"To--help me! How? I thought you hated me."
"Well, as a matter of fact," said Aneta, "I did not love you until"----
"Until?" said Maggie, her eyes shining and her little face becoming transformed in a minute.
"Until I knew what you must have suffered."
"You do not mean to say that you love me now?"
"I believe," said Aneta, looking fixedly at Maggie, "that I could love you."
"Oh!" said Maggie. She snatched her hand away, and, walking to the window, looked out. The fog was thicker than ever, and she could see nothing. But that did not matter. She wanted to keep her back turned to Aneta. Presently her shoulders began to heave, and, taking her handkerchief from her pocket, she pressed it to her eyes. Then she turned round. "Go on," she said.
"Say what you want to say. I am the stepdaughter of a grocer, and I have broken one of the strictest rules in the school. When will you tell Mrs. Ward? I had better leave at once."
"I mean," said Aneta, "that if you will tell Mrs. Ward everything--all about your stepfather, and all about your selling that jewel and going out without leave--I am positively sure that dear Mrs. Ward will not expel you from the school. I am also sure, Maggie, that there will not be one girl at Aylmer House who will ever reproach you. As to your stepfather being what he is, no girl in her senses would blame you for that. You are the daughter of Professor Howland, one of the greatest explorers of his time--a man who has had a book written about him, and has largely contributed to the world's knowledge. Don't forget that, please; none of us are likely to forget it. As to the other thing--well, there is always the road of confession, and I am quite certain that if you will see Mrs. Ward she will be kind to you and forgive you; for her heart is very big and her sympathies very wide; and then, afterwards, I myself will, for your sake, try to understand your position, and I myself will be your true friend."
She ran up to Aneta; she took her hand; she raised it to her lips and kissed it.
"Give me till to-morrow," she said. "Promise that you won't say anything till to-morrow."
The girls downstairs wondered why Maggie Howland did not appear. After an hour of waiting Kathleen O'Donnell took the lead. The accounts were left alone, but the tableaux vivants were diligently rehearsed, the Tristrams and Jane Burns being the three critics; Rosamond Dacre, Kathleen O'Donnell, and Matty and Clara Roache the performers. But, somehow, there was no life in the acting, for the moving spirit was not there; the bright, quick eye was missed, the eager words were lacking, with the pointed and telling criticism. Then there was the scene where Maggie herself was to take a part. It was from _The Talisman_, and a night-scene, which she was able to render with great precision and even beauty, and the dun light would be in her favor. It was to be the crowning one, and the last of the tableaux. It was expected to bring down the house. But Maggie was not there, and the girls could not help feeling a little disconsolate and a little surprised.