CHAPTER VIII.

ABOUT half past eleven o'clock, when all was quiet in the house, Delia and Emily slipped on their frocks and cloaks, and taking a pitcher, to serve as an excuse if they happened to be caught, they stole quietly down stairs, and out at the school-room door into the garden. The moon was full, and shone with extraordinary brilliancy.

Not a sound was to be heard except the babble of the brook, and the distant barking of a dog; not a mouse seemed to stir in all the long range of buildings belonging to the Seminary, yet Emily felt strangely timid, as setting her pitcher on the well, she walked with Delia down one of the long alleys. She could not help peeping uneasily into every shadowy nook by the side of the path. The evergreen shrubs took strange and suspicious shapes; there were unaccountable rustlings in the hedges, and their footsteps echoed so strangely upon the flags that she could not help glancing behind her more than once, under the impression that they were followed by something.

Delia did not seem inclined for conversation, so that Emily had full leisure to work herself up to the highest state of excitement, and she nearly screamed aloud when the tall cloaked figure of a man rose abruptly from behind the group of arbor vitæ bushes, which shaded a rustic garden seat near the end of the long alley.

Delia grasped her arm hard.

"Hush, you little fool! Don't you see that it is Mr. Hugo?"

"Apparently Miss Emily is timid," remarked Mr. Hugo, seeming by no means pleased at seeing her. "I think, Delia, you would have been much wiser to have left her behind. She has clearly no taste for adventure."

"I did not wish to come without a companion," replied Delia. "Emily is in my confidence, and I have no reason to distrust her."

Mr. Hugo did not seem quite satisfied, and murmured something which was lost in his overhanging moustache. He then gave his arm to Delia, and they walked away together, leaving Emily struck dumb with consternation and shame.

To what a transaction had she made herself a party? It was clearly no accidental meeting. Delia had contrived the whole affair before hand, and it was doubtless her failure to meet her engagement of the evening before, which had put Mr. Hugo so out of temper in the morning. If she had guessed at the object of this stolen expedition, she thought she would have refused, at all hazards, to have any participation in the matter. And yet, what good would that have done? Delia would have come alone, which would have been much worse, and she might have precipitated her own disgrace.

She looked anxiously after the promenaders, and felt much relieved to see that they had reached the limit of the walk and turned back, for at first she had been in dread of an actual elopement.

She walked up and down uneasily for a while, and then sat down on the garden seat—that very seat where she had once been accustomed to come on Sunday afternoons to read her Bible, and tried to enjoy the prospect. There was the village spread out before her, with its peaceful homes sleeping in the moonlight, its graceful spires and towers pointing the way to heaven—nearer lay the still more peaceful city of the dead, the grave-stones and monuments glistening in the moonlight, and, conspicuous among them the tall white marble pillar, surmounted by a cross, which marked that portion of the ground appropriated to the Seminary. Far away stretched the lake, blue and beautiful, closed in by high hills, which might almost be called mountains.

But "all these things pleased not her eye," for it is only to the pure heart and tranquil spirit that great nature unveils her fair and awful beauty, and neither of these were Emily's. The wonderful creation might as well have been a blank for all her enjoyment of its glories, and the holy quiet of the hour brought her no peace, for there is no peace, saith God, to the wicked.

For a long, long hour, she sat in the arbor, or walked backward and forward upon the stones, shivering with the cold, terrified at every rustle of the branches, and wondering when the conference would be finished. At last, to her great delight, the pair separated. Mr. Hugo departed, and was heard softly to close the garden gate, and Delia returned to her companion, with something in her hand, which she slipped hastily into her pocket.

"You poor child!" said she, kissing Emily. "What a stupid time you have had here by yourself. It was too bad to serve you so, but I did not see how to help it, for come I must, and I dared not come alone."

"If I had had any idea of your object," Emily began, but Delia interrupted her—

"Do you mean to say that you really had no idea? Did you think I was going to take all that trouble only for the sake of a walk? Oh, Emily, what a little goose you are!"

"But how dare you do such a thing? If Mrs. Pomeroy should find you out—"

"Nothing venture, nothing have," said Delia. "Besides, I don't mean that she shall find me out. I wish I were as sure of another person as I am of her."

"Who do you mean?"

"Mr. Fletcher! I do fear that man in spite of myself. He never turns his eyes upon me, but I feel as though he could read me through and through. I wish he were a thousand miles off. Mr. Hugo fears him as much as I do, and hates him, too; I believe he would kill him, if he dared."

"Oh, Delia,—kill Mr. Fletcher!" exclaimed Emily, in horror.

"My dear child, you need not take every word one says so absolutely literally. I do not suppose he would kill him outright, but he wishes him out of his way. But come, we must hurry in, and remember if we meet any one, we have only been out for some water."

They filled their pitcher accordingly, and returned by the same way they had come out, but on opening the garden door they were confronted by Miss Thomas, in her wrapper and with a lamp in her hand. Her hair was decidedly disordered, and the want of her front teeth, which she had forgotten in her hurry to make sure of the culprits, did not add to the dignity of her appearance.

"So, Miss Mason!" was her salutation. "I have caught you at last, have I!"

"So it seems, Miss Thomas," was the cool reply. "But are you not afraid of taking cold with no shoes or stockings, on these cold floors?"

"Umph!" returned Miss Thomas, rather taken aback by the calmness of the culprit, whom she had supposed would be too much abashed to utter a word. "I should like to know what has taken you out at this time of night?"

"I went to get some water," replied Delia, holding up her pitcher! "It is against rules I know, but the salt beef made me so thirsty that—"

"That you had to walk up and down the garden for an hour with a gentlemen," interrupted Miss Thomas. "Go to your room, both of you, and don't leave it till you have permission. I shall tell Mrs. Pomeroy all about it, and see what she says to such goings on."

"I propose to tell her the story myself, Miss Thomas," said Delia, with a dignity which might have become the Queen of Sheba herself. "If I have committed a fault, I have no intention of concealing it. Meantime, let me advise you not to make slanderous assertions, which you have no means of sustaining, lest you get into trouble yourself."

"Go to your room without another word," said the angry teacher. "We shall see whether I can sustain my accusation or not!"

Delia made no answer, except to shut the door in her face, when she attempted to enter the room, for the purpose of continuing her lecture. Emily had not spoken one word. She was no adept at making excuses, and she perceived that Delia was perfectly competent to sustain the warfare with Miss Thomas, but her heart sank as she thought of being summoned to Mrs. Pomeroy's presence on the morrow.

"Oh, Delia, what shall we do now?" were her first words, after the door had closed upon Miss Thomas and her exhortations. "I don't see but we are ruined outright."

"We are in a scrape, certainly," replied Delia, beginning to undress. "But I have been as badly off before, and I think I see my way out."

"That is more than I do," said Emily. "What can we possibly say to Mrs. Pomeroy? Who would have thought Miss Thomas could see so far?"

"She did not see, she only guessed," returned Delia. "I saw how she winced when I told her she had no proof. Every one in the house knows that she is as near-sighted as a bat, besides being old. I shall tell Mrs. Pomeroy frankly, that after filling our pitcher, we were tempted by the beauty of the night to take a walk in the garden, and stayed longer than we intended. Then we shall get a lecture, and a long piece of French or Latin to learn by heart, and perhaps be forbidden to go out two or three weeks, and that will be the end of the matter. Miss Thomas is not such a favorite with Mrs. Pomeroy that she will be a very partial judge where she is concerned. Oh no, it is not nearly as bad as you think.

"Dear me, if you knew some of the things the girls used to do at the Gymnasium—this is not a circumstance. The rules there were ten times more strict than they are here, and I am sure there was forty times as much mischief going on. The girls were forbidden even to raise their eyes when they passed a man in the street, and they were not allowed to walk in front of the house at all. It was perfectly ridiculous, and did no good either. But come, dear, go to sleep, and leave the whole to me. I promise you it shall all go right, yet."

Delia's confidence restored some degree of courage to Emily, though she could not keep her heart from sinking, as she thought of meeting Mrs. Pomeroy's eye in the morning. Of that other Eye, from which no secrets are hid, she had almost ceased to think. She had silenced the voice of conscience so long and so determinedly, that the inward monitor now seldom made itself heard, though there was all the time a dull, heavy pain pressing on her heart, and paralyzing her energies. She turned and tossed, and finally fell into an unquiet slumber, which seemed to have lasted only a few minutes, when the rising bell rung, and reminded her of all that was before her.

As the girls were forbidden to leave their rooms, they did not go down to breakfast. No sooner were prayers over, than the monitress appeared with the much dreaded summons to attend Mrs. Pomeroy in the library.

Why is it, that the study or the library must always be the place of fear in every boarding school? So it almost invariably is, and so it was at Mrs. Pomeroy's, and few were they who entered its precincts on any special summons without a shudder. The lady principal now sat enthroned in awful state upon her velvet covered chair, dignified as usual, but evidently somewhat ruffled. Near her sat Miss Thomas, her cheeks flushed, and her little black eyes sparkling, clearly not in a very sweet humor.

"Good morning, young ladies," said Mrs. Pomeroy, with dignity. "Be pleased to sit down."

The girls curtseyed, and obeyed in silence, and she proceeded. "I am sorry to say, I am informed by Miss Thomas of great misconduct upon your part. I am told that you, or one of you, was walking in the garden at a late hour last night, and in very improper company." She paused a moment, and then went on. "It would be much better for you to confess your fault at once, than to make any attempt to conceal it."

"I have no desire for concealment, Mrs. Pomeroy," answered Delia, respectfully, "nor has Emily. That we did very wrong, I acknowledge, and I am ready to tell you the whole story, as I should have done to Miss Thomas last night, but she did not seem disposed to listen."

"How dare you—" began Miss Thomas, but Mrs. Pomeroy waived her hand.

"Allow me, Miss Thomas—Proceed, Delia. I presume you speak for your companion, as well as for yourself."

"I do," said Delia. "Emily and I both ate a good deal of dried beef for tea, which made us very thirsty. We had no water in the room except the cistern water, which, you know, is not quite fit to drink at present."

"It is true!" assented Mrs. Pomeroy. "The cisterns are to be cleaned to-day, but go on, my dear."

"My dear," was always a sign of approaching fine weather with Mrs. Pomeroy.

Miss Thomas moved uneasily in her chair, and Delia went on modestly, but steadily.

"I proposed to Emily, that rather than suffer from thirst all night, we should go down and get some water. We should have asked permission, but it was late, and Miss Thomas was asleep, and knowing how much she has lately suffered from toothache, we were unwilling to disturb her. So we put on our clothes and went down as quietly as we could, and when we got out, the night was so fine that we were tempted to take a ramble in the garden. We got talking down by the arbor, and stayed out longer than we intended. It was very wrong, and we are ready to apologize, and submit to the penalty. I am sure, Emily, I may speak for you as well as myself."

Emily, who had hidden her face in her handkerchief; murmured assent.

"But Miss Thomas declares, that standing at her bed-room window, she saw you walking up and down the garden with a gentleman," said Mrs. Pomeroy. "How was that?"

"Courage!" thought Delia. "If she came no nearer than the bed-room window, we are safe and she has cornered herself." Such was her thought, but she answered as modestly as before—

"If I might be permitted to ask Miss Thomas a few questions, without being considered disrespectful—"

"Certainly," said Mrs. Pomeroy, as she paused for a reply. "It is but just that you should have every opportunity of defending yourself."

"Will Miss Thomas please to tell me how many people she saw walking in the garden, from her bed-room window?"

"I saw two people," said Miss Thomas.

"That is to say, myself or Emily, and a gentleman in a cloak."

"Of course!" returned the teacher, evidently much irritated by Delia's questions, and her studiedly respectful manner. "A gentleman in a long cloak. Have you done?"

"Not quite," replied Delia, in the same even tone. "Will you have the goodness, Miss Thomas, to read, from where you are sitting the third row of figures upon that blackboard?" Pointing to one which had been used in a recitation, and left with the figures upon it.

"Nonsense!" said Miss Thomas, coloring deeply, and looking just ready to explode with anger. "I shall do no such thing."

Delia looked at Mrs. Pomeroy, and was delighted to see the first dawn of a smile on her countenance. She began to see what Delia was aiming at, and could not help being amused at her ingenuity.

"Read the figures, if you please, Miss Thomas," said she mildly. "What possible objection can you have to doing so? They are very plainly written."

"I can't see them," said Miss Thomas, bursting out at last. "I cannot tell one line from another, at this distance, and you know I can't."

"I have but little more to say," continued Delia, without manifesting any triumph at the success of her experiment. "Miss Thomas says that she only two people walking in the garden, and we have both confessed to being there. She cannot see to read a line of large white figures on a black ground at the distance of four yards, so it is no great wonder that she should mistake poor Emily, in her long black cloak and fur cap, for a gentleman, especially as she seemed to have made up her mind that there must be a beau in the case, any how. I do not mean to say any thing disrespectful, but I must say I think she should furnish herself with more substantial proofs, before bringing such accusations against young ladies of good character. I do not think either my father, or Emily's, would be at all pleased to think that we had been subjected to such suspicions."

Delia spoke with a propriety and dignity which might have prepossessed the sternest judge in her favor, and the apparently free confession of her real fault, had great weight with Mrs. Pomeroy, who valued frankness above all things. Miss Thomas' defective vision was well known to every one, notwithstanding the absurd pains she took to conceal it. She was, moreover, extremely suspicious in her temperament, and apt to draw conclusions from what she imagined, than from what she really saw; and consequently her word had less weight with Mrs. Pomeroy than that of any other teacher in the school. This being the case, Mrs. Pomeroy was quite willing to give the girls the benefit of the doubt which evidently existed, and consider the whole matter as nothing more than a girlish frolic. So she gave them due praise for their openness, and a kind admonition to do better in future, appointed them an act of Athalie to learn by heart, (she always gave punishment lessons out of Athalie), and dismissed them to their duties. Emily was crying too much to speak, but Delia said, and this time with real feeling:

"You are very kind, Mrs. Pomeroy. I shall try to act in such a manner, in future, that you shall never regret your goodness to me to-day. Miss Thomas, I am sorry that I spoke disrespectfully to you last evening, and I beg your pardon."

Miss Thomas received this apology with a kind of snort, making no other reply, but the moment the door closed behind the girls, she opened her fire upon Mrs. Pomeroy.

"So this is the reward I get for my faithfulness in your behalf, ma'am—losing my rest, and endangering my health, to be browbeaten and put down in your very presence, ma'am, by those who can pull the wool over your eyes by a few fine speeches. But this is the last time I shall expose myself in your service—" She paused for lack of breath.

"You are exposing yourself now, without doing any one service, least of all, yourself," answered Mrs. Pomeroy, calmly. "I appreciate your good qualities, Miss Thomas, and desire to bear with your infirmities—"

"Infirmities! ma'am—infirmities. I should beg respectfully to know what they are? I know I am a sinful mortal, of course, like every one else, but I should like to know what fault you, or any one else, have to find with me?"

"But I must beg to remind you, that I am always accustomed to be mistress in my own house," pursued Mrs. Pomeroy, with a slight smile. "As to your implied threat of leaving, you are at liberty to fulfil it at any day or hour you choose, though I should advise you to think well, before taking such a step, where you are likely to meet with another engagement. The clock is striking ten, and my history class will be in directly. I advise you to go to your room, and endeavor to compose yourself before returning to the school-room!"

Miss Thomas obeyed, determined at first to seek another home, without delay, but before dinner, cool reflection came, and convinced her that she had better be quiet. Not one person in twenty, she well knew, would have as much patience with her as her present principal, to whom she was at heart deeply attached, and, as Mrs. Pomeroy had hinted, another engagement would probably not be attainable at that time of the year. So she swallowed her resentment, apologized for her violence, and fell again into her usual train of school duties.

"Well," said Emily, after they had reached their room, "we really have got off a good deal better than I expected. I never believed that even you could have managed matters so cleverly, though, after all, that French lesson is no joke. It will take all our play time for ever so long."

"I think you might be thankful that there was nothing worse," said Delia. "Mrs. Pomeroy was so kind, and so ready to believe me, that it made me feel more ashamed than ever I did before in my life, to think she should trust me, when I was deceiving her so. When a person is always watching and spying, and seems to take pleasure in finding one out in mischief, as Miss Thomas does, I don't at all mind setting my wits against her, but I must say, I could not help feeling very mean and contemptible, in my own mind, to think of the confidence I was betraying."

"What can you think of Mr. Hugo then?" Emily ventured to ask. "I am sure he is betraying Mrs. Pomeroy's confidence in the very worst way possible."

"I know it," said Delia in a low voice, and after a little silence, she continued: "I thought of that very thing this morning, and what surety have I that he will not serve me in the same way?"

"Oh, Delia, if you would only think so," exclaimed Emily overjoyed. "If you would only give him up! Then the whole thing would be past and gone, and we should be so happy."

"You might be happy, but I never could," returned Delia, shaking her head. "There is the trouble of playing with edge tools! I cared for nothing but the fun at first, but it is very different now." She walked to the window as she spoke, and stood a few minutes looking out. "But I might refuse to have any more secret meetings or correspondence with him," said she presently returning. "I shall leave school pretty soon, and then there will be nothing to prevent the affair going on openly. I have property of my own, left me by my mother, and there will be nothing to prevent his marrying, if we are so disposed."

"I don't believe you would be," said Emily. "You would feel differently by that time."

"Possibly!" returned Delia. She mused for some time, and then said suddenly, "That is what I will do, Emily. I am resolved. I must see him once more to tell him of my determination, and after that I will have nothing more to do with the matter for the present. He will be very angry, I know, and I cannot blame him, but I cannot help it."

"Then you ought to give him back his presents and his letters," said Emily, anxious to bring the whole affair to a conclusion at once.

"Of course!" said Delia. "And so I will. We agreed to burn each other's letters, and so they are disposed of, but I will return the ring and bracelet, and the book he gave me last night."

She rose as she spoke, and took down the dress she had worn the evening before, but on putting her hand into the pocket, it was empty. The book was gone!

"What is the matter?" asked Emily surprised and terrified at Delia's sudden change of countenance. "What has happened?"

"I have lost that book," said Delia, sitting down in the chair that Emily hastily placed for her. "I must have dropped it, instead of putting it into my pocket. If it is found, I am ruined."

"What was the book?" asked Emily. "Was your name in it?"

"I don't even know the title of it," replied Delia, "nor whether my name was in it or not. He gave it to me and told me to read it. How careless I was! What shall I do?"

"I don't see that you can do any thing just now," said Emily after some consideration. "If you dropped it on the walk, or in the arbor, it must have been found long before this time. If your name is not in it, you are not obliged to know any thing about it, since you can say with truth that you never read even the title."

"Upon my word, Emily, for a young lady who was afraid to tell even a white lie a few months ago, that is a pretty fine calculation. I should say you had made pretty good progress in your education."

"If I have, you are the very last person to reproach me with it," said Emily, with bitterness. "I am your pupil, and you have spared no pains to teach me, either by precept or example."

"We will neither of us reproach the other, Emily. If I have harmed you, you have done as much for me. I believe Lucy Spencer and Mr. Fletcher would have converted me before this time, if your example had not always been before my eyes, to show me how much religious professions are worth. But as I said, reproaches are useless. I have now only to await my fate with as much philosophy as I can."

"Don't give up in despair," said Emily. "I will go out and look as soon as the French class is dismissed, and it is possible after all that I may find it. You need not go."

"Thank you, but there would be more risk than good in doing so. Most likely some one has found it before this time, and the very fact of your being seen searching for any thing will excite suspicion."

"But I really did lose something yesterday, Delia—a lead pencil with an ivory head. If any one asks me a question, I can say I am looking for that."

"Just as you please," was the reply, "but don't accuse me of asking you to tell lies for me. I don't mean to be ungracious, dear, but I am so tired and sick of the whole concern. I shall manage to see Mr. Hugo when class is out, and do you wait for me up here. Heigho! I wish it was over. I know he will be so angry."

As soon as class was over, Delia approached Mr. Hugo with a paper, and requested him to look over and correct a French letter, which she had been writing to a former schoolmate. He took the hint at once, dismissed the other young ladies, and Emily went up to her room to dispose of her books.

She could not help hoping that the worst of her troubles was over. Delia was evidently heartily sick of the part she had been playing and seriously desirous of throwing it up. The loss of the book was unfortunate, but after all her name might not be in it, and then no one need know to whom it had belonged. She put on her bonnet and went down to the garden, which she found quite deserted, for the morning was raw and cold. She was walking slowly along, looking carefully on each side the path, when she almost ran against some one, and looking up, she beheld Mr. Fletcher. She would rather have seen almost any one else.

"What are you searching for, Emily?" said he, rather sternly.

"For my pencil, sir," replied Emily, quietly, for she had, as Delia remarked, made great progress in the art of lying. "I think I dropped it here, yesterday, when I was walking and here it is, sure enough," she added, stooping down and picking it up. "It lies between the stones as nicely as if it had been put there for safe keeping."

She turned to go into the house, but Mr. Fletcher detained her.

"Do you know any thing about this book?" he asked, holding up a small volume elegantly gilded and ornamented, which he took from his pocket.

"No sir, I never saw it before," replied Emily. So far as words went, she spoke truth, for she had never seen the book at all. "What is it?"

"It is a book I should be very sorry to see in the hands of any young lady in this school," replied Mr. Fletcher, holding out the volume as if it had been a cock-roach, or something worse. "It is a French novel, of the very worst class. I cannot conceive who should have brought such a thing here."

"Is there no name in it?" asked Emily, trembling at her own boldness in putting the question.

"None whatever, but quite a tender inscription, as though it had been presented to some one. Grip found it under one of the currant bushes, and brought it to me in his mouth. I only hope it won't poison him."

"Mr. Hugo often walks in the garden, between the classes," Emily ventured to suggest. "Perhaps it belongs to him!"

"Perhaps so!" said Mr. Fletcher, putting the offending volume in his pocket again. "If so, I must give him a hint not to sow such poisonous weeds in our grounds."

He detained her a moment with some remarks as to the propriety of carefulness in reading, and then went into the house, followed by Cornelius Agrippa, who certainly showed no signs of being poisoned.

With a light heart, Emily returned to her room, where she found Delia standing by the window, apparently absorbed looking out.

"Good news, Delia!" she exclaimed, joyfully. "The book is found, but no harm is done. Grip discovered it, and carried it to his master, but there is no name in it, and Mr. Fletcher has not the least suspicion, except that he thinks it may belong to Mr. Hugo. So don't let us trouble ourselves any more about that."

Delia turned round, as Emily spoke. She was ashy pale, and seemed unable to speak, though she tried, but as Emily went up to her in alarm, she put her arm round her neck, and laying her head on her shoulder, burst into a passionate fit of weeping. It was the first time Emily had ever seen her shed a tear.