe-looking girl, she was not nearly so severe or so cold as her mother. Mrs Drummond, accompanied by her daughter, entered the great hall, where prayers were to be said, with a face of icy marble. Proud indeed was she in spirit; determined was she in action. She would save her precious daughter's soul alive, come what might. No other girl was of any importance to Mrs Drummond. Meg was her all, and she was wrecked--yes, wrecked--on the ghastly rock of sin. The Devil would claim Meg, unless she, her mother, came to the rescue.

Mrs Macintyre was somewhat surprised at the arrival of Mrs Drummond, a woman to whom she did not at all take. For that matter, she had never been enamoured of Meg herself, considering her beneath the other girls in the school; but when Mrs Drummond whispered to her, 'I have come on a matter of awful importance, and I'll thank you to conduct the Lord's Prayer and the hymns and the other religious exercises, and _then_ you 'll know why I have come.'

This was such a very remarkable speech that Mrs Macintyre bowed stiffly and offered the good lady a chair.

Prayers were conducted as usual, the girls singing and joining in the Lord's Prayer. Then Mrs Macintyre made a brief pet.i.tion that G.o.d Almighty might help her and her teachers and her beloved pupils to work harmoniously through the hours of the week just beginning.

The moment she rose from her knees, she was about to dismiss the pupils to their different tasks, when Mrs Drummond, tall and gaunt, stood up and waved a menacing hand.

'One moment, girls; I have something to say to you, or, rather, my young daughter has something to say, which is in the nature of a black confession. It relates princ.i.p.ally to herself and a girl in this school called Hollyhock. She has now to go through an awful confession, which will hurt her more than a little; but if she holds nothing back, her immortal soul may be saved in the Great Day. But there is _another_ who has sinned far deeper than my Meg, and I leave it to Mrs Macintyre to settle with her by expelling her from this school. Now then, Meg, think of the Judgment Seat and tell your tale.'

Meg, who would be precisely like her mother at her mother's age, now stood up, flung a vindictive glance at Hollyhock, and began her story.

'I was drawn into it. That Hollyhock had a way with her, and I was drawn in. I consented to an awful sin. It has lain on my conscience until I felt nearly mad. Well, Mrs Macintyre and my dear teachers and you girls, listen and beware. You may recall a certain night when there was great agitation in this school, because it was said that the poor ghostie had walked. The thought of that ghostie nearly drove an English girl out of her mind; but I am prepared to clear up the matter.

'Now for the true story. The ghost was no ghost. It was me, my own self, who, ruled by Hollyhock there, went into what we call the ghost's hut, and allowed myself to be chalked and then blackened with charcoal on the hands and face so as to look like a skeleton, and then wrapped in a cloak of the Camerons, and my hair tied up tight, and a peaked hat put on me over a wig which had been flung into water. I 'm told that I looked something _fearful_; and the one who did the deed, and drew me, an innocent girl, into this mess, was Hollyhock Lennox. A poor English girl went almost raving mad, and no one could tell but that a real ghost had been about. Well, _I'm_ the ghost, and the wicked one who led me astray was Hollyhock Lennox. After that she was frightened, seeing the effect of the ghost on poor Leucha, and she got me for a long time not to tell, and she won the heart of Leucha, coming round her as only she knows how. But if _I_ know Leucha, she won't put up any more with what was nothing but a hoax.-- Will you, Leucha; will you?'

'Is it true?' said Leucha, turning a ghastly-white face and looking at Hollyhock.

'Oh Leuchy,' half-sobbed Hollyhock, 'it is true, every word of it. It was the spirit of mischief that entered into me. But, oh, Leuchy, Leuchy, when you were so bad my whole heart went out to you, and you 'll forgive your own Holly? For, see for yourself, I love you, Leuchy--see it for yourself.'

'And I _don't_ love you,' said Leucha. 'You have played on me the vilest trick I ever heard of, and I'll never believe in you again, or speak to you again!--Please, Mrs Macintyre, this is too much; my head reels badly, so may I go out of the room for a few minutes?'

'I had to save my immortal soul,' said Meg, casting down her pious eyes, and rejoicing in the mischief which she had effectually achieved.

'My precious one, you are safe now,' said Mrs Drummond. 'I have stood by and listened to a full confession. But what'll you do to that bad, black-haired girl, Mrs Macintyre? To have her publicly expelled is what _I 'd_ recommend.'

'Yes, my dear lady,' replied Mrs Macintyre; 'but you do not happen to be the mistress of the school. I shall take my own course. You can remove your own daughter if you wish, Mrs Drummond, whose behaviour, in my opinion, was many degrees worse than Hollyhock's.'

'What do you mean by that?'

'Hollyhock certainly did wrong to allow your girl to impersonate the ghost; but afterwards, in the most n.o.ble way, she won the affections of the must difficult girl in the school. Now I fear, I greatly tear, we shall have much trouble with Leucha Villiers; but nothing will induce me to expel Hollyhock.-- No, my dear little girl; you did wrong, of a certainty, but you are too much loved in this school for us to do without you.-- Now, Mrs Drummond, do you wish to remove Margaret from the school? Because, if so, it can easily be done, and I shall send up my maid, Magsie, to pack her clothes.'

'It _might_ be right,' said Mrs Drummond, who was considerably amazed at Mrs Macintyre's manner of taking the whole occurrence, 'but at the same time I have no wish to deprive my daughter of the chance of getting the Ardshiel diamond crest locket. It would be the kind of thing that her father would have taken pride in. I myself have no wish for worldly pride and precious stones and such like. Nevertheless, it would be hard to rob my child of the chance of getting the locket.'

'As you please,' said Mrs Macintyre with great coldness. 'Only I have one thing to insist upon.'

'Indeed, madam! And what may that be?'

'It is that Margaret Drummond shall have no dealings whatsoever with Leucha Villiers. As to Hollyhock, I can manage her myself. Now perhaps, madam, you will return to Edinburgh and allow the routine of the school to go on under _my_ guidance, I being the head-mistress, _not_ you!'

Mrs Drummond went away in a wild fury. She certainly would have taken Meg with her, but the pride of having her commonplace daughter educated in the Palace of the Kings, joined to her pride in the very great possibility--in fact, the certainty in her imagination--of Meg's winning one of the gold and diamond lockets, made her swallow her indignation as best she could. She kissed Meg after her icy fashion, and said some furious words in a low tone to the young girl.

'You managed things badly, Meg. That dark girl ought to have been expelled.'

'But, mother, I should have loved to see the day,' said Meg. 'I don't seem to have got much good out of my confession after all.'

'Your soul, child, the salvation of your soul, is gained;' and with these last words the self-righteous woman went away.

Certainly that was a most confusing morning at the school. Poor Mrs Macintyre had never felt nearer despair. The trick which had been played she regarded with due and proper abhorrence, but the way in which it had been declared by Meg made her feel sick, and worse than sick, at heart. She sent for Hollyhock first, and had a long talk with her.

'Ah, my child, my child,' she said, 'why will you let your naughty and mischievous spirit get the better of you?'

'I couldn't help it,' replied Hollyhock, who felt as near to tears as a daughter of the Camerons could be; 'but you see for your own self what Leuchy was before I played my prank, and what she has been since. Now I'm much afraid that all is up, and she 'll never love me any more--poor Leuchy!'