Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (1223 page)
Read Complete Works of Wilkie Collins Online
Authors: Wilkie Collins
CHAPTER XXVII. MENTOR AND TELEMACHUS.
CHAPTER XXXII. IN THE GRAY ROOM.
CHAPTER XXXIII. RECOLLECTIONS OF ST. DOMINGO.
CHAPTER XXXV. THE TREACHERY OF THE PIPE.
CHAPTER XXXVII. “THE LADY WANTS YOU, SIR.”
BOOK THE FOURTH — THE COUNTRY HOUSE.
CHAPTER XLV. MISCHIEF — MAKING.
CHAPTER XLVIII. INVESTIGATING.
CHAPTER LII. “IF I COULD FIND A FRIEND!”
CHAPTER LIII. THE FRIEND IS FOUND.
CHAPTER LIV. THE END OF THE FAINTING FIT.
BOOK THE SIXTH — HERE AND THERE.
CHAPTER LV. MIRABEL SEES HIS WAY.
CHAPTER LVI. ALBAN SEES HIS WAY.
CHAPTER LVII. APPROACHING THE END.
CHAPTER LVIII. A COUNCIL OF TWO.
CHAPTER LIX. THE ACCIDENT AT BELFORD.
CHAPTER LXIII. THE DEFENSE OF MIRABEL.
CHAPTER LXIV. ON THE WAY TO LONDON.
BOOK THE LAST — AT HOME AGAIN.
CHAPTER LXV. CECILIA IN A NEW CHARACTER.
CHAPTER LXVI. ALBAN’S NARRATIVE.
CHAPTER LXVII. THE TRUE CONSOLATION.
CHAPTER I. THE SMUGGLED SUPPER.
Outside the bedroom the night was black and still. The small rain fell too softly to be heard in the garden; not a leaf stirred in the airless calm; the watch-dog was asleep, the cats were indoors; far or near, under the murky heaven, not a sound was stirring.
Inside the bedroom the night was black and still.
Miss Ladd knew her business as a schoolmistress too well to allow night-lights; and Miss Ladd’s young ladies were supposed to be fast asleep, in accordance with the rules of the house. Only at intervals the silence was faintly disturbed, when the restless turning of one of the girls in her bed betrayed itself by a gentle rustling between the sheets. In the long intervals of stillness, not even the softly audible breathing of young creatures asleep was to be heard.
The first sound that told of life and movement revealed the mechanical movement of the clock. Speaking from the lower regions, the tongue of Father Time told the hour before midnight.
A soft voice rose wearily near the door of the room. It counted the strokes of the clock — and reminded one of the girls of the lapse of time.
“Emily! eleven o’clock.”
There was no reply. After an interval the weary voice tried again, in louder tones:
“Emily!”
A girl, whose bed was at the inner end of the room, sighed under the heavy heat of the night — and said, in peremptory tones, “Is that Cecilia?”
“Yes.”
“What do you want?”
“I’m getting hungry, Emily. Is the new girl asleep?”
The new girl answered promptly and spitefully, “No, she isn’t.”
Having a private object of their own in view, the five wise virgins of Miss Ladd’s first class had waited an hour, in wakeful anticipation of the falling asleep of the stranger — and it had ended in this way! A ripple of laughter ran round the room. The new girl, mortified and offended, entered her protest in plain words.
“You are treating me shamefully! You all distrust me, because I am a stranger.”
“Say we don’t understand you,” Emily answered, speaking for her schoolfellows; “and you will be nearer the truth.”
“Who expected you to understand me, when I only came here to-day? I have told you already my name is Francine de Sor. If want to know more, I’m nineteen years old, and I come from the West Indies.”
Emily still took the lead. “Why do you come
here?
” she asked. “Who ever heard of a girl joining a new school just before the holidays? You are nineteen years old, are you? I’m a year younger than you — and I have finished my education. The next big girl in the room is a year younger than me — and she has finished her education. What can you possibly have left to learn at your age?”
“Everything!” cried the stranger from the West Indies, with an outburst of tears. “I’m a poor ignorant creature. Your education ought to have taught you to pity me instead of making fun of me. I hate you all. For shame, for shame!”
Some of the girls laughed. One of them — the hungry girl who had counted the strokes of the clock — took Francine’s part.
“Never mind their laughing, Miss de Sor. You are quite right, you have good reason to complain of us.”
Miss de Sor dried her eyes. “Thank you — whoever you are,” she answered briskly.
“My name is Cecilia Wyvil,” the other proceeded. “It was not, perhaps, quite nice of you to say you hated us all. At the same time we have forgotten our good breeding — and the least we can do is to beg your pardon.”
This expression of generous sentiment appeared to have an irritating effect on the peremptory young person who took the lead in the room. Perhaps she disapproved of free trade in generous sentiment.
“I can tell you one thing, Cecilia,” she said; “you shan’t beat ME in generosity. Strike a light, one of you, and lay the blame on me if Miss Ladd finds us out. I mean to shake hands with the new girl — and how can I do it in the dark? Miss de Sor, my name’s Brown, and I’m queen of the bedroom. I — not Cecilia — offer our apologies if we have offended you. Cecilia is my dearest friend, but I don’t allow her to take the lead in the room. Oh, what a lovely nightgown!”
The sudden flow of candle-light had revealed Francine, sitting up in her bed, and displaying such treasures of real lace over her bosom that the queen lost all sense of royal dignity in irrepressible admiration. “Seven and sixpence,” Emily remarked, looking at her own night-gown and despising it. One after another, the girls yielded to the attraction of the wonderful lace. Slim and plump, fair and dark, they circled round the new pupil in their flowing white robes, and arrived by common consent at one and the same conclusion: “How rich her father must be!”
