Part 25 (1/2)
”I do love Lily,” replied Marjorie. ”Only Ermengarde said----” then she stopped.
”What is it, dear?”
”I don't think I'll tell, Miss Nelson, please. I'm afraid, when Ermie said it, she was feeling awfully disappointed. I'll try to forget it.
Now, Miss Nelson, what shall I do?”
”Put your wise little brains to work. Try to think how you can clear Basil from suspicion without doing anything shabby or underhand. I know your father is fearfully hurt with him. Much more hurt with him than with Ermengarde, for he has always had such a very high opinion of Basil. Now run away, Maggie, dear, and do your best; but remember I do not wish you to give up your visit. I called you early on purpose that you should have time to think matters over.”
Miss Nelson kissed Marjorie, who went solemnly back to her own room.
The sun was now streaming in through the closed blinds, and some of his rays fell across the white bed where Ermengarde lay. The little girl was still fast asleep; all her long hair was tossed over her pillow, and one hand shaded her cheek. Ermengarde was a very pretty girl, and she looked lovely now in the innocent sweet sleep which visits even naughty children.
Marjorie went and stood at the foot of the bed.
”Poor Ermie,” she said to herself, ”I don't want to think that she could be mean, and yet--and yet--she was in Miss Nelson's room the day the miniature was stolen, and she did seem in a desperate state of trouble that time when she asked me to make an excuse for her to go back to the house. And then what funny words Susy did use that day in the cottage, although she explained them all away afterward. Dear, dear, dear, it's horrid to think that Ermie could do anything wrong.
And she looks so _sweet_ in her sleep. I wish Miss Nelson hadn't woke me, and told me to be a sort of spy. But oh, poor Basil! I'd do anything in all the world--I'd even be _mean_, to help Basil.”
Marjorie sat down on her own little bed, which was opposite to Ermengarde's. The motto which her mother had given her long ago, the old sacred and time-honored motto, ”I serve,” floated back to her mind.
”It will be horrid if I have to give up going to Glendower,” she whispered under her breath. ”I _am_ unlucky about treats, and I do love Lily. Still, I remember what mother said, 'When you are a servant to others, you are G.o.d's servant, Marjorie.' Mother died a week afterward. Oh dear, oh dear, I can't forget her words; but I should dearly like to go to Glendower all the same.”
As Marjorie sat on her little bed, she was kicking her feet backward and forward, and not being a particularly gentle little mortal, she knocked over a box, which effectually wakened Ermengarde.
”What _are_ you doing there?” asked the elder sister. ”What in the world are you dressed for, Maggie? It surely is not seven o'clock yet?”
”Yes, it is; it's a quarter-past seven,” replied Marjorie.
”Oh, I suppose you are so excited about your stupid old Glendower.”
”I'm thinking about it but I'm not excited,” answered Marjorie a little sadly.
”Well, for goodness' sake don't put on that resigned, pious, martyr sort of air. You are going to have your treat, and take it cheerfully.
You know you are dying to go, and your heart is going pit-a-pat like anything.”
”I wish you wouldn't be so cross with me, Ermie.”
”Oh, of course, I'm always cross; no one ever has a good word for me.
Now, Maggie, don't begin to argue the point. I wish to goodness you would stay in bed until it is your proper time to rise, and not wake me up before it is necessary. I might have had a quarter of an hour's more sleep if it had not been for you.”
”I could not help myself this morning,” answered Marjorie. ”Miss Nelson came and woke me soon after six o'clock.”
”Miss Nelson?” Ermengarde was suddenly aroused to interest. ”Whatever for?”
”Oh, Ermie, you must hear about it--poor Basil.”
Ermengarde half sat up in bed.
”I wish you'd speak right out, Maggie. Has Basil hurt himself? Is he ill? What is wrong?”