A Very Naughty Girl

“You think, perhaps, that I cannot fire a gun, but I can aim well; I can kill a bird on the wing as neatly as any one. I told Audrey, and she would not believe me. Please – please show me your new gun.

“Not now; I have not looked at it myself yet.”

“But you do believe that I can shoot?”

“Oh yes, dear – yes, I suppose so. All the same, I should be sorry to trust you; I do not approve of women carrying firearms. Now leave me, Evelyn; I have a good deal to attend to.”

Evelyn went to bed to think over her uncle’s words; her disgrace at school; the terrible dénouement which lay before her; the money, which seemed to her to be the only way out, and which would insure her comfort with Jasper wherever Jasper might like to take her; and finally, and by no means least, she meditated over the subject of her uncle’s new gun. On the ranch she had often carried a gun of her own; from her earliest days she had been accustomed to regard the women of her family as first-class shots. Her mother had herself taught her how to aim, how to fire, how to make allowance in order to bring her bird down on the wing, and Evelyn had followed out her instructions many times. She felt now that her uncle did not believe her, and the fear that this was the case irritated her beyond words.

“I do not pretend to be learned,” thought Evelyn, “and I do not pretend to be good, but there is one thing that I am, and that is a first-rate shot. Uncle Edward might show me his new gun. How little he guesses that I can manage it quite as well as he can himself!”

Two or three days passed without anything special occurring. Evelyn was fairly good at school; it was not, she considered, worth her while any longer to shirk her lessons. She began in spite of herself, and quite against her declared inclination, to have a sort of liking for her books. History was the only lesson which she thoroughly detested. She could not be civil to Miss Thompson, whom she considered her enemy; but to her other teachers she was fairly agreeable, and had already to a certain extent won the hearts of more than one of the girls in her form. She was bright and cheerful, and could say funny things; and as also she brought an unlimited supply of chocolates and other sweetmeats to school, these facts alone insured her being more or less of a favorite. At home she avoided her aunt and Audrey, and evening after evening she went to the stile to have a chat with Jasper.

Jasper never failed to meet her little girl, as she called Evelyn, at their arranged rendezvous. Evelyn managed to slip out without, as she thought, any one noticing her; and the days went by until there was only one day left before Miss Henderson would proclaim to the entire school that Evelyn Wynford was the guilty person who had torn the precious volume of Ruskin.

“When you come for me to-morrow night, Jasper,” said Evelyn, “I will go away with you. Are you quite sure that it is safe to take me back to The Priory?”

“Quite, quite safe, darling; hardly a soul knows that I am at The Priory, and certainly no one will suspect that you are there. Besides, the place is all undermined with cellars, and at the worst you and I could hide there together while the house was searched.”

“What fun!” cried Evelyn, clapping her hands. “I declare, Jasper, it is almost as good as a fairy story.”

“Quite as good, my little love.”

“And you will be sure to have a very, very nice supper ready for me to-morrow night?”

“Oh yes, dear; just the supper you like best – chocolate and sweet cakes.”

“And you will tuck me up in bed as you used to?”

“Darling, I have put a little white bed close to my own, where you shall sleep.”

“Oh Jasper, it will be nice to be with you again! And you are positive Sylvia will not tell?”

“She is sad about you, Evelyn, but she will not tell. I have arranged that.”

“And that terrible old man, her father, will he find out?”

“I think not, dear; he has not yet found out about me at any rate.”

“Perhaps, Jasper, I had better go back now; it is later than usual.”

“Be sure you bring the twenty pounds when you come to-morrow night,” said Jasper; “for my funds, what with one thing and another, are getting low.”

“Yes, I will bring the money,” replied Evelyn.

She returned to the house. No one saw her as she slipped in by the back entrance. She ran up to her room, smoothed her hair, and went down to the drawing-room. Lady Frances and Audrey were alone in the big room. They had been talking together, but instantly became silent when Evelyn entered.

“They have been abusing me, of course,” thought the little girl; and she flashed an angry glance first at one and then at the other.

“Evelyn,” said her aunt, “have you finished learning your lessons? You know how extremely particular Miss Henderson is that school tasks should be perfectly prepared.”

“My lessons are all right, thank you,” replied Evelyn in her brusquest voice. She flung herself into a chair and crossed her legs.

“Uncross your legs, my dear; that is a very unlady-like thing to do.”

Evelyn muttered something, but did what her aunt told her.

“Do not lean back so much, Evelyn; it is not good style. Do not poke out your chin, either; observe how Audrey sits.”

“I don’t want to observe how Audrey sits,” said Evelyn.

Lady Frances colored. She was about to speak, but a glance from her daughter restrained her. Just then Read came into the room. Between Read and Evelyn there was already a silent feud. Read now glanced at the young lady, tossed her head a trifle, and went up to Lady Frances.

“I am very sorry to trouble you, madam,” she said, “but if I may see you quite by yourself for a few moments I shall be very much obliged.”

“Certainly, Read; go into my boudoir and I will join you there,” said her mistress. “I know,” added Lady Frances graciously, “that you would not disturb me if you had not something important to say.”

“No, madam; I should be very sorry to do so.”

Lady Frances and Read now left the room, and Audrey and Evelyn were alone. Audrey uttered a sigh.

“What is the matter, Audrey?” asked her cousin.

“I am thinking of the day after to-morrow,” answered Audrey. “The unhappy girl who has kept her secret all this time will be openly denounced. It will be terribly exciting.”

“You do not pretend that you pity her!” said Evelyn in a voice of scorn.

“Indeed I do pity her.”

“What nonsense! That is not at all your way.”

“Why should you say that? It is my way. I pity all people who have done wrong most terribly.”

“Then have you ever pitied me since I came to England?”

“Oh yes, Evelyn – oh, indeed I have!”

“Please keep your pity to yourself; I don’t want it.”

Audrey relapsed into silence.

By and by Lady Frances came back; she was still accompanied by Read.

“What does a servant want in this room?” said Evelyn in her most disagreeable voice.

“Evelyn, come here,” said her aunt; “I have something to say to you.”

Evelyn went very unwillingly. Read stood a little in the background.

“Evelyn,” said Lady Frances, “I have just heard something that surprises me extremely, that pains me inexpressibly; it is true, so there is no use in your denying it, but I must tell you what Read has discovered.”

“Read!” cried Evelyn, her voice choking with passion and her face white. “Who believes what a tell-tale-tit of that sort says?”

“You must not be impertinent, my dear. I wish to tell you that Read has found you out. Your maid Jasper has not left this neighborhood, and you, Evelyn – you are naughty enough and daring enough to meet her every night by the stile that leads into the seven-acre meadow. Read observed your absence one night, and followed you herself to-night, and she discovered everything.”

“Did you hear what I was saying to Jasper?” asked Evelyn, turning her white face now and looking full at Read.

“No, Miss Evelyn,” replied the maid; “I would not demean myself to listen.”

“You would demean yourself to follow,” said Evelyn.

“Confess your sin, Evelyn, and do not scold Read,” interrupted Lady Frances.

“I have nothing to confess, Aunt Frances.”

“But you did it?”

“Certainly I did it.”

“You dared to go to meet a woman privately, clandestinely, whom I, your aunt, prohibited the house?”

“I dared to go to meet the woman my mother loved,” replied Evelyn, “and I am not a bit ashamed of it; and if I had the chance I would do it again.”

“You are a very, very naughty girl. I am more than angry with you. I am pained beyond words. What is to become of you I know not. You are a bad girl; I cannot bear to think that you should be in the same house with Audrey.”

“Loving the woman whom my mother loved does not make me a bad girl,” replied Evelyn. “But as you do not like to have me in the room, Aunt Frances, I will go away – I will go up-stairs. I think you are very, very unkind to me; I think you have been so from the first.”

“Do not dare to say another word to me, miss; go away immediately.”

Evelyn left the room. She was half-way up-stairs when she paused.

“What is the use of being good?” she said to herself. “What is the use of ever trying to please anybody? I really did not mean to be naughty when first I came, and if Aunt Frances had been different I might have been different too. What right had she to deprive me of Jasper when mothery said that Jasper was to stay with me? It is Aunt Frances’s fault that I am such a bad girl now. Well, thank goodness! I shall not be here much longer; I shall be away this time to-morrow night. The only person I shall be sorry to leave is Uncle Edward. Audrey and I will be going to school early in the morning, and then there will be the fuss and bustle and the getting away before Read sees me. Oh, that dreadful old Read! what can I do to blind her eyes to-morrow night? Throw dust into them in some fashion I must. I will just go and have one word of good-by with Uncle Edward now.”

Evelyn ran down the corridor which led to her uncle’s room. She tapped at the door. There was no answer. She opened the door softly and peeped in. The room was empty. She was just about to go away again, considerably crestfallen and disappointed, when her eyes fell upon the gun-case. Instantly a sparkle came into her eyes; she went up to the case, and removing the gun, proceeded to examine it. It was made on the newest pattern, and was light and easily carried. It held six chambers, all of which could be most simply and conveniently loaded.

Evelyn knew well how to load a gun, and finding the proper cartridges, now proceeded to enjoy herself by making the gun ready for use. Having loaded it, she returned it to its case.

“I know what I’ll do,” she thought. “Uncle Edward thinks that I cannot shoot; he thinks that I am not good at any one single thing. But I will show him. I’ll go out and shoot two birds on the wing before breakfast to-morrow; whether they are crows or whether they are doves or whether they are game, it does not matter in the least; I’ll bring them in and lay them at his feet, and say:

“Here is what your wild niece Evelyn can do; and now you will believe that she has one accomplishment which is not vouchsafed to other girls.”

So, having completed her task of putting the gun in absolute readiness for its first essay in the field, she returned the case to its corner and went up-stairs to bed.

CHAPTER XXVI. – TANGLES

When Audrey and her mother found themselves alone, Lady Frances turned at once to her daughter.

“Audrey,” she said, “I feel that I must confide in you.”

“What about, mother?” asked Audrey.

“About Evelyn.”

“Yes, mother?”

Audrey’s face looked anxious and troubled; Lady Frances’s scarcely less so.

“The child hates me,” said Lady Frances. “What I have done to excite such a feeling is more than I can tell you; from the first I have done my utmost to be kind to her.”

“It is difficult to know how best to be kind to Evelyn,” said Audrey in a thoughtful voice.

“What do you mean, my dear?”

“I mean, mother, that she is something of a little savage. She has never been brought up with our ideas. Do you think, mother – I scarcely like to say it to one whom I honor and love and respect as I do you – but do you think you understand her?”

“No, I do not,” said Lady Frances. “I have never understood her from the first. Your father seems to manage her better.”

“Ah, yes,” said Audrey; “but then, she belongs to him.”

Lady Frances looked annoyed.

“She belongs to us all,” she remarked. “She is your first cousin, and my niece, of course, by marriage. Her father was a very dear fellow; how such a daughter could have been given to him is one of those puzzles which will never be unraveled. But now, dear, we must descend from generalities to facts. Something very grave and terrible has occurred. Read did right when she told me about Evelyn’s secret visits to Jasper at the stile. You know how from the very first I have distrusted and disliked that woman. You must not suppose, Audrey, that I felt no pain when I turned the woman away after the letter which Evelyn’s mother had written to me; but there are times when it is wrong to yield, and I felt that such was the case.”

“I knew, my darling mother, that you must have acted from the best of motives,” said Audrey.

“I did, my dearest child; I did. Well, Evelyn has managed to meet this woman, and instead of being removed from her influence, is under it to a remarkable and dangerous degree – for the woman, of course, thinks herself wronged, and Evelyn agrees with her. Now, the fact is this, Audrey: I happen to know about that very disagreeable occurrence which took place at Chepstow House.”

“What, mother – what?” cried Audrey. “You speak as if you knew something special.”

“I do, Audrey.”

“But what, mother?”

Audrey’s face turned red; her eyes shone. She went close to her mother, knelt by her, and took her hand.

“Who has spoken to you about it?” she asked.

“Miss Henderson.”

“Oh mother! and what did she say?”

“My darling, I am afraid you will be terribly grieved; I can scarcely tell you how upset I am. Audrey, the strongest, the very strongest, circumstantial evidence points to Evelyn as the guilty person.”

“Oh mother! Evelyn! But why? Oh, surely, surely whoever accuses poor Evelyn is mistaken!”

“I agreed with you, Audrey; I felt just as indignant as you do when first I heard what Miss Henderson told me; but the more I see of Evelyn the more sure I am that she would be capable of this action, that if the opportunity came she would do this cruel and unjustifiable wrong, and after having done it the unhappy child would try to conceal it.”

“But, mother darling, what motive could she have?”

“Well, dear, let me tell you. Miss Henderson seems to be well aware of the entire story. On the first day when Evelyn went to school she was asked during class to read over the reign of Edward I. in the history of England. Evelyn, in her usual pert way which we all know so well, declared that she knew the reign, and while the other girls in her form were busy with their lessons she amused herself looking about her. As it was the first day, Miss Thompson took no notice; but when the girls went into the playground for recess she called Evelyn to her and questioned her with regard to the history. Evelyn’s wicked lie was immediately manifest, for she did not know a single word about the reign. Miss Thompson was naturally angry, and desired her to stay in the schoolroom and learn the reign while the other girls were at play. Evelyn was angry, but could not resist. About six o’clock that evening Miss Thompson came into the schoolroom, found Ruskin’s Sesame and Lilies, which she had left there that morning, and took it away with her. She was preparing a lecture out of the book, and did not open it at once. When she did so she perceived, to her horror, that some pages had been torn out. You know, my dear, what followed. You know what a strained and unhappy condition the school is now in.”

“Oh yes, mother – yes, I know all that; the only part that is new to me is that Evelyn was kept indoors to learn her history.”

“Yes, dear, and that supplies the motive; not to one like you, my Audrey, but to such a perverted, such an unhappy and ignorant child as poor Evelyn, one who has never learnt self-control, one whose passions are ever in the ascendency.”

“Oh, poor Evelyn, poor Evelyn!” said Audrey. “But still, mother – still – Oh, I am sure she never did it! She has denied it, mother; whatever she is, she is not a coward. She might have done it in a fit of rage; but if she did she would confess. Why should she wreak her anger on Miss Henderson? Oh, mother darling, there is nothing proved against her!”

“Wait, Audrey; I have not finished my story. Two days passed before Miss Thompson needed to open the history-book which Evelyn had been using; when she did, she found, lying in the pages which commenced the reign of Edward I., some scraps of torn paper, all too evidently torn out of Sesame and Lilies.

“Mother!”

“It is true, Audrey.”

“Who told you this?”

“Miss Henderson.”

“Does Miss Henderson believe that Evelyn is guilty?”

“Yes; and so do I.”

“Mother, mother, what will happen?”

“Who knows? But Miss Henderson is determined – and, yes, my dear, I must say I agree with her – she is determined to expose Evelyn; she said she would give her a week in which to repent.”

“And that week will be up the day after to-morrow,” said Audrey.

“Yes, Audrey – yes; there is only to-morrow left.”

“Oh mother, how can I bear it?”

“My poor child, it will be dreadful for you.”

“Oh mother, why did she come here? I could almost hate her! And yet – no, I do not hate her – no, I do not; I pity her.”

“You are an angel! When I think that you, my sweet, will be mixed up in this, and – and injured by it, and brought to low esteem by it, oh, my dearest, what can I say?”

Audrey was silent for a moment. She bent her head and looked down; then she spoke.

“It is a trial,” she said, “but I am not to be pitied as Evelyn is to be pitied. Mother darling, there is but one thing to be done.”

“What is that, dearest?”

“To get her to repent – to get her to confess between now and the morning after next. Oh mother! leave her to me.”

“I will, Audrey. If any one can influence her, you can; you are so brave, so good, so strong!”

“Nay, I have but little influence over her,” said Audrey. “Let me think for a few moments, mother.”

Audrey sank into a chair and sat silent. Her sweet, pure, high-bred face was turned in profile to her mother. Lady Frances glanced at it, and thought over the circumstances which had brought Evelyn into their midst.

“To think that that girl should supplant her!” thought the mother; and her anger was so great that she could not keep quiet. She was going out of the room to speak to her husband, but before she reached the door Audrey called her.

“What are you going to do, mother?”

“It is only right that I should tell you, Audrey. An idea has come to me. Evelyn respects your father; if I told him just what I have told you he might induce her to confess.”

“No, mother,” said Audrey suddenly; “do not let us lower her in his eyes. The strongest possible motive for Evelyn to confess her sin will be that father does not know; that he need never know if she confesses. Do not tell him, please, mother; I have got another thought.”

“What is that, my darling?”

“Do you not remember Sylvia – pretty Sylvia?”

“Of course. A dear, bright, fascinating girl!”

“Evelyn is fond of her – fonder of Sylvia than she is of me; perhaps Sylvia could induce her to confess.”

“It is a good thought, Audrey. I will ask Sylvia over here to dine to-morrow evening.”

“Oh, mother darling, that is too late! May I not send a messenger for her to come in the morning? Oh mother, if she could only come now!”

“No dearest; it is too late to-night.”

“But Evelyn ought to see her before she goes to school.”

“My dearest, you have both to be at school at nine o’clock.”

“Oh, I don’t know what is to be done! I do feel that I have very little influence, and Sylvia may have much. Oh dear! oh dear!”

“Audrey, I am almost sorry I have told you; you take it too much to heart.”

“Dear mother, you must have told me; I could not have stood the shock, the surprise, unprepared. Oh mother, think of the morning after next! Think of our all standing up in school, and Evelyn, my cousin, being proclaimed guilty! And yet, mother, I ought only to think of Evelyn, and not of myself; but I cannot help thinking of myself – I cannot – I cannot.”

“Something must be done to help you, Audrey. Let me think. I will write a line to Miss Henderson and say I am detaining you both till afternoon school. Then, dearest, you can have your talk with Evelyn in the morning, and afterwards Sylvia can see her, and perhaps the unhappy child may be brought to repentance, and may speak to Miss Henderson and confess her sin in the afternoon. That is the best thing. Now go to bed, and do not let the trouble worry you, my sweet; that would indeed be the last straw.”

Audrey left the room. But during that night she could not sleep. From side to side of her pillow she tossed; and early in the morning, an hour or more before her usual time of rising, she got up. She dressed herself quickly and went in the direction of Evelyn’s room. Her idea was to speak to Evelyn there and then before her courage failed her. She opened the door of her cousin’s room softly. She expected to see Evelyn, who was very lazy as a rule, sound asleep in bed; but, to her astonishment, the room was empty. Where could she be?

“What can be the matter?” thought Audrey; and in some alarm she ran down-stairs.

The first person she saw was Evelyn, who was making straight for her uncle’s room, intending to go out with the well-loaded gun. Evelyn scowled when she saw her cousin, and a look of anger swept over her face.

“What are you doing up so early, Evelyn?” asked Audrey.

“May I ask what are you doing up so early,” retorted Evelyn.

“I got up early on purpose to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk just now.”

“Do come with me, Evelyn – please do. Why should you turn against me and be so disagreeable? Oh, dear! oh dear! I am so terribly sorry for you! Do you know that I was awake all night thinking of you?”

“Then you were very silly,” said Evelyn, “for certainly I was not awake thinking of you. What is it you want to say?” she continued.

She recognized that she must give up her sport. How more than provoking! for the next morning she would be no longer at Wynford Castle; she would be under the safe shelter of her beloved Jasper’s wing.

“The morning is quite fine,” said Audrey; “do come out and let us walk.”

Evelyn looked very cross, but finally agreed, and they went out together. Audrey wondered how she should proceed. What could she say to influence Evelyn? In truth, they were not the sort of girls who would ever pull well together. Audrey had been brought up in the strictest school, with the highest sense of honor. Evelyn had been left to grow up at her own sweet will; honorable actions had never appealed to her. Tricks, cheating, smart doings, clever ways, which were not the ways of righteousness, were the ways to which she had been accustomed. It was impossible for her to see things with Audrey’s eyes.

“What do you want to say to me?” said Evelyn. “Why do you look so mysterious?”

“I want to say something – something which I must say. Evelyn, do not ask me any questions, but do just listen. You know what is going to happen to-morrow morning at school?”

“Lessons, I suppose,” said Evelyn.

“Please don’t be silly; you must know what I mean.”

“Oh, you allude to the row about that stupid, stupid book. What a fuss! I used to think I liked school, but I don’t now. I am sure mistresses don’t go on in that silly way in Tasmania, for mothery said she loved school. Oh, the fun she had at school! Stolen parties in the attics; suppers brought in clandestinely; lessons shirked! Oh dear! oh dear! she had a time of excitement. But at this school you are all so proper! I do really think you English girls have no spunk and no spirit.”

“But I’ll tell you what we have,” said Audrey; and she turned and faced her cousin. “We have honor; we have truth. We like to work straight, not crooked; we like to do right, not wrong. Yes, we do, and we are the better for it. That is what we English girls are. Don’t abuse us, Evelyn, for in your heart of hearts – yes, Evelyn, I repeat it – in your heart of hearts you must long to be one of us.”