Girls New and Old

As he spoke he went to one of the windows and drew up the blind. It was evening, and the western sun streamed into the room. Some of its rays fell across the foot of the bed where Kate lay. Her long, black eyelashes lay heavy on her cheeks, her rich profusion of brown hair was flung back over the pillows, her face had a deathly pale, almost waxen, hue; she breathed so faintly that she scarcely seemed to breathe at all. The doctor bent over her and, lifting the eyelids, looked steadily into the eyes. "Bring me a candle," he said suddenly.

Molly started up to fetch one. She returned in a moment or two with a lighted candle in a candlestick, and gave it to Dr. Groves. He passed the light backward and forward before Kate's eyes, she never seemed to flinch. He dropped the lids again, and looked anxiously at Miss Forester.

"I should like to speak to you alone," he said.

Miss Forester took him immediately into the next room. The two girls sat where they were left, with beating hearts. What was the verdict? The doctor's face was very grave.

Miss Leicester, after a moment's hesitation, followed Miss Forester and the doctor into the next room. The girls, who were left behind, heard earnest conversation, an ejaculation or two from Miss Leicester; then footsteps going downstairs; then a great silence – the motionless, indifferent figure on the bed – the awful calm which might mean the end of all things.

Miss Leicester came back presently into the room, her eyes were red as if she had been crying. She stood close to Kate, and looked down at her; her eyes filled up with tears. Molly and Cecil felt their hearts in their mouths.

"What is it?" said Molly at last; "don't – oh, don't keep us in suspense any longer!"

"Come into the next room, Molly, and I will tell you," said Miss Leicester. "Cecil, dear, you shall hear afterward; but if you will stay now quite quiet with dear Kate, you will be helping us best."

Cecil nodded, her eyes were bright, she gave Molly's hand a little squeeze, and Molly rose and followed her mistress into the other room.

The moment she got there, she began to speak with excitement.

"I know what you are going to tell me, and I can't bear it," she said. "Don't tell me, don't! Tell the others, but not me. I – I can't bear it! There is the cathedral near – let me go there. I – I know what you are going to say, but I can bear it best if I am just alone in the cathedral."

"You are excited, Molly, and carried out of yourself," said Miss Leicester. "That is not the best way to meet trouble."

"No, no!" answered poor Molly, "I know that. I am ashamed of myself. If things were different, I should not mind quite so much, but as they are – as they are – if Kate dies, I shall never be happy again."

"You and Kate have not been as perfect friends as you used to be," said Miss Leicester suddenly.

"No," answered Molly, "that is true, that is the bitter part of it all. Kate was angry with me; believing what she did, she had reason to be. I can't tell you, because it is a secret."

"Had it anything to do with Kate's speech on her birthday?"

"Yes; but oh, please don't ask me any more! for I've promised not to tell. If Kate were well now, all would be explained, and all would be happy. I had just got at the truth on Saturday I had gone out to tell Kate, but Kate was suffering then from the effects of her fall, and she could not listen. She believes me to be guilty now of what I never did. Oh, I shall never be happy again if she dies!"

Miss Leicester laid her firm hand kindly on the young girl's shoulder.

"It is a great trial for you, Molly, dear," she answered. "No one can help you in a time of trouble like this but God himself. Sometimes God sends trouble of this kind, just to force us to go direct to him. Perhaps that is the reason why you are going through such a dark cloud, dear Molly."

"But oh, tell me about Kate!" interrupted Molly. "How selfish I am to think only of myself! What does the doctor say of Kate?"

Miss Leicester paused for a minute.

"I cannot conceal the truth from you," she said then. "At the present moment Kate's life is in the greatest danger. Dr. Groves is anxious to consult Sir John Williamson, a great London specialist, about her case. He is going to telegraph to him to come down to Redgarth, and we hope he may arrive to-night. If Sir John Williamson approves, Dr. Groves is inclined to try a certain operation, which may remove the pressure which is now injuring poor Kate's brain. If the operation succeeds, she will get quickly better; if not – "

"Oh, is there any fear?" said Molly.

"There is," replied Miss Leicester; "it is a very serious operation, but Dr. Groves recommends it, because he thinks it is the only chance of restoring Kate to health."

"And when will it be performed?" asked Molly.

"In all probability Sir John Williamson will perform it to-night. We have just heard that an excellent nurse will be here between nine and ten o'clock. The doctor can arrive by the midnight train, and all may be satisfactorily over before to-morrow morning. That is all I know myself, dear Molly. Cecil and I will stay with Kate until the nurse arrives. Perhaps you will tell the others, dear. I trust to you to be brave and calm, and to do what is right in every way. We must have courage. Things look very dark for Kate at present, but all hope is not yet withdrawn."

"Thank you for telling me," said Molly. "Yes, I will try to be brave."

She went slowly out of the room.

In the passage she paused, and gave a longing glance at the door over which the heavy curtain was hung.

"Oh, Kate, Kate, you must live!" she said aloud. "I will pray ever so hard for you. You must not die, dear, darling Kate; I have asked God to spare you, oh, I think he will, I think he will!"

Molly went hastily to her room, and put on her hat. She had a craving, which she could scarcely account for, to be alone in the cathedral. The doors were always open, anyone could go in at any moment. Inside there was perfect calm, a great peace, a great stillness. Molly craved for this stillness now inexpressibly. She managed to slip out of the house without anyone noticing her, and running down the broad carriage-drive, soon reached the beautiful old porch. She went in, heard the swinging doors close softly behind her, and going as far as some of the free seats, entered one and threw herself on her knees.

Up to the present Molly Lavender had had what might be considered, in every sense of the word, a happy life. Her mother had died before she was old enough to understand her loss. Her grandmother had treated her with uniform affection and kindness. Judge Lavender, although a peculiar, and in some ways a selfish, man, had been good to his only child. Molly had been happy at school. Hers was an affectionate as well as an enthusiastic nature. She had been liked by all her schoolfellows. In particular she had been loved by Cecil Ross. Molly had given quite a passion of girlish affection to this friend of her childhood. Cecil and Molly had been chums for many years now.

When Molly came to St. Dorothy's, she was just in the humor to take up a fresh friendship. She had never met anyone like Kate before; Kate had fascinated her. Still, in her heart of hearts she loved Cecil best, but there was something about Kate's gay ways, her brightness, her wit, her fun, which appealed to a fresh side of Molly. Molly had been very proud of Kate's confidence. She had held her little head high when Kate confided in her and made much of her. Then came the dreadful time of reaction – the time when Kate snubbed Molly unmercifully. Molly Lavender was too well born, too rich, too endowed with that sort of things which girls esteem, to have had much experience hitherto of snubbing. Schoolgirls quickly find out whether their companions are encased in the triple armor which good birth joined to money confers. Molly was fifteen, but she had never been really snubbed before. She was astonished and puzzled. The fact that a girl who was of no birth in particular had done this, did not affect her. Molly was too true a lady, in the best sense of the term, not to recognize a real lady when she met her.

She loved Kate deeply, and her conduct hurt her; it hurt her to the point of intense pain. Kate's speech on her birthday had caused Molly's ears to tingle and her heart to swell. She had admired the proud girl, as she stood before her schoolfellows and spoke of the old poetry, the old charm, the old idyllic life, which had passed away forever. Molly had longed to stand by the side of this girl and show every other girl in the school how noble and splendid she was, but the girl herself had repulsed her. The girl, with her own hands, had cast Molly aside. Then had come the explanation; the mystery was cleared. Molly was innocent of the crime imputed to her. She had been given the means to amply exonerate herself; then she had met Kate, and Kate was too ill to listen to her; and now, now Kate O'Connor, beautiful, good, talented, was about to die.

Molly found herself face to face with her first trouble. Many girls of her age had known worse, but to Molly it was full of intense bitterness; a pain which almost reached agony's point. She was hopeless and frightened. It was awful to meet death like this. Death, the invincible, the inexorable! What right had death to come and claim one so young, so full of life, so eminently fitted to do good in the world? Above all, what right had death to come and snatch away Molly's friend?

"She mustn't die," sobbed the girl. "Oh, please, God, don't let Kate die, make her better! let the operation succeed. Give the doctors great wisdom, give them skill, help them to save her life. Oh, God, I am a miserable, weak girl, but I do beg very hard for this – this great boon! oh, do spare Kate's life! Oh, God, do listen to me! if you will spare her life, I'll try very hard to please you; I'll try to be so good; I will give up my life to you. Oh, God, hear me! let it be a bargain between us; spare Kate, and then I'll give up my life to you."

Molly's prayer scarcely comforted her. Still it excited her a good deal; she felt hopeful; she wondered as she left the church if the great God up in heaven, the Maker of all things in heaven above and earth beneath, had heard her little, childish prayer; if he was inclined to consider her poor little bargain. She wondered, she hoped; then she went slowly back to St. Dorothy's.

Miss Leicester was not present at supper. Molly found herself forced to take the head of Kate's table. As she had heard the latest news of Kate, she was immediately made the heroine of the hour. All the other girls flocked round her, asking eager questions in awe-struck voices.

"Is she really in danger, Molly?" asked Hester.

"Yes," said Molly, "yes; but I can't talk of it now."

"Oh, we must know everything!" said Amy. "It is perfectly awful. Why, of course, we all loved Kate better than anyone else in the house! It did not matter a bit about her running about barefooted long ago, nor her grandfather being a sort of peasant king. Kate was just Kate, and we all loved her; oh, she mustn't die!"

"Do sit down, Amy, and eat your supper," said poor Molly. "What is the good of our saying that sort of thing? If God wishes it, she will die; it all rests with God."

"Yes, that is true enough," said Hester. "After all, none of us can do anything; let us get over this horrid meal, and go into the drawing room. For my part, I have no heart for study to-night. I don't know if anyone else has."

"Not I," answered Molly; "my notes and everything must go to the wall. I simply can't think of such stupid things as psychology and physiology, and all those awful inductions and deductions, while my mind is in a whirl."

"Nor I, nor I!" said several other girls.

Supper proceeded in a mournful fashion, and the girls trooped into the drawing room. The pretty room looked cheerful enough, the electric light burned brightly; the piano stood invitingly open. Hester shuddered as she passed it.

"To think that Kate was rattling out waltzes on that piano not a week ago!" she said. "Molly, come here; you have not half told us what you know. Now, you must out with it all, whether it pains you or not. What did the doctor say?"

Molly made a struggle to swallow a great lump in her throat.

"He said that Kate's life was in danger," she answered. "A doctor is coming from London to-night."

"Oh, mercy! then it must be serious," said Alice Rae, a rosy-faced girl of nearly twenty. "When my father died, a doctor came from London. We all gave up hope when he was sent for."

"Are you sure of your facts, Molly?" asked Hester. "A London doctor costs a great deal, and everyone knows that Kate is not well off."

"Well, a doctor has been sent for," said Molly, "for Miss Leicester told me so. His name is Sir John Williamson; he is a great specialist on brain affections. Kate must have hurt her brain very badly when she fell. Miss Leicester says there is something pressing on the brain which causes Kate to be quite insensible. Dr. Groves wants to perform an operation."

"Oh, horrors!" cried Mary Wilson, a room fellow of Kate's. "Are you certain – positively certain, Molly Lavender?

"Yes," answered Molly, who felt important in spite of all her misery, while she was imparting these ghastly details to her hearers. "Sir John Williamson will be here to-night, and if he agrees with Dr. Groves, they will perform the operation."

"To-night!" cried Hester.

"Yes," said Molly, nodding. "Miss Leicester says it will be all over in the morning, and we shall know – we shall know whether – " Her lips quivered, her eyes sought the ground; she found that she could not proceed with her speech.

"Think of it, girls!" said Hester "Think of its happening while we're all asleep!"

"No, I shan't sleep," said Molly.

"Nor I," echoed Amy.

"I am sure, if I do sleep, I shall have the most terrific nightmares," cried another girl. "Oh, dear Kate, what fun she was! Do you remember the name she gave us all in the dormitory – the Dwellers in Cubicles? Why, she made quite a storm in the house with her proposal that selfishness should be evicted. Oh, dear; oh, dear! but, somehow or other, I don't feel that she is going to die."

"Nor I," said Hester, trying to speak cheerfully. "Dr. Groves can't have at all given up the case, or he wouldn't propose an operation. You may be quite certain the London doctor will soon set her right; let us try and be cheerful, let us hope for the best."

"We might all of us remember Kate to-night when we are praying," said Amy, turning scarlet as she spoke.

"Oh, yes, yes, of course!" said the others, in the shy way in which schoolgirls allude to their deepest feelings.

"I wonder if Miss Leicester will come down to prayers," said Amy, after a pause.

"I don't know; perhaps there won't be any," said Hester. "How I wish," she added, with a sudden, vindictive smile, "that horrid Matilda were here!"

"Little wretch!" cried Amy. "Why should we be inflicted with her at this moment? Surely we have trouble enough."

"But for her it would never have happened," said Hester.

"Now, what in the world do you mean, Hetty?" cried half a dozen voices.

Hester looked mysterious. Molly's face became very white.

"I am bound in honor not to tell, girls," said Hester. "You must take the hint for what it is worth, and draw your own conclusions. You have observed a cloud between Kate and Molly."

"Yes, yes, of course we have!" cried half a dozen voices.

"Well, Matilda was at the bottom of it; I can't tell you particulars. But for Matilda, Kate mightn't have gone on that botany expedition. But for Matilda, Molly, at least, would have accompanied her. There might not have been an accident; Kate might be well and happy, and working hard for her scholarship at the present moment."

"You make me burn with curiosity, Hester," cried Amy.

"I dare say, well, I can tell no more."

"You've told too much," said Molly.

"Have I? Well, I'll be mum. Only listen to me, girls. Matilda is coming to St. Dorothy's."

"Yes; worse luck!" groaned one or two.

"When she comes, let's boycott her," said Amy suddenly.

"What fun!" cried the others, clapping their hands. Molly covered her face with hers.

She thought of her bargain in the cathedral; of her prayer to God, of her vow to give herself up to him absolutely, if only he would spare Kate. Did this kind of talk please him? Were uncharitableness, vindictiveness, revenge, the sort of things he delighted in?

"Oh," she said, rising to her feet, and speaking with an effort, "it frightens me to hear you talking like that, girls. If Matilda is bad, we have no right to try and make her worse. Oh, I did hate her myself, but I mustn't! I must get over it. Think of Kate – think of that beautiful picture she drew for us."

"Yes, poor darling," said Amy, with a sob. "I shall never forget how she looked when she talked of her grandfather, the peasant king, and the little cottage, and the flowers, and the sweet life she used to lead."

"Well, do let us forget about Matilda," said Molly. "If we can't think kindly of her, – and I find it very hard to think kindly, – let us try not to think of her at all; at least not to-night."

Hester stared very hard at Molly. When, by and by, the other girls had dispersed, Hester came up to Molly, and said in a low voice: "I don't understand you; I thought you hated Matilda."

Molly looked at her with frightened eyes.

"Oh, I do!" she said; "but I want to unhate her."

"Molly, you've no right to coin words."

"It expresses what I mean," said Molly.

"But you have not told me your true thought," said Hester; "what is it?"

"I am afraid of doing anything the least bit wrong to-night," said Molly again. "I think it may make a difference about Kate."

"I don't understand you," said Hester.

But Molly did not explain.

Miss Leicester came down at ten o'clock for prayers. The girls all stood up while she read the evening hymn; as a rule they sang it, but there could be no singing at St. Dorothy's to-night. At the end of her short prayer, she said a word or two about Kate.

"Spare her, if possible, O Father," said the principal, in her solemn voice; "but, oh, in any case help us to say, Thy will be done."

"I can't say it; I can't!" whispered poor Molly, to her own struggling heart. "Oh, God! please remember what I promised to you in the cathedral."

Then she went upstairs with the others.

CHAPTER XVII.

SUSPENSE

THE night passed somehow. When Molly laid her tired head on her pillow she fell asleep. She awoke quickly, however, aroused by the sound of wheels on the gravel sweep outside the silent house. Remembrance came quickly to her, and she knew what had happened, the great specialist from London had arrived. Molly wondered if Cecil would perhaps come to visit her. Her heart began to beat wildly; she sat up in bed. Kate's room was in a distant part of the house, but the sound of rather heavy footsteps coming up the stairs came distinctly to Molly's ears; they died away in the distance. Once again there was silence; it was broken, at long intervals, by the hurried closing of a door, by rapid but quiet footsteps, then again followed the awful, awful quiet – that sort of quiet which tries a young and anxious heart as nothing else can do in all the world.

Molly lit her candle; she took down a book of history from her shelves, and tried in vain to read; her eyes followed the printed words without in the least taking in their sense.

"'In tracing the history of nations,'" she read, "'we discover a threefold purpose – '"

"Kate, dear; oh, beautiful Kate!" cried Molly's heart.

The book seemed full of Kate; all the ancient story sank down into the depths of the paper, and Kate's history and Kate's danger seemed alone to fill the closely written pages. Molly shut up the book, and clasped her hands.

"How I wish Cecil would come to me!" she moaned once or twice.

The little clock on her mantelpiece struck the hour of midnight. The sound was echoed outside by the big cathedral clock, then the chimes rang out. Molly shuddered as she thought of the cathedral, where she had prayed, and of her vow to God. Perhaps God was angry with her for trying to make a sort of compact with him. Oh, what was right? What was the good of prayer? If one could not pray in one's extremity, what was one to do? Molly felt frightened as she remembered her vow. Oh, why did not Cecil come to her? How could she keep her senses, lying there in her little bed, while Kate was perhaps traveling along that valley from which there was no return? Molly wondered, as the night went on, if Kate would be afraid to die, but then she remembered that Kate would know nothing about it until after she was dead. She wondered if she would be frightened then, and how her spirit would feel without her body. She wondered if the old grandfather, who was so good and noble and sweet, would come to meet the girl he loved in the other world, and would lead her gently away up to the throne of God himself. And then she wondered if God would smile at poor Kate, and tell her that he had thought over everything, and saw quite clearly that her life down here would be too full of struggle, and so he had called her early to a happier home.

Here Molly's reflections caused her to burst into bitter sobs. She was sobbing loudly when her room door was suddenly opened, and Cecil came in.

"Oh, Cecil, Cecil! what news!" cried Molly. "Oh, Cecil, how I have longed for you! do tell me quickly what news, what has happened? Cecil, is she – is she dead?"

"No," said Cecil; "no!"

"Oh, come and sit by me, Ceci, and put your arms round me, I am so miserable, and so, so frightened! Come over here; let me feel your touch."

"Why, you want some sal volatile; you are quite unstrung," said Cecil.

"But oh, do tell me what news!"

"Well, they are going to perform the operation."

"Oh, isn't it over yet?"

"No; they are just going to begin."

"And have you been sent away?"

"Yes; I can do nothing further. Miss Leicester is there, and Miss Forester has come."

"Oh, I can't, can't stand it!" said Molly. "Suppose she wakes and screams – suppose it hurts her frightfully."

"No, it won't, they are going to give her chloroform. Molly, you must try and control yourself. It is selfish, too, to make a fuss just now."

"I know it is," said Molly; "but I have been alone so long, and I have got so fearfully nervous. I don't mind half so much now you are here. You will stay with me, won't you, Cecil?"

"I will, if you like; I will lie down beside you, if you like."

"Oh, I can't sleep; I can't think of it! Do talk to me. What did Sir John Williamson say?"

"I don't know; I did not hear. They are going to perform the operation; it will take a little over an hour."

"And then?" said Molly.

"Then they will know," answered Cecil.

"Oh, Cecil! how soon after?"

"Very soon, Miss Forester says. I heard her telling Miss Leicester that Dr. Williamson is certain there is a small piece of bone pressing on the brain. If that can be successfully removed without injuring the brain in any way, Kate will recover consciousness, and then there is no reason why she should not quickly get better."

"Do you think she'll get better, Cecil?"

"How can I say? I hope so."

"Have you – have you prayed about it, Cecil?"

"Yes, of course."

"So have I," continued Molly; "I prayed in church. I can't believe it was a very good prayer, and I can't make it any better. Miss Leicester prayed too, but she prayed differently. Miss Leicester said: 'Thy will be done.' I did not say that. I – I made a vow."

"Dear little Molly," said Cecil, "I never saw you so excited in all your life before. What vow did you make?"

"I promised to give myself up to God. I thought I would go as a missionary, or something, if only he would make Kate well. Was it wrong of me to pray like that, Cecil?"

"I don't know," answered Cecil.

She sat quiet and still on the edge of Molly's bed. Her strong face was quite pale, her eyes were calm and steadfast, her lips wore a gentle, chastened sort of look. Molly, who was in a fever of excitement and misery, could not help gazing at her in wonder.