A Bunch of Cherries Part 30

"Think again, would Mary Bateman have done this thing?"

"Again, why do you ask?"

"My dear Florence, I ask in order to rea.s.sure you that, sensitive and keen as you think your little inward monitor, it is at best but a poor weakling. Now, the conscience of Kitty and the conscience of Mary would have risen up in hot protest, and the temptation would not have been a temptation to them, but it was to you because of the poor health of your little monitor. Believe me, the monitor is in a bad way, and if you will struggle through the remorse of the next couple of days it will simply die."

"And then I shall be lost," said Florence, with a frightened look in her face.

"Oh, you will live a very comfortable life if you take care of your health; you have a good sixty years before you. You can do a good deal in sixty years, and now for goodness' sake stop talking about the matter. It is done and cannot be undone. I want to say something to you myself."

"But at the end of sixty years I shall die all the same," said Florence. "Oh, Bertha, I go mad when I think of dying. Oh, Bertha!

Bertha!"

Even Bertha felt a momentary sense of terror when she looked into Florence's eyes. She backed away from her and stood by the table.

"Come, come, my dear," she said, "you'll get over all this," but still she avoided looking at Florence's eyes.

"What do you want with me?" said Florence at last, restlessly; "I must sleep. I wish you would go away."

"I will when I have made my request."

"What is that?"

"I want you to give me twenty pounds."

"Twenty pounds! Why, you know I have not got it."

"Practically you have, and I want it. I want it early to-morrow morning."

"Now, Bertha, you must be mad."

"Not at all; I am abundantly sane. That essay which so excited the spectators to-night was worth twenty pounds. I mean you to buy it from me, and those are my terms."

"You know I cannot. I cannot imagine what you mean by coming to me in this fashion."

"Without twenty pounds I shall be undone," said Bertha; "I need it to pay some debts. If the debts are not paid I shall be exposed, and if I go under, you, my pretty Florence, go under, too--understand that, please. Twenty pounds is cheap at the price, is it not?"

"But I have not got it, Bertha; I would give it you, but I cannot. You might as well ask me for my right hand."

"I tell you the great Mrs. Aylmer will do anything for her pretty and gifted niece. Ask her for the money to-morrow."

"For you?"

"By no means--for yourself."

"Bertha, I simply cannot."

"All right," said Bertha. "I give you until to-morrow at noon to decide. If by that time I have twenty pounds in my hand all right, your secret is respected and no catastrophe will happen, and your frightful deceit will never be found out. Only one person will know it, and that is I. But if you do not give me the twenty pounds I shall myself go to Mrs. Clavering and tell her everything. I shall be sorry; the consequences will be very disagreeable for me; I cannot even say if I shall quite escape the punishment of the law, but I expect I shall.

In any case, you will be done for, my pretty Florence; your career will be over. Think of that; think of the little Mummy, as you call her, without the great Scholarship to back you up--think what it means."

"I do, I do; the only one I do think of at the present moment is my mother," said Florence. "When I think of her it gives me agony. But, Bertha, I cannot get that twenty pounds."

"You can; make an excuse to your Aunt Susan to obtain it. Now, my dear, you know why I have come to you; I will not trouble you any further. The twenty pounds at noon to-morrow, or you know the consequences." Bertha waved her hand with a light air, kissed the slim little figure in its Greek dress, then she opened the door and went out.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE VOICE OF G.o.d.

After Bertha had left her, Florence sat in a stunned att.i.tude. She was just rising slowly from her chair when there came a knock a second time at the door. This time Florence had not even a moment to say "Come in." The door was softly opened, and the fair, sweet face of Kitty peeped round it.

"Ah! I thought you were not in bed," she said; "I came to see you just for a minute to wish you good-night."

"I wish you had not come," said Florence. She looked so pale and frightened that Kitty glanced at her aghast.

"I came," said Kitty Sharston, "because I thought you ought to know that Mary and I"--she paused to swallow something in her throat. Kitty had suffered that night and had hidden her suffering; she did not want Florence to think that she had gone through any great time of sorrow.

She looked at Florence attentively. "Mary Bateman and I agreed that I could come and tell you, Flo, how pleased--yes, how pleased we are that you have got the Scholarship, for you won it so n.o.bly, Florence--no one could grudge it to you for a minute."

"Do you really mean that?" said Florence, eagerly. She went up to Kitty and seized both her hands.

"Why, how hot your hands feel, and, oh, please do not squeeze me quite so tightly," said Kitty, starting back a step.

Florence s.n.a.t.c.hed away her hand. "If you knew me," said Florence; "if you knew me!"

"I do know you," said Kitty. "Oh, Flo--Tommy, dear--let me call you by the old name just for once--we are all so proud of you, we are really.

I thought perhaps you would be a little uncomfortable thinking of me and of Mary, but we don't mind--we don't really. You see, we hadn't a chance, not a chance against genius like yours. We never guessed that you had such great genius, and it took us slightly by surprise; but of course we are glad, awfully glad, and perhaps Sir John will offer the Scholarship another year, and perhaps I will try then and--and succeed.

But no one else had a chance with you, Florence, and we are glad for you, very glad."

"But you--what will you do? I know this means a great deal to you."

"I shall go away with Helen Dartmoor; I don't feel unhappy, not at all.

I am sure Sir John will be my friend, and perhaps I may try for the Scholarship even though I am staying with Helen Dartmoor; I just came to tell you. Good-night, Florence, good-night. Mary and I love you; we'll always love you; we'll always be proud of you. Good-night, Florence."

Kitty ran up to her companion, kissed her hastily, and ran to the door.

She had reached it, had opened the door and gone out, when Florence called her. Florence spoke her name faintly.

"Kitty, Kitty, come back."

But Kitty did not hear. She shut the door and ran down the pa.s.sage, her steps sounding fainter, until Florence could hear them no longer.

Then Florence Aylmer fell on her knees, and the tears which all this time had lain like a dead weight against her eyeb.a.l.l.s, were loosened, and she sobbed as she had never sobbed before in all her life.

Exhausted by her tears, she threw herself on her bed and, dressed as she was, sank into heavy slumber.

It was very early in the morning when she awoke. It was not yet five o'clock. Florence struck a light and saw by the little clock on the mantelpiece that the hands pointed to a quarter to five.

"There is time," she thought, eagerly. She sat up on her elbow and reflected. Her eyes were bright, her face paler than ever. Presently she got out of bed and fell on her knees; she pressed her face against the side of the bed, and it is doubtful whether many words came to her, but when she rose at last she seemed to hear an inward voice, and the voice was saying, "Refuse the Evil and choose the Good."

The voice kept on saying, "Refuse the Evil and choose the Good," and Florence felt more and more frightened, and more and more intensely anxious to do something in great haste before she had time for reflection.