“Something has happened! Something terrible has happened to the child! And she was left in our charge. We are responsible. Oh, if any harm has happened to Peggy, however, ever, ever, can I bear to live and send the news to her parents—”
“My dearest, you have done your best; you could not have been kinder or more thoughtful. No blame can attach to you. Remember that Peggy is in higher hands than yours. However far from us she may be, she can never stray out of God’s keeping. It all seems very dark and mysterious, but—”
At this moment a loud rat-tat-tat sounded on the knocker, and with one accord the hearers darted into the hall, and stood panting and gasping, while Arthur threw open the door.
“Telegram, sir!” said a sharp, young voice, and the brown envelope which causes so much agitation in quiet households was thrust forward in a small cold hand. Arthur looked at the address and handed it to the vicar.
“It is for you, sir, but it cannot possibly be anything about—”
Mr Asplin tore open the envelope, glanced over the words, and broke into an exclamation of amazement. “It is! It is from Peggy herself!—‘Euston Station. Returning by 10.30 train. Please meet me at twelve o’clock.—Peggy.’ What in the world does it mean?” He looked round the group of anxious faces, only to see his own expression of bewilderment repeated on each in turn.
“Euston! Returning! She is in London. She is coming back from town!”
“She ran away to London, to-night when she was so happy, when Arthur had just arrived! Why? Why? Why?”
“She must have caught the seven o’clock train.”
“She must have left the house almost immediately after going upstairs to dress for dinner.”
“Oh, father, why should she go to London?”
“I am quite unable to tell you, my dear,” replied the vicar drily. He looked at his wife’s white, exhausted face, and his eyes flashed with the “A-word-with-you-in-my-study” expression, which argued ill for Miss Peggy’s reception. Mrs Asplin, however, was too thankful to know of the girl’s safety to have any thought for herself. She began to smile, with the tears still running down her face, and to draw long breaths of relief and satisfaction.
“It’s no use trying to guess at that, Millie dear. It is enough for me to know that she is alive and well. We shall just have to try and compose ourselves in patience until we hear Peggy’s own explanation. Let me see! There is nearly an hour before you need set out. What can we do to pass the time as quickly as possible?”
“Have some coffee, I should say! None of us have had too much dinner, and a little refreshment would be very welcome after all this strain,” said Arthur promptly, and Mrs Asplin eagerly welcomed the suggestion.
“That’s what I call a really practical proposal! Ring the bell, dear, and I will order it at once. I am sure we shall all have thankful hearts while we drink it.” She looked appealingly at Mr Asplin as she spoke; but there was no answering smile on his face, and the lines down his cheeks looked deeper and grimmer than ever.
“Oh, goody, goody, goodness, aren’t I glad I am not Peggy!” sighed Mellicent to herself; while Arthur Saville pursed his lips together, and thought, “Poor little Peg! She’ll catch it. I’ve never seen the dominie look so savage. This is a nice sort of treat for a fellow who has been ordered away for rest and refreshment! I wish the next two hours were safely over.”
Wishing, unfortunately, however, can never carry us over the painful crises of our lives. We have to face them as best we may, and Arthur needed all his cheery confidence to sustain him during the damp walk which followed, when the vicar tramped silently by his side, his shovel hat pulled over his eyes, his mackintosh coat flapping to and fro in the wind.
They reached the station in good time, and punctually to the minute the lights of the London express were seen in the distance. The train drew up, and among the few passengers who alighted the figure of Peggy, in her scarlet-trimmed hat, was easily distinguished. She was assisted out of the carriage by an elderly gentleman, in a big travelling coat, who stood by her side as she looked about for her friends. As Mr Asplin and Arthur approached, they only heard his hearty, “Now you are all right!” and Peggy’s elegant rejoinder, “Exceedingly indebted to you for all your kindness!” Then he stepped back into the carriage, and she came forward to meet them, half shy, half smiling, “I—I am afraid that you—”
“We will defer explanations, Mariquita, if you please, until we reach home. A fly is waiting. We will return as quickly as possible,” said the vicar frigidly; and the brother and sister lagged behind as he led the way out of the station, gesticulating and whispering together in furtive fashion.
“Oh, you Peggy! Now you have done it! No end of a row!”
“Couldn’t help it! Had to go. Stick to me, Arthur, whatever you do!”
“Like a leech! We’ll worry through somehow. Never say die!” Then the fly was reached, and they jolted home in silence.
Mrs Asplin and the four young folks were sitting waiting in the drawing-room, and each one turned an eager, excited face towards the doorway as Peggy entered, her cheeks white, but with shining eyes, and hair ruffled into little curls beneath the scarlet cap. Mrs Asplin would have rushed forward in welcome, but a look in her husband’s face restrained her, and there was a deathlike silence in the room as he took up his position by the mantelpiece.
“Mariquita,” he said slowly, “you have caused us to-night some hours of the most acute and painful anxiety which we have ever experienced. You disappeared suddenly from among us, and until ten o’clock, when your telegram arrived, we had not the faintest notion as to where you could be. The most tragic suspicions came to our minds. We have spent the evening in rushing to and fro, searching and inquiring in all directions. Mrs Asplin has had a shock from which, I fear, she will be some time in recovering. Your brother’s pleasure in his visit has been spoiled. We await your explanation. I am at a loss to imagine any reason sufficiently good to excuse such behaviour; but I will say no more until I have heard what you have to say.”
Peggy stood like a prisoner at the bar, with hanging head and hands clasped together. As the vicar spoke of his wife, she darted a look at Mrs Asplin, and a quiver of emotion passed over her face. When he had finished she drew a deep breath, raised her head and looked him full in the face with her bright, earnest eyes.
“I am sorry,” she said slowly. “I can’t tell you in words how sorry I am. I know it will be difficult, but I hope you will forgive me. I was thinking what I had better do while I was coming back in the train, and I decided that I ought to tell you everything, even though it is supposed to be a secret. Robert will forgive me, and it is Robert’s secret as much as mine. I’ll begin at the beginning. About five weeks ago Robert saw an advertisement of a prize that was offered by a magazine. You had to make up a calendar with quotations for every day in the year, and the person who sent in the best selection would get thirty pounds. Rob wanted the money very badly to buy a microscope, and he asked me to help him. I was to have ten pounds for myself if we won, but I didn’t care about that. I just wanted to help Rob. I said I would take the money, because I knew if I didn’t he would not let me work so hard, and I thought I would spend it in buying p–p–presents for you all at Christmas.”—Peggy’s voice faltered at this point, and she gulped nervously several times before she could go on with her story.—“We had to work very hard, because the time was so short. Robert had not seen the advertisement until it had been out some time. I printed the headings on the cards; that is why I sat so much in my own room. The last fortnight I have been writing every morning before six o’clock. Oh, you can’t think how difficult it was to get it finished, but Robert was determined to go on; he thought our chance was very good, because he had found some beautiful extracts, and translated others, and the pages really looked pretty and dainty. The manuscript had to be in London this morning; if it missed the post last night, all our work would have been wasted, and at the last moment Lady Darcy took Rob away with her, and I was left with everything to finish. I may have slept a little bit the last two nights; I did lie down for an hour or two, and I may have had a doze, but I don’t think so! I wrote the last word this morning after the breakfast-bell had rung, and I made up the parcel at twelve o’clock. I thought of going out and posting it then; of course, that is what I should have done, but,”—her voice trembled once more—“I was so tired! I thought I would give it to the postman myself, and that would do just as well. I didn’t put it with the letters because I was afraid someone would see the address and ask questions, and Rob had said that I was to keep it a secret until we knew whether we had won. I left the parcel on my table. Then Arthur came! I was so happy—there was so much to talk about—we had tea—it seemed like five minutes. Everyone was amazed when we found it was time to dress, but even then I forgot all about the calendar. I only remembered that Arthur was here, and was going to stay for four days, and all the way upstairs I was saying to myself, ‘I’m happy, I’m happy; oh I am happy!’ because, you know, though you are so kind, you have many relatives belonging to you whom you love better than me, and my own people are all far-away, and sometimes I’ve been very lonely! I thought of nothing but Arthur, and then I opened the door of my room, and there, before my eyes, was the parcel—Rob’s parcel that he had trusted to me—that I had solemnly promised to post in time—”
She stopped short, and there was a gasp of interest and commiseration among the listeners. Peggy caught it; she glanced sharply at the vicar’s face, saw its sternness replaced by a momentary softness, and was quick to make the most of her opportunity. Out flew the dramatic little hand, her eyes flashed, her voice thrilled with suppressed excitement.
“It lay there before my eyes, and I stood and looked at it.—I thought of nothing, but just stood and stared. I heard you all come upstairs, and the doors shut, and Arthur’s voice laughing and talking; but there was only one thing I could remember—I had forgotten Rob’s parcel, and he would come back, and I should have to tell him, and see his face! I felt as if I were paralysed, and then suddenly I seized the parcel in my hands, and flew downstairs. I put on my cap and cloak and went out into the garden. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I was going to do something! I ran on and on, through the village, down towards the station. I knew it was too late for the post-office, but I had a sort of feeling that if I were at the station something might be done. Just as I got there a train came in, and I heard the porter call out, ‘London express.’ I thought—No! I did not think at all—I just ran up to a carriage and took a seat, and the door banged, and away we went. The porter came and asked for my ticket, and I had a great deal of trouble to convince him that I had only come from here, and not all the way. There was an old lady in the carriage, and she told him that it was quite true, for she had seen me come in. When we went off again, she looked at me very hard, and said, ‘Are you in trouble, dear?’ and I said, ‘Yes, I am; but oh, please don’t talk to me! Do please leave me alone!’ for I had begun to realise what I had done, and that I couldn’t be back for hours and hours, and that you would all be anxious and unhappy. I think I was as miserable as you were when I sent off that telegram. I posted the parcel in London, and went and sat in the waiting-room. I had an hour and a half to wait, and I was wretched and nervous and horribly hungry. I had no money left except a few coppers, and I was afraid to spend them and have nothing left. It seemed like a whole day, but at last the train came in, and I saw an old gentleman with white hair standing on the platform. I took a fancy to his appearance, so I walked up to him, and bowed, and said, ‘Excuse me, sir—I find myself in a dilemma! Will you allow me to travel in the same carriage as yourself?’ He was most agreeable. He had travelled all over the world, and talked in the most interesting fashion, but I could not listen to his conversation. I was too unhappy. Then we arrived, and Mr Asplin called me ‘M–M–Mariquita!’ and w–wouldn’t let you kiss me—”
Her voice broke helplessly this time, and she stood silent, with quivering lip, while sighs and sobs of sympathy echoed from every side. Mrs Asplin cast a glance at her husband, half defiant, half appealing, met a smile of assent, and rushed impetuously to Peggy’s side.
“My darling! I’ll kiss you now. You see we knew nothing of your trouble, dear, and we were so very, very anxious. Mr Asplin is not angry with you any longer, are you, Austin? You know now that she had no intention of grieving us, and that she is truly sorry—”
“I never thought—I never thought,”—sobbed Peggy; and the vicar gave a slow, kindly smile.
“Ah, Peggy, that is just what I complain about. You don’t think, dear, and that causes all the trouble. No, I am not angry any longer. I realise that the circumstances were peculiar, and that your distress was naturally very great. At the same time, it was a most mad thing for a girl of your age to rush off by rail, alone, and at night-time, to a place like London. You say that you had only a few coppers left in your purse. Now suppose there had been no train back to-night, what would you have done? It does not bear thinking of, my dear; or that you should have waited alone in the station for so long, or thrown yourself on strangers for protection. What would your parents have said to such an escapade?”
Peggy sighed, and cast down her eyes. “I think they would have been cross too. I am sure they would have been anxious, but I know they would forgive me when I was sorry, and promised that I really and truly would try to be better and more thoughtful! They would say, ‘Peggy dear, you have been sufficiently punished! Consider yourself absolved!’”
The vicar’s lips twitched, and a twinkle came into his eye. “Well then, I will say the same! I am sure you have regretted your hastiness by this time, and it will be a lesson to you in the future. For Arthur’s sake, as well as your own, we will say no more on the subject. It would be a pity if his visit were spoiled. Just one thing, Peggy, to show you that, after all, grown-up people are wiser than young ones, and that it is just as well to refer to them now and then, in matters of difficulty. Has it ever occurred to you that the mail went up to London by the very train in which you yourself travelled, and that by giving your parcel to the guard it could still have been put in the bag? Did that thought never occur to your wise little brain?”
Peggy made a gesture as of one heaping dust and ashes on her head. “I never did,” she said, “not for a single moment! And I thought I was so clever! I am prostrate with confusion!”