Daisy cried herself nearly into hysterics, and Primrose had at last to pacify her by a.s.suring her that they were not going away from the Doves just yet.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

A STARTLING DISCOVERY.

All through her dreams that night Daisy sobbed and moaned. Primrose, lying awake by her side, felt more and more alarmed and concerned.

What was the matter with her little sister? She felt completely puzzled. The bright little castle in the air she and Jasmine had been building; the cheerful thought of the cosy rooms which the girls were to share together in their friend's house; the dear delight of having furniture of their very own again; all these very healthful and natural dreams were fading and fading, for whenever Primrose even alluded to their leaving their present quarters Daisy clutched her hand, and looked at her with such pleading eyes, and used hurried words of such anguished entreaty, that at last the eldest sister felt obliged to say--

"We will stay where we are, Daisy, until you wish to leave."

Then the poor little thin face relaxed into a wan smile, the lids drooped over the tired blue eyes, and the child slept more peacefully.

When Primrose felt her head, however, it was feverish, and her little hands burned to the touch. She went into the next room and called Jasmine.

"Jasmine," she said, "I am going round to Mrs. Egerton's; I am going to tell her all about Daisy's alarm and terror. I am going to consult her, for I know she means to be a good friend to us. Jasmine, promise me one thing--don't leave Daisy alone while I am out. I cannot in the least understand how it happened, but I feel sure she must have got some fright when you were out last night."

"Oh, she couldn't have," answered Jasmine--"I locked the door after me. I never leave Daisy alone without locking the door. I won't leave her now, of course, Primrose--I will take my little writing table close to her bedside, and if she wakes I can read her a part of my novel."

Primrose gave one or two more directions, and then hurried out, and Jasmine, after she had washed up the breakfast things, and put the little sitting-room perfectly tidy, moved her small writing-table into the bedroom, and sat down by Daisy's side. She was in the scribbling stage of her great work, and with her head bent low, her cheeks flushed, and her fingers much stained with ink, was writing away with great rapidity, when she was startled by some very earnest words from the little sleeper.

"Oh, no, indeed, Mr. Dove--oh no, you may be quite certain. I know where I'd go if I told a lie, of course, Mr. Dove. Yes, yes, you are my friend, and I'm your friend--yes, yes."

"Daisy, do wake up," said Jasmine; "you are talking such rubbish about Mr. Dove, and about telling lies, and Mr. Dove being your friend--open your eyes, Daisy, and let me give you such a nice little breakfast."

"Is that you, Jasmine?" said Daisy--"I thought you were Mr. Dove--I was asleep, and I was dreaming."

"Yes, Eyebright, and talking in your dreams," said Jasmine, stooping down and kissing her.

Daisy held one of Jasmine's hands very tightly.

"Did I say anything, Jasmine--anything that you shouldn't hear--anything about--about sticky sweetmeats, Jasmine?"

"No, you silly pet, not a word. Now sit up in bed, and let me give you your breakfast. Daisy, I really do think my novel is going to be a great success. I am going to put Mr. Dove into it, and Mrs. Dove, and Tommy Dove, and our dear old Poppy, and of course ourselves. One reason why I feel so confident that the novel will be a success is that _all_ the characters will be sketched from the life."

"But please don't put in about the Doves," said Daisy. "I think they are such dread--I mean, of course, they are my friends, particularly Mr. Dove, he's my real, real friend, but I mean that I don't think they'd come well into a book, Jasmine--I don't think they're book people a bit--book people should be princes and knights and lovely ladies, and there should be no houses, and no attics, only there might be fairy palaces, and all the little girls should be happy, and kept safe from ogres--the little girls in the books shouldn't even have an ogre for a friend. Oh, Jasmine, Jasmine! I'm so very miserable!"

Daisy again broke into weak sobs, and poor Jasmine could scarcely soothe her.

A little before noon Primrose and Miss Egerton, and a tall, grave, kind-looking man, who went by the name of Dr. Griffiths, and was a great friend of Miss Egerton's, came up the stairs.

Both Dove and his wife saw them go, and Dove shook his hand at Dr.

Griffiths, as that gentleman walked up the stairs. They all three went into the attics, and the doctor had a long talk with the little patient--he felt her pulse and her head, and looked into her eyes, and tried to induce her to laugh, and did succeed in getting one little startled and half-frightened sound from the child; then he went back into the sitting-room, and had a long talk with Primrose and Miss Egerton. The upshot of this was that Miss Egerton went sorrowfully away, for the doctor absolutely forbade the girls to move from their present quarters for another week or fortnight. At the end of that time he said Daisy would be better, and might have got over the foolish fancy which now troubled her, but for the time being she must be yielded to, and at any risk kept easy in her mind.

Miss Egerton went very sorrowfully away, and upstairs to the rooms she meant to make so pretty.

"There is no special hurry about the furnishing, Bridget," she said to her servant. "Little Miss Daisy is too ill to be moved for the present."

"The men have come round to be paid for the bits of furniture, leastways, ma'am," answered Bridget, "and the foreman from the other shop is standing in the hall, and wants to know if you'll settle with him now, or if he shall call again."

"I'll settle with him now, Bridget. Dear Miss Primrose left some money in my charge yesterday morning, and I can pay the man at once."

One of the rules of Miss Egerton's life was never to leave a bill unpaid for twenty-four hours, if possible--she hated accounts, and always paid ready money for everything. She now ran downstairs, and unlocking her desk, took out Mr. Danesfield's envelope. Primrose had begged of her to open it when the bills came in, and pay for the furniture--Primrose seemed to have an absolute prejudice against unfastening that envelope herself.

Miss Egerton opened it slowly now, smiling as she did so at the quaint inscription on the cover. A folded sheet of paper lay within--she spread the paper before her, expecting to see the three five-pound notes folded within its leaves--blankness and emptiness alone met her view--no money was inside the envelope--the whole thing was a cruel fraud. The poor governess fairly gasped for breath--there lay the bill for six pounds nineteen shillings which she had incurred, making sure that she could meet it out of Primrose's money. Primrose had spoken so confidently about her little nest-egg, and behold, she had not any!--the envelope was a fraud--the girl had been subjected to a cruel practical joke.

Miss Egerton was extremely poor--it was with the utmost difficulty she could make two ends meet. She thought hard for a minute--then her brow cleared, and she rose to her feet.

"Better I than those orphan girls!" she said, under her breath, and then she went to her desk again, and filled in a cheque for the amount.

"I can do without my winter cloak, and my black merino dress will last me for some weeks longer if I sponge it with cold tea, and re-line the tail," she said to herself. "Any little privation is better than to hurt the hearts of the orphan girls."

She paid the man, who signed the receipt, and then she let him out herself. As she did so a young man came hastily up the steps--he had a bright face, and running up to the governess, he seized both her hands in his.

"Oh, Arthur, how glad I am to see you!" said Miss Egerton.

CHAPTER XXIX.

A BLESSING.

Miss Egerton took Arthur Noel--for it was he--straight back into her little sitting-room, and sitting down on her worn little horse-hair sofa, and raising her eyes anxiously to the young man's face, she told him the story of the attic upstairs, of the furniture she had purchased, of the girls she had meant to serve. She showed him, with hands that trembled, the envelope with its queer inscription, and she unfolded for his benefit the empty sheet of blank paper. She told her story at once without any reservation, even relating with a little hasty blush how she felt obliged to pay for the furniture herself.

Perhaps Arthur Noel was the only person in the world to whom she would have made this confession; for she was one of those who made it a practice never to let her right hand know what her left did, but she had known Arthur from his boyhood, and he was one of those men who inspire trust and sympathy at a glance.

He listened to the story with interest, and even excitement--he was naturally enthusiastic, but even Miss Egerton had never seen him so perturbed and so moved as he was at present.

"I know about those girls," he said at last; "what are their names?--I am sure I know about them. Nay, let me ask you a question--Is not one called Jasmine? Has she not a piquant face, and very soft and yet bright eyes, and a great lot of curly brown hair? Yes, Miss Egerton, I am sure the girls you speak of are in a certain sense _my_ girls; for if they are the ones I mean I took them under my protection long ago."

"Their name is Mainwaring. My dear Arthur, where and how have you met them? My dear boy, I fully believe, I have always believed, in your good intentions, in your wish to do your utmost for every one; but if you have really known Primrose, and Jasmine and Daisy, and have taken them, as you say, under your protection, I must say that of late you have lost sight of them--you have not been as kind as you generally are to people in difficulties, for I never met three more absolutely friendless girls than these."

"It was a good Providence sent me here this morning," said Noel. "You are quite right, Miss Egerton; I did lose sight of the children. I tried to follow them, but they managed to hide themselves most effectually. Think of my coming up to see you this morning, with a message from Mrs. Ellsworthy, and finding that our lost lambs are all but safe in your kind fold. How relieved my dear mother-friend will be!"

"Mrs. Ellsworthy is the kindest and best of women," said Miss Egerton; "I will receive your message presently, Arthur, but you puzzle me more and more when you tell me that she too knows my girls. I came across them quite accidentally. They called to ask me to give Jasmine lessons in English composition, and I took a fancy to them, and, in particular, felt drawn to the little one--for she reminded me of--, but no matter! The girls have been in and out of my house ever since.

I saw that they were fearfully independent, but in many trivial ways I tried to help them. Well, Arthur, it is most surprising--it is altogether incomprehensible, but never during the months we have been seeing each other daily have they alluded to you or the Ellsworthys.

They seemed perfectly unconstrained, and chatted many times of their cottage home in the country, but they never spoke of the Ellsworthys."

"They would not be likely to do," answered Noel. "I think, Miss Egerton, I must now tell you Mrs. Ellsworthy's and my side of the story."

Certainly Miss Egerton appeared to neglect her duties that morning; fortunately, her school had not yet re-opened, but Bridget waited for orders, and the tradesman left the house unattended to. Bridget knew that Miss Egerton was always greatly taken up with Mr. Noel, and she had to admit that he was a bonny-looking young man with a pleasant face; but Bridget hitherto had given her mistress credit for always putting duty before pleasure. What, therefore, did her present neglect of household management mean?

Arthur Noel had a long story to tell, and Miss Egerton listened, weighing each point, and not giving too undue sympathy to either party. Noel was of course enthusiastic in Mrs. Ellsworthy's cause, and announced his intention of going to see her that very day.