"I am frightened, I am frightened. The girls say no one must look at you, or talk to you. I am frightened."

"Yes, I know you are frightened," Meg replied with softened gruffness.

Elsie looked changed, she seemed a little wasted.

"I cannot sleep. Oh, Meg, I cannot sleep, I am so miserable!" sobbed Elsie, touching Meg's dress.

A pang of pity shot through Meg's heart.

"Hush! Elsie. Never mind, never mind," she said, stroking the child's hair. "Don't speak loud, some one may be listening."

"I wish I could tell," said Elsie, with heaving bosom. "I try to make myself tell. It stops here!" and the child put her hand to her throat.

"I try to say I took it; but I can't, I can't. And you won't tell, Meg, you won't tell?"

"No, I won't," said Meg. "I won't. Do not be afraid, my pet."

She kept stroking Elsie's hair, grateful for that moment of solace.

"I wish I were dead!" cried Elsie, with a sudden wail, flinging herself into Meg's arms.

"Come away this moment!" said a voice, and a hand took hold of Elsie and dragged her away.

Meg recognized Ursula. She stood stock-still for a moment. Then she threw herself p.r.o.ne down upon the ground with a pa.s.sionate cry.

That touch of comfort so rudely taken from her; that word of love from the child who had most right to give her love, silenced so abruptly!

Why? Because in their rude honesty her comrades had decreed to exile her and abhor her like a thief.

She remained with her face pressed down to the ground, as if she would press herself into the heart of the cold floor. Vaguely she was aware of the bell ringing as for cla.s.ses, and she knew the time had come--in a few moments more she would be gone on her way. But she did not move.

She became aware of steps approaching. Some one touched her on the shoulder. Ursula's voice said, "Meg, you must come down at once."

Meg turned her head round.

"You must come down at once," repeated Ursula, as Meg kept looking at her stupidly. "You had better come down," continued Ursula gently, putting her hand upon hers. Meg rose.

"I am going, but I will go alone," she said with returning fierceness, flinging Ursula's hand away. She pushed her hair roughly from her eyes and went toward her trunk to put on her hat and cloak.

"You need not put on your things," said Ursula. "It is in the schoolroom you are wanted."

"In the schoolroom? Very well," said Meg. She pa.s.sed Ursula. She went downstairs, and with a reckless bang she opened the schoolroom door.

What new ordeal or humiliation was awaiting her?

The room was full. Miss Reeves advanced to meet her.

"Miss Beecham," said the head-mistress, "Elsie has confessed everything.

Young ladies, I have sent for you all, for before you all Miss Beecham was declared guilty and before you all she must be cleared of this charge. She is entirely innocent."

The ground seemed to sink under Meg's feet; the surroundings to fade away as in a splendor. She was aware of a murmur all round her, of the girls looking at her with a new expression of regret.

"Has Elsie confessed?" she panted.

"Not of her own free will," replied Miss Reeves gravely. "She was forced to confess by the suddeness of Ursula's action. Ursula had crept up to say good-by to you. She never thought you guilty. When she came into your room she overheard enough to convince her of the truth. She dragged Elsie before me, and forced her to tell. It was not a right thing, Meg, to shield this action. But it was so generous I cannot blame you. You were ready to sacrifice yourself for a child who would have let you go forth disgraced."

"It was splendid!" said Ursula. "Meg Beecham is a n.o.ble girl."

"She is," circled round the room.

Then Miss Pinkett stepped forth, elegant and straight-backed even in her evident emotion. Tears stood in her eyes, yet her voice was high-pitched and smooth.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Beecham; I apologize with all my heart to you.

It was I who first accused you. Will you forgive me?"

"I forgive you," said Meg automatically, taking Miss Pinkett's extended hand. Then Ursula, with spectacles shining with tears, came forward and kissed Meg, who received the embrace in the same dazed fashion. All the girls trooped around, taking her listless hand.

Suddenly Meg recognized Elsie standing alone, wringing her little hands with that piteous gesture of older grieving. Sinking down on her knees, she stretched out her arms.

"Elsie, Elsie!" she cried, and in a moment the sobbing child was clasped to her heart.

"Oh, Miss Reeves, Miss Pinkett, young ladies!" said Meg, looking round, holding Elsie tight, tears coursing down her cheeks, "do not punish her, she is so little, so tender. She took the diamond as a child might take a shining bit of gla.s.s, only because it was pretty. Do not punish her, she is so delicate, so little! It was fright that kept her silent.

Forgive her!"

There was a pause, broken by Elsie's sobs, repeated in various corners of the room.

"How can Elsie be forgiven?" said Miss Reeves gravely. "Worse than taking the diamond was her willingness to let another be expelled."

Then again Miss Pinkett stepped forward.

"Madam," she said, "we owe Meg Beecham some reparation. I owe it to her more than any one. For Meg's sake, pray let Elsie go unpunished!"

"For Meg's sake!" said Ursula, seconding Miss Pinkett's pet.i.tion.

"For Meg's sake!" was repeated all round the room.

Miss Reeves hesitated. Then laying her hand on Elsie's head:

"Let it be so. For Meg's sake you shall be forgiven; for the sake of the girl whom you would have injured beyond words to tell, you shall go unpunished. This miserable incident will never be referred to again.

That is all that we can do to make it up to Meg--to forgive you, Elsie, for her sake."

CHAPTER XVIII.

PEACE.

Meg was courted now by her schoolfellows; but the attention lavished upon her wounded her pride. She measured by it the contempt that had so easily accused her of thieving. To her sensitive spirit this kindness seemed insulting. It said, "We thought you a thief, and we find you are not." She responded coldly to advances made to her by all but Ursula.

The girls did not reproach Elsie; a sense of fair play kept them from referring to the diamond episode, but they shunned her. They stuck to the letter of the promised forgiveness, but they did not forget that she was a little thief. Meg watched the small figure lying apart and solitary in the play-hours--a white drift upon the bench.