The Children of Wilton Chase. Meade L. T.

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      "You are not my dear teacher, there!"

      "Hush, I cannot permit impertinence! Ermengarde, I did not look for open and direct disobedience from you. You are full of faults, but I did not think deceit was one of them. I have found out about your drive yesterday."

      "Oh!" said Ermie. Her face grew very pale. "Did – did Marjorie tell you? If I thought that – "

      "No matter who told me. Don't blame your sister. She's worth twenty of you. Think of your own sin. Ermengarde, you have hurt me deeply."

      "I don't care," said Ermengarde. "I said I'd go, and I went. I don't care."

      "Poor child! I can only be very sorry for you. I can only pray God to bring you to a different state of mind. You thought to hide your sin from me. God knew it all the time."

      Ermengarde shuffled from one foot to another. There was not a trace of repentance about her face or manner.

      "At one time I thought I must tell all to your father."

      Ermengarde started at this.

      "I resolved not to do so."

      Her face grew relieved.

      "But, Ermengarde," continued the governess, "it is my duty, my solemn duty, to punish you severely. The full extent of that punishment I have not yet determined on, but to-day you spend in this room, where your meals will be brought to you."

      "Oh, no, no; not that," said Ermengarde suddenly. "Not to-day, not the holiday! Let my punishment begin to-morrow, please, Miss Nelson. Do say yes, Miss Nelson. It would be terrible not to have the holiday with Basil, and for Basil to know the reason. Do yield on this point, please, Miss Nelson, please, please, and I'll try to be a better girl in future, I will truly."

      "No, Ermengarde; the punishment, being merited and severe, must begin on the day you feel it most. I am sorry for you, but I cannot, I dare not yield. God help you, poor child, to a sorrow which leads to repentance."

      The governess left the room, locking the door behind her.

      Ermengarde stood quite still for a moment, as if she was stunned. Then she rushed to the door and tried to open it.

      Miss Nelson went back to the schoolroom.

      "You can have your holiday, children," she said. "Ermengarde cannot come, nor am I at liberty to explain her absence. No, Basil; you must not ask me. You must be happy without your sister to-day, and trust that what is right is being done for her. Now, about the picnic. Maggie, come here, my love. You shall take a message to cook."

      "You'll come too, won't you, Miss Nelson?" asked Marjorie.

      "I must, my dear. I could not allow wild young creatures like you to embark on such an expedition without me."

      "And may all the babies come, Miss Nelson?"

      "Yes, if nurse can accompany them."

      "It seems a pity about poor Ermie."

      "Do not speak of her, Marjorie. You must trust your governess to do what is right."

      Marjorie's round face looked full of concern. She had a way of putting her finger to her lip when she was harassed about anything. This trick gave her the appearance of a great overgrown baby.

      "Go at once and see the cook, my dear," said the governess.

      Marjorie turned and left the room. In the passage she met Basil.

      "What is this about Ermie?" he said at once.

      "I think I know," said Marjorie. "I think I can guess."

      "You'll tell me, won't you, Maggie?"

      "I don't think I can, Basil. Ermie is a little – little – headstrong, and Miss Nelson, sometimes Miss Nelson is severe to Ermie."

      "I shan't like her if she is," said Basil. "I don't care a bit about the picnic without Ermengarde, and I do consider it provoking of Miss Nelson to keep Ermie at home on my very first holiday."

      "Oh, but you know she must maintain discipline," said Marjorie, putting her finger to her lip again.

      Basil burst out laughing.

      "Don't use such solemn words, Mag," he said. "You are only a baby; words of wisdom don't suit you a bit."

      "I'm eleven," said Marjorie, in a hurt voice.

      She ran off to the kitchen, and delivered her message. The cook, who was fond of good-humored little Marjorie, consulted her about the viands. She replied solemnly, and tried to look interested, but the zest had gone out of her voice. The first moment she had to spare she rushed to her school-desk, and scribbled a note.

      "Dear Ermie," she said, "I'm miserable that the wickedness is discovered. Don't be a bit frightened though, for Basil shan't guess anything. Your fond sister, Marjorie Wilton."

      This note Marjorie inclosed in one of her favorite envelopes, with a forget-me-not wreath in blue on the flap, and before the schoolroom party started for the picnic, she pushed it under the door of Miss Nelson's sitting-room.

      Ermengarde had expended her first rage, and she was very glad to pick up Marjorie's note, and to read it. At first the contents of the note gave her a slight feeling of satisfaction, and a glow of gratitude to her little sister rushed over her. But then she remembered Miss Nelson's words, and the conviction once more ran through her mind that Marjorie must have been the one to tell.

      "She is a canting little thing," said Ermengarde in a passion, "My wickedness, indeed! Who else would call an innocent drive wickedness? Oh, yes; she let out the whole story to Miss Nelson, and now she wants to come round me with this letter, after her horrid tell-tale way. Little monkey! Horrid, ugly little thing, too. Tell-tale-tit, your tongue shall be slit. No, no, Miss Marjorie; you need not suppose that this note blinds me! I know what you've done to me, and I'll never forgive you – never, as long as I live!"

      Ermengarde now tore up the poor little letter, and opening the window scattered the tiny fragments to the breeze. Once again her anger scarcely knew any bounds. They were away, the whole happy party, and she was shut up in a dull room, compelled to endure solitary confinement all through this glorious August day. It was insufferable, it was maddening, and it was all Marjorie's fault!

      It is astonishing how soon the mind, when angry, can establish within itself a fixed idea. Miss Nelson had said nothing to really draw suspicion on Marjorie, and yet Ermengarde was now thoroughly convinced that the little girl had been the one to tell of her misdemeanor. She did not trouble herself to examine proofs. All Marjorie's amiable and good-natured ways were as nothing to Ermengarde then. She had certainly told, and as long as she lived Ermie would never forgive her.

      Just then, while her anger was at its height, she heard a low whistle under the open window. She rushed over to it, and popped out her head. Basil was standing underneath.

      "Don't, Basil," said Ermengarde; "do go away, please. I hate you to find me here a prisoner."

      "Oh, stuff, Ermie, don't be tragic over it. It's only for a day at the most, and what's a day?"

      "What's a day? One of your holidays – the first of your holidays!"

      "Well, there are lots more СКАЧАТЬ