Part 38 (1/2)

CHAPTER XVII

A TURNING-POINT

After this exciting day matters seemed to move rather languidly in the school. Betty was beyond doubt in low spirits. She did not complain; she did not take any one into her confidence. Even to her sisters she was gloomy and silent. She took long walks by herself. She neglected no duty--that is, no apparent duty--and her lessons progressed swimmingly.

Her two great talents--the one for music, the other for recitation--were bringing her into special notice amongst the different teachers. She was looked upon by the educational staff as a girl who might bring marked distinction to the school. Thus the last few days of that miserable week pa.s.sed.

On Tuesday evening Miss Symes had a little talk with Mrs. Haddo.

”What is it, dear St. Cecilia?” asked the head mistress, looking lovingly into the face of her favorite teacher.

”I am anxious about Betty,” was the reply.

”Sit down, dear, won't you? Emma, I have been also anxious. I cannot understand why that notice was put up on the blackboard, and why Betty has left the club. Have you any clue, dear?”

”None whatsoever,” was Miss Symes's answer. ”Of course I, as a teacher, cannot possibly question any of the girls, and they are none of them willing to confide in me.”

”We certainly cannot question them,” said Mrs. Haddo. ”But now I wish to say something to you. Betty has been absent from evening prayers at the chapel so often lately that I think it is my duty to speak to her on the subject.”

”I have also observed that fact,” replied Miss Symes. ”Betty does not look well. There is something, beyond doubt, weighing on her mind. She avoids her fellow-pupils, whereas she used to be, I may almost say, the favorite of the school. She scarcely speaks to any one now. When she walks she walks alone. Even her dear little sisters are anxious about her; I can see it, although they are far too discreet to say a word.

Poor Betty's little face seems to me to grow paler every day, and her eyes more pathetic. Mrs. Haddo, can you not do something?”

”You know, Emma, that I never force confidences; I think it a great mistake. If a girl wishes to speak to me, she understands me well enough to be sure I shall respect every word she says; otherwise, I think it best to allow a girl of Betty Vivian's age to fight out her difficulties alone.”

”As her teacher, I have nothing to complain of,” said Miss Symes. ”She is just brilliant. She seems to leap over mental difficulties as though they did not exist. Her intuition is something marvellous, and she will grasp an idea almost as soon as it is uttered. I should like you to hear her play; it is a perfect delight to teach her; her little fingers seem to be endowed with the very spirit of music. And then that delightful voice of hers thrills one when she recites aloud, as she does twice a week in my recitation-cla.s.s. As a matter of fact, dear Mrs. Haddo, I am deeply attached to Betty; but I feel there is something wrong just now.”

”A turning-point,” said Mrs. Haddo. ”How often we come to them in life!”

”G.o.d grant she may take the right turning!” was Miss Symes's remark. She sat silent, gazing gloomily into the fire.

”It is not like you, Emma, to be so despondent,” said the head mistress.

”I cannot help feeling despondent, for I think there is mischief afoot and that Betty is suffering. I wonder if----”

At that moment there came a tap at the door. Mrs. Haddo said, ”Come in,”

and Mr. Fairfax entered.

”Ah,” said Mrs. Haddo, ”you are just the very man we want, Mr. Fairfax!

Please sit down.”

Mr. Fairfax immediately took the chair which was offered to him. ”I have come,” he said, ”to speak to you and to Miss Symes with regard to one of your pupils--Betty Vivian.”

”How strange!” said Mrs. Haddo. ”Miss Symes and I were talking about Betty only this very moment. Can you throw any light on what is troubling her?”

”No,” said Mr. Fairfax. ”I came here to ask if you could.”

”What do you mean?”

”Well, you know in my capacity as chaplain different things come to my ears; but I am under a promise not to repeat them. I am, however, under no promise in this instance. I was walking through the shrubbery half-an-hour ago--I was, in fact, thinking out the little address I want to give the dear girls next Sunday morning--when I suddenly heard a low sob. I paused to listen; it was some way off, but I heard it quite distinctly. I did not like to approach--you understand one's feeling of delicacy in such a matter; but it came again, and was so very heartrending that I could not help saying, 'Who is there? Is any one in trouble?' To my amazement, a girl started to her feet; she had been lying full-length, with her face downwards, on the damp gra.s.s. She came up to me, and I recognized her at once. She was Betty Vivian. There was very little light, but I could see that she was in terrible distress.