Part 11 (1/2)

”Those photographs I spoke about are in the cupboard, Basil. I could not bring them to you because I could not find the key. Would you like to see them now?”

”Thanks,” said Basil. ”Perhaps, if you don't mind, I had better look at them by daylight.”

When Basil said this, Miss Nelson also stood up. He looked at her, being quite sure now she would wish him good-night and let him go. Her eyes had a peculiar, terrified, staring expression. She rushed to the mantelpiece; then she turned and grasped the boy's arm.

”Basil,” she said, ”the picture is gone!”

”What picture?” he asked. He was really frightened at the anguished expression in Miss Nelson's matter-of-fact face.

”Mine,” she answered, clasping his hand tighter. ”My treasure, the picture of my----” here she broke off. ”It is gone, Basil--see, and another put in its place! My miniature is gone! it has been stolen!”

”No, no,” said Basil. ”It couldn't have been. People don't steal pictures at the Chase. There are no thieves. Let me look for it for you.”

”My miniature--my portrait. I don't speak of it--I can't!” Her voice shook. ”No, no; it is gone. You see, Basil, it always hung here, and now another has been put on the same hook. That shows that the deed was intentional; the miniature is stolen!”

She sat down and clasped her hands over her face; her thin long fingers trembled.

”I'm awfully sorry for you,” said Basil. He could not understand such emotion over any mere picture, but he had the kindest of hearts, and distress of any sort always moved him.

”I'm awfully sorry,” he repeated.

Miss Nelson looked up at his tone.

”Basil,” she said, ”when you have very few things to love, you value the few intensely. I did--I do. You don't know, my boy, what it is to be a lonely woman. May you never understand my feelings. The miniature is gone; it was stolen, purposely.”

”Oh, we'll find the thief,” said Basil. ”If you are sure the picture was taken, we'll make no end of a fuss, and my father will help. Of course you must not lose anything you value in this house. You shall have it back; we'll all see to that.”

”Thank you, Basil; I'm sure you'll do your best.”

Miss Nelson's face looked as unhappy as ever.

”You must try and cheer up, Miss Nelson,” said the school-boy. ”You shall have your picture, that I promise you.”

Miss Nelson was silent for a minute.

”Perhaps I shall get it back,” she said after a pause. ”But it won't be the same to me again. No, nothing can be the same. I've got a shock. Basil, I have worked for you all. When your mother died, I came--I came at her request. A more brilliant governess could have taught your sisters, but I can truly say no one more conscientious could have ministered to them, and no one on the whole could have loved them more faithfully. I have, however, been misunderstood. Only one of your sisters has responded to me. Marjorie has been sweet and true and good; the others--not that I blame little Lucy much--a child is always led by her elders--but----”

”What does all this mean?” said Basil, almost sternly. He knit his brows. He felt that he was going to be somebody's champion, and there was fight in his voice.

”This is what it means, Basil,” said Miss Nelson. ”I am sorry to pain you, but I believe Ermengarde has taken my miniature.”

”Ermie a thief? What do you mean? She's my sister--she's a Wilton! How can you say that sort of thing, Miss Nelson? No wonder poor Ermie does not quite get on with you.”

”She never gets on with me, Basil. She is disobedient, she is unresponsive. I have taken more pains for her than for the others.

To-day I was obliged to punish her for two offenses of a very grave character. She took my miniature out of revenge; I am sure of it.”

”No, I am certain you are mistaken. You have no right to accuse her like this.”