A Little Princess (25 page)

For a moment Sara thought he was going to die. Ram Dass poured
out drops from a bottle, and held them to his lips. Sara stood
near, trembling a little. She looked in a bewildered way at Mr.
Carmichael.

"What child am I?" she faltered.

"He was your father's friend," Mr. Carmichael answered her.
"Don't be frightened. We have been looking for you for two
years."

Sara put her hand up to her forehead, and her mouth trembled.
She spoke as if she were in a dream.

"And I was at Miss Minchin's all the while," she half whispered.
"Just on the other side of the wall."

It was pretty, comfortable Mrs. Carmichael who explained
everything. She was sent for at once, and came across the square
to take Sara into her warm arms and make clear to her all that
had happened. The excitement of the totally unexpected discovery
had been temporarily almost overpowering to Mr. Carrisford in his
weak condition.

"Upon my word," he said faintly to Mr. Carmichael, when it was
suggested that the little girl should go into another room. "I
feel as if I do not want to lose sight of her."

"I will take care of her," Janet said, "and mamma will come in a
few minutes." And it was Janet who led her away.

"We're so glad you are found," she said. "You don't know how
glad we are that you are found."

Donald stood with his hands in his pockets, and gazed at Sara
with reflecting and self-reproachful eyes.

"If I'd just asked what your name was when I gave you my
sixpence," he said, "you would have told me it was Sara Crewe,
and then you would have been found in a minute." Then Mrs.
Carmichael came in. She looked very much moved, and suddenly
took Sara in her arms and kissed her.

"You look bewildered, poor child," she said. "And it is not to
be wondered at."

Sara could only think of one thing.

"Was he," she said, with a glance toward the closed door of the
library—"was HE the wicked friend? Oh, do tell me!"

Mrs. Carmichael was crying as she kissed her again. She felt as
if she ought to be kissed very often because she had not been
kissed for so long.

"He was not wicked, my dear," she answered. "He did not really
lose your papa's money. He only thought he had lost it; and
because he loved him so much his grief made him so ill that for a
time he was not in his right mind. He almost died of brain
fever, and long before he began to recover your poor papa was
dead."

"And he did not know where to find me," murmured Sara. "And I
was so near." Somehow, she could not forget that she had been so
near.

"He believed you were in school in France," Mrs. Carmichael
explained. "And he was continually misled by false clues. He
has looked for you everywhere. When he saw you pass by, looking
so sad and neglected, he did not dream that you were his friend's
poor child; but because you were a little girl, too, he was sorry
for you, and wanted to make you happier. And he told Ram Dass to
climb into your attic window and try to make you comfortable."

Sara gave a start of joy; her whole look changed.

"Did Ram Dass bring the things?" she cried out. "Did he tell
Ram Dass to do it? Did he make the dream that came true?"

"Yes, my dear—yes! He is kind and good, and he was sorry for
you, for little lost Sara Crewe's sake."

The library door opened and Mr. Carmichael appeared, calling
Sara to him with a gesture.

"Mr. Carrisford is better already," he said. "He wants you to
come to him."

Sara did not wait. When the Indian gentleman looked at her as
she entered, he saw that her face was all alight.

She went and stood before his chair, with her hands clasped
together against her breast.

"You sent the things to me," she said, in a joyful emotional
little voice, "the beautiful, beautiful things? YOU sent them!"

"Yes, poor, dear child, I did," he answered her. He was weak
and broken with long illness and trouble, but he looked at her
with the look she remembered in her father's eyes—that look of
loving her and wanting to take her in his arms. It made her
kneel down by him, just as she used to kneel by her father when
they were the dearest friends and lovers in the world.

"Then it is you who are my friend," she said; "it is you who are
my friend!" And she dropped her face on his thin hand and
kissed it again and again.

"The man will be himself again in three weeks," Mr. Carmichael
said aside to his wife. "Look at his face already."

In fact, he did look changed. Here was the "Little Missus," and
he had new things to think of and plan for already. In the first
place, there was Miss Minchin. She must be interviewed and told
of the change which had taken place in the fortunes of her pupil.

Sara was not to return to the seminary at all. The Indian
gentleman was very determined upon that point. She must remain
where she was, and Mr. Carmichael should go and see Miss Minchin
himself.

"I am glad I need not go back," said Sara. "She will be very
angry. She does not like me; though perhaps it is my fault,
because I do not like her."

But, oddly enough, Miss Minchin made it unnecessary for Mr.
Carmichael to go to her, by actually coming in search of her
pupil herself. She had wanted Sara for something, and on inquiry
had heard an astonishing thing. One of the housemaids had seen
her steal out of the area with something hidden under her cloak,
and had also seen her go up the steps of the next door and enter
the house.

"What does she mean!" cried Miss Minchin to Miss Amelia.

"I don't know, I'm sure, sister," answered Miss Amelia. "Unless
she has made friends with him because he has lived in India."

"It would be just like her to thrust herself upon him and try to
gain his sympathies in some such impertinent fashion," said Miss
Minchin. "She must have been in the house for two hours. I will
not allow such presumption. I shall go and inquire into the
matter, and apologize for her intrusion."

Sara was sitting on a footstool close to Mr. Carrisford's knee,
and listening to some of the many things he felt it necessary to
try to explain to her, when Ram Dass announced the visitor's
arrival.

Sara rose involuntarily, and became rather pale; but Mr.
Carrisford saw that she stood quietly, and showed none of the
ordinary signs of child terror.

Miss Minchin entered the room with a sternly dignified manner.
She was correctly and well dressed, and rigidly polite.

"I am sorry to disturb Mr. Carrisford," she said; "but I have
explanations to make. I am Miss Minchin, the proprietress of the
Young Ladies' Seminary next door."

The Indian gentleman looked at her for a moment in silent
scrutiny. He was a man who had naturally a rather hot temper,
and he did not wish it to get too much the better of him.

"So you are Miss Minchin?" he said.

"I am, sir."

"In that case," the Indian gentleman replied, "you have arrived
at the right time. My solicitor, Mr. Carmichael, was just on the
point of going to see you."

Mr. Carmichael bowed slightly, and Miiss Minchin looked from him
to Mr. Carrisford in amazement.

"Your solicitor!" she said. "I do not understand. I have come
here as a matter of duty. I have just discovered that you have
been intruded upon through the forwardness of one of my pupils—a
charity pupil. I came to explain that she intruded without my
knowledge." She turned upon Sara. "Go home at once," she
commanded indignantly. "You shall be severely punished. Go home
at once."

The Indian gentleman drew Sara to his side and patted her hand.

"She is not going."

Miss Minchin felt rather as if she must be losing her senses.

"Not going!" she repeated.

"No," said Mr. Carrisford. "She is not going home—if you give
your house that name. Her home for the future will be with me."

Miss Minchin fell back in amazed indignation.

"With YOU! With YOU sir! What does this mean?"

"Kindly explain the matter, Carmichael," said the Indian
gentleman; "and get it over as quickly as possible." And he made
Sara sit down again, and held her hands in his—which was another
trick of her papa's.

Then Mr. Carmichael explained—in the quiet, level-toned, steady
manner of a man who knew his subject, and all its legal
significance, which was a thing Miss Minchin understood as a
business woman, and did not enjoy.

"Mr. Carrisford, madam," he said, "was an intimate friend of the
late Captain Crewe. He was his partner in certain large
investments. The fortune which Captain Crewe supposed he had
lost has been recovered, and is now in Mr. Carrisford's hands."

"The fortune!" cried Miss Minchin; and she really lost color as
she uttered the exclamation. "Sara's fortune!"

"It WILL be Sara's fortune," replied Mr. Carmichael, rather
coldly. "It is Sara's fortune now, in fact. Certain events have
increased it enormously. The diamond mines have retrieved
themselves."

"The diamond mines!" Miss Minchin gasped out. If this was
true, nothing so horrible, she felt, had ever happened to her
since she was born.

"The diamond mines," Mr. Carmichael repeated, and he could not
help adding, with a rather sly, unlawyer-like smile, "There are
not many princesses, Miss Minchin, who are richer than your
little charity pupil, Sara Crewe, will be. Mr. Carrisford has
been searching for her for nearly two years; he has found her at
last, and he will keep her."

After which he asked Miss Minchin to sit down while he explained
matters to her fully, and went into such detail as was necessary
to make it quite clear to her that Sara's future was an assured
one, and that what had seemed to be lost was to be restored to
her tenfold; also, that she had in Mr. Carrisford a guardian as
well as a friend.

Miss Minchin was not a clever woman, and in her excitement she
was silly enough to make one desperate effort to regain what she
could not help seeing she had lost through her worldly folly.

"He found her under my care," she protested. "I have done
everything for her. But for me she should have starved in the
streets."

Here the Indian gentleman lost his temper.

"As to starving in the streets," he said, "she might have
starved more comfortably there than in your attic."

"Captain Crewe left her in my charge," Miss Minchin argued. "She
must return to it until she is of age. She can be a parlor
boarder again. She must finish her education. The law will
interfere in my behalf"

"Come, come, Miss Minchin," Mr. Carmichael interposed, "the law
will do nothing of the sort. If Sara herself wishes to return to
you, I dare say Mr. Carrisford might not refuse to allow it. But
that rests with Sara."

"Then," said Miss Minchin, "I appeal to Sara. I have not spoiled
you, perhaps," she said awkwardly to the little girl; "but you
know that your papa was pleased with your progress. And—ahem—I
have always been fond of you."

Sara's green-gray eyes fixed themselves on her with the quiet,
clear look Miss Minchin particularly disliked.

"Have YOU, Miss Minchin?" she said. "I did not know that."

Miss Minchin reddened and drew herself up.

"You ought to have known it," said she; "but children,
unfortunately, never know what is best for them. Amelia and I
always said you were the cleverest child in the school. Will you
not do your duty to your poor papa and come home with me?"

Sara took a step toward her and stood still. She was thinking of
the day when she had been told that she belonged to nobody, and
was in danger of being turned into the street; she was thinking
of the cold, hungry hours she had spent alone with Emily and
Melchisedec in the attic. She looked Miss Minchin steadily in
the face.

"You know why I will not go home with you, Miss Minchin," she
said; "you know quite well."

A hot flush showed itself on Miss Minchin's hard, angry face.

"You will never see your companions again," she began. "I will
see that Ermengarde and Lottie are kept away—"

Mr. Carmichael stopped her with polite firmness.

"Excuse me," he said; "she will see anyone she wishes to see.
The parents of Miss Crewe's fellow-pupils are not likely to
refuse her invitations to visit her at her guardian's house. Mr.
Carrisford will attend to that."

It must be confessed that even Miss Minchin flinched. This was
worse than the eccentric bachelor uncle who might have a peppery
temper and be easily offended at the treatment of his niece. A
woman of sordid mind could easily believe that most people would
not refuse to allow their children to remain friends with a
little heiress of diamond mines. And if Mr. Carrisford chose to
tell certain of her patrons how unhappy Sara Crewe had been made,
many unpleasant things might happen.

"You have not undertaken an easy charge," she said to the Indian
gentleman, as she turned to leave the room; "you will discover
that very soon. The child is neither truthful nor grateful. I
suppose"—to Sara—"that you feel now that you are a princess
again."

Sara looked down and flushed a little, because she thought her
pet fancy might not be easy for strangers—even nice ones—to
understand at first.

"I—TRIED not to be anything else," she answered in a low voice—
"even when I was coldest and hungriest—I tried not to be."

"Now it will not be necessary to try," said Miss Minchin,
acidly, as Ram Dass salaamed her out of the room.

She returned home and, going to her sitting room, sent at once
for Miss Amelia. She sat closeted with her all the rest of the
afternoon, and it must be admitted that poor Miss Amelia passed
through more than one bad quarter of an hour. She shed a good
many tears, and mopped her eyes a good deal. One of her
unfortunate remarks almost caused her sister to snap her head
entirely off, but it resulted in an unusual manner.