Kitty returned to her place by the window. It was now between eight and nine o'clock. She had refused both dinner and tea, and was in consequence feeling weak and faint. There was a giddy sensation in her head to which she was not accustomed. She did not connect it with the fact that she was starving, and wondered what was the matter with her.

She was too excited and wretched to feel her ordinary appet.i.te. She had gone through a great deal, and her nerves were reminding her of the cruel trick she was playing on them. It was very dull in her room; the gas jet shed a hideous glare over the place. The room in itself was by no means pretty, for the paper was the worse for wear, and the paint was nearly worn through to the woodwork. The hangings to the windows and to the two little beds were of an ugly drab color; and the view out of these windows only revealed a narrow street. At Kitty's own home she had a bedroom in the Castle end; the paper hung in ribbons, the door was draughty, the bedstead rickety and old; but what a view there was from the windows! A view of Lake Coulin and the mountains in the distance, and the park lying verdant and green between the lake and the house.

What a breeze blew in at those windows!

"Oh, I should never be dull if I were locked up in the dear old bedroom at home," thought the girl. "But here! here it is enough to madden one; and yet I must stay here, for I cannot talk to the others. I will not allow Fred to guess my secret. Oh, what a miserable, unhappy, wretched girl I am! I am a prisoner. Oh, if only Laurie saw me! Dear Laurie; the darling, the treasure that he is! It would break his heart if he knew what I am suffering."

There were no books at all interesting to Kitty in the room, so she could not while away the lagging hours with a novel. As a rule the arranging of her wardrobe, the trying on of her many dresses, gave her pleasant occupation; but she was in no humor to make herself smart that evening.

"I suppose the love of dress is a sin," she said to herself; "although it is one of the rules of the Tug-of-war Society that the girls are to be fashionably dressed. Anyhow, it seems to have been my undoing, for if I had only gone out in somber ugly attire last night I might have the money now for my darling Laurie; and this heavy, heavy weight would be off my mind, and I should not be in disgrace at Middleton School--not that that much matters."

She went to the window, flung it open, and looked out. It was a clear, starlit night. She could see the sky from between the long rows of houses. She looked up at it, and then put in her head again.

"I shall suffocate if I stay any longer in this room," she said to herself. "After all, why should I obey Miss Sherrard? She spoke about my word of honor; but I have not given it. I was silent--I was silent on purpose. If I could only see Elma and get my money back all would be right, and I could really bear the rest of this terrible week. I have a great mind to risk it and go to her."

No sooner had the thought entered the head of the wayward girl than she proceeded to act upon it. She put on a long cloak which reached nearly to her feet, a little cap of blue cloth was secured over her ma.s.s of curling hair, and then going cautiously across the room, she took the key out of the lock, unfastened the door, shut it behind her, locked it from the outside, put the key in her pocket, and ran downstairs.

"If the servants or Alice come up they will think I have gone to bed.

What fun if I keep Alice out of her bed for an hour or two!" laughed Kitty. She was now once more in high excitement and pleasure. It never took long to raise her volatile spirits. "I hope Fred won't be about. I don't want to get the poor darling into mischief," she said to herself.

There was no one in sight, however. The younger children were away in another part of the house, Mr. and Mrs. Denvers were out, the servants were in the kitchen, Alice was with Bessie Challoner, and Fred was down in his shed mourning the absence of Kitty, whose bright ways were fascinating him more and more.

"It's all right," thought the girl. She left the house, and a few moments later was walking at a rapid pace in the direction of Constantine Road. The thought of her disobedience, of the daring of her own act, but added zest and pleasure to her walk.

"How happy I shall be when I get the money," she said to herself. "I'll coax Fred or Mrs. Denvers to get me a postal order to-morrow, and I'll send it to Laurie at once. Oh, what a weight will be off my mind! Why, I'll almost feel inclined to turn good again!"

The walk to Constantine Road was a long one, and Kitty on this occasion was determined to avoid the neighborhood of the "Spotted Leopard." In preference she took the short cut across the common. It was very lonely here, but she had no fear of ghosts or bogies. She walked with her upright, young carriage, her quick, alert, dancing step. It was ten o'clock however, before she reached Constantine Road. She ran up the steps of No. 14, and rang the bell. The door was opened to her by the servant, Maggie.

"Oh, Miss Malone," cried that young woman, "is that yourself, miss? I has got into the most terrible trouble."

Maggie's face was flushed and blistered with crying.

"They has took away my wiolets, miss, and I call it a bitter, cruel shame."

"Never mind that now, Maggie," answered Kitty, "I want to see Miss Elma.

Is she in?"

"That she is, miss, and she shan't escape you this time. Come right into the parlor, and I'll send her down to you."

Kitty danced into the house. As far as her appearance now went she had never known a sorrow nor a care in her life. She stood in the center of the room, waiting impatiently for Elma to appear.

Maggie having shut her in, went cautiously upstairs. Elma and Carrie were in their bedroom. Carrie was already in bed.

Maggie, who seemed to scent mischief all round, thought she would now act with considerable guile. She knocked a low and gentle knock on the panel of the door. Elma came to open it.

"What is it, Maggie?"

"Miss Helma, will you come outside on the landing for a minute?"

Elma went out.

"I have a bit of news about that money, miss. If you'll come right down to the dining-room I'll tell you there."

"News about my money, Maggie? Oh, impossible!" But hope, ever ready to dawn in the human breast, could not help rising now on poor Elma's horizon. It all seemed utterly impossible; but what earthly sense would there be in Maggie telling a lie.

"I was just getting into bed," she said. "Can't you tell me here?"

"No, miss, it's not me at all; it's news of the money you'll get if you just come down to the dining-room, and be quick about it."

"Well, _I_ may as well go. Is there anybody there?"

"You go and find out, miss."

"Oh!" thought Elma, "Sam Raynes has repented. He was able to find money after all, and has brought it to me. This is nice."

"What's the matter, Elma?" called Carrie from her bed.

"Nothing, Carrie. I'll be back in a few moments."

Elma hastily refastened her dress; put up her hands to her hair to smooth it, and tripped downstairs, full of expectation and hope. Maggie had relit the gas in the dining-room. Elma bounded into the room.

"Well, Sam," she exclaimed. Then she stepped back a couple of paces; she was confronted not by Sam, but by Kitty Malone herself.

"Kitty!" cried Elma. There was a faintness in her voice, which Kitty had no time to remark.

"Yes, Elma, I have come. I have broken my word of honor; but after all, I never really gave it. I dare say I shall get into a worse sc.r.a.pe than ever; but I can't help it. I came to you, Elma, because I _must_ have that money. Will you let me have it now at once please--my eight sovereigns--will you give them to me now? If I had seen you last night I should not have been so miserable. I was coming to you when Fred and I pa.s.sed the 'Spotted Leopard.' Oh, please, Elma, give me my money at once!"

Elma's face could scarcely turn whiter. She looked piteously at Kitty.

"I wish I could give it to you," she began; "but----"

"What do you mean; can't you let me have my own money? You have not spent it, not all of it, have you?"

"Yes, I--I spent it."

"You spent all that money! all those eight sovereigns? Oh, Elma, you must be joking. Can't you let me have some of it back? Please, Elma, don't say no. It is for Laurie; he is in the most awful trouble. I must have the money, and at once."

"I can't give it to you," said Elma. "I am awfully sorry. Sit down, please, Kitty. Oh, Kitty, you won't tell on me?"

"I don't know what I'll do," said Kitty. "I am nearly distracted."

"But you promised you would not tell. You don't know what an awful sc.r.a.pe I shall get into if you do. And you--oh, yes--you shall have the money soon."

"What do you mean by soon; to-morrow? Shall I have it to-morrow?"

"Not quite so soon as that. Give me a week, Kitty."

"I can't," answered Kitty. "It is a case of life or death to Laurie.

Your mother must give it to me if you cannot; but have it I must."

"But you are rich; surely you can manage without it for one week."