As soon as Janet found herself alone in the pony trap, she took a letter out of her pocket, opened it, and read its contents with eagerness. These were the words on which her eyes fell:

My Dear, Good Little Janey:

I am afraid I cannot take your advice; I cannot exercise the virtue of patience another day. Mine has run its course, my dear, and the whole stock is exhausted. I have resolved to leave my situation on Saturday. I have given Miss Simpkins notice—she does not believe me, of course, but she'll know who's right when Saturday comes, and she has no one to hector and bully and make life a misery to. I wonder where you are going to spend your holidays. Don't go to Aunt Jane's, I beg of you; I know she has sent you an invitation, but don't accept it. Now, couldn't you and I go off for a little jaunt together to Margate, and have some fun? And look here, dear, will you send me two pounds by return of post? I absolutely must have the money, for Miss Simpkins paid me in full a week ago, and I shan't have a penny when I leave, as of course, the little I get from her—she is the stingiest old wretch in existence!—naturally goes to keep your humble servant in dress, stamps, paper, etc., etc. Lend me two pounds, like a darling. I'll pay it back when I can. I do not want to go to Aunt Jane's, and I will have to do it if you cannot oblige me, Janey; but if you can I will go to Margate and take a bedroom there, which you can share, my love, and we'll have some fun, if it's only for a couple of days.

Your loving sister,

Sophia.

"Poor Sophy," exclaimed Janet. She folded up the letter and placed it in her pocket. "I wonder where she thinks I'm going to get two pounds from?" she muttered. "I am as hard up as a girl can be. Sophy might have stayed with Miss Simpkins, but she's a sort of bad penny; always returning on one's hands when one least expects her. Well, I don't see how I'm going to help her. It would be very nice to go to Margate with her, but what would Mrs. Freeman say? No, I think I know a better plan than that. I am not going to Aunt Jane's for the holidays; I am going to have a good time, but it won't be at Margate. Suppose Sophy came, too? she's very pretty, and very clever, and I think Lady Kathleen would like her awfully. I must think over this. Oh, here we are at Eastcliff. Now, my dear little Biddy, the first thing to be done is post your letter, but if you think I am going to get that postal order, and place it in it, you are vastly mistaken. I do not at all know that I shall send the two sovereigns to Sophy, but it is convenient to have them at hand in case of need."

Janet was always very cool and methodical in her movements. She never, as the phrase goes, "lost her head." She could also make up her mind clearly and decidedly. Having done so, she now proceeded to act. She slipped her sister's most troublesome letter into her pocket, and driving to the pastry cook's, ordered the creams, jellies, and other refreshments necessary for the next day's entertainment. She then went to the post office and wrote a few lines.

My Dear Sophy [she wrote]: How am I to get two pounds? You must be mad to think that I can send you so large a sum of money. If Aunt Jane pays for my schooling, she takes very good care to stint my pocket money. You had better be wise and go straight to her when you leave Miss Simpkins. I may have a nice plan to propose in a day or two, but am not sure. You may be certain I'll do my best for you, only do be patient.

Your affectionate sister,
Janet May.

This letter was sealed and directed, and in company with Bridget's found its way into one of Her Majesty's mail bags; then Janet stepped once again into the pony carriage, and desired the coachman to drive her back to Mulberry Court.

The two sovereigns were snugly placed in her purse. She had not yet quite made up her mind to steal them, but she liked even the temporary sense of wealth and possession that they gave her.

The wickedness of her own act did not trouble her hardened conscience; she sat lazily back in the snug little carriage, and enjoyed the pleasant feel of the summer breeze against her forehead. A passing sense of annoyance swept over her as she thought of Sophy. Sophy was nineteen; a very pretty, empty-headed girl. She had not half Janet's abilities. She was really affectionate, but weak, and most easily led. Janet was three years younger than her sister, but in force of character she was several years her senior. The two girls were orphans. They had lived a scrambling sort of life; tossed about when they were little children, from one uncomfortable home to another. Finally, at the ages of fourteen and eleven, they found themselves with a very strict and puritanical old aunt. Her influence was bad for both of them, particularly for Janet. Old Aunt Jane was a very good and excellent woman, but she did not understand the two badly trained and badly disciplined girls. She was by no means rich, but she struggled to educate them. Sophy was not clever enough to undertake the somewhat arduous duties required from governesses in the present day, but Miss Laughton took great pains to get her a post as companion. Janet had plenty of abilities, and she was sent to Mulberry Court to be trained as a teacher.

The girls were fond of each other. Perhaps the only person in the wide world whom Janet really loved was this frivolous and thoughtless sister. She ruled Sophy, and, when with her, made her do exactly what she wished; but still, after a fashion, she felt a very genuine affection for her.

"Sophy might have stayed at Miss Simpkins's," muttered Janet, as she drove back to the Court; "but as she has given notice, there's no help for it. I must get Lady Kathleen to invite her to Ireland when I go. I'm determined to manage that little affair for myself, and Sophy may as well join in the fun."

The carriage turned in at the white gates of Mulberry Court, and Bridget sprang forward to meet it.

"Get out, Janet!" she said, in an imperious, excited voice; "get out at once; I have something to say to you."

"Stop, Jones," called Janet to the driver. "If you want to speak to me, Bridget, you had better jump into the carriage, for I mean to go back to the house; I want to speak to Mrs. Freeman."

"You won't do anything of the kind," said Bridget; "you have got to speak to me first; if you don't, I'll go straight to Miss Delicia and Miss Dent and tell them everything. I know now about Pearson's extracts, and I'll tell about them; yes, I will; I won't live under this disgrace! You had better jump out at once, and let me speak to you, or I'll tell."

Bridget's eyes were flashing with anger, and her cheeks blazing with excitement.

In this mood she was not to be trifled with.

Janet could not comprehend all her wild words, but she guessed enough to feel an instant sense of alarm. There was danger ahead, and danger always rendered Janet May cool and collected.

"My dear child," she exclaimed, "why do you speak in such a loud, excited voice? Of course, I'll go and talk to you if you really want me. Jones, please take this basket carefully to the house, and if you see Mrs. Freeman tell her that I shall be with her in a few minutes, and that everything is arranged quite satisfactorily for to-morrow. Don't forget my message, Jones."

"No, miss; I'll be careful to remember." The man touched his hat. Janet alighted from the pony trap, and, taking Bridget's hand, walked up the avenue with her.

"Now, you dear little Quicksilver," she exclaimed, "what is the matter? I posted your letter, my love, so that weight is off your mind."

"Thank you, Janet," exclaimed poor Bridget; "you did not forget to put the postal order in, did you?" Janet raised her delicate brows in well-acted astonishment.

"Is that likely?" she exclaimed. "But now, why this excitement? Have you heard fresh news of that valuable Pat, and that delightful Norah?"

"Janet, you are not to talk of the people I love in that tone; I won't have it! I quite hate you when you go on like this. I'm not mean, but I know what you are wanting, and I shall speak to Aunt Kathleen and ask her not to invite you to Ireland if you go on in this way. Aunt Kathleen likes you because she does not know you, but I can soon open her eyes."

Janet put on a mock tone of alarm.

"You must not crush me, my dear," she exclaimed; "it would be a trial not to go to the Castle. There, there, I don't want really to tease you, my love. Now, what is the matter? Why have you been making those extraordinary remarks about Pearson? Who is Pearson?"

"You know better than I do, Janet. I'll tell you what has happened. You copied a lot of themes, and gave them to me as if they were your own to put into my exercise book. It was very, very wrong of me to let you help me at all, but, of course, I thought that you had done so without referring to books."

"My dear little saint! I don't see what difference that makes!"

"I don't suppose it makes any difference in the wickedness," retorted Bridget; "but it certainly does in the chance of being found out. I overheard Miss Dent and Miss Delicia talking in one of the summerhouses; Miss Dent has discovered that my essays were copied from Pearson's extracts, and she's awfully angry, and Miss Delicia is horrified. I won't live under it! no, I won't! I was awfully wicked ever to allow it, but I'd much, much rather confess everything now. I am an idle, scapegrace sort of a girl; but I can't think how I ever submitted to your making me dishonorable. I'm horribly dishonorable, and I could die of the shame of it! I'll go straight this very minute to Mrs. Freeman, and tell her to punish me as much as ever she likes. The only thing I shall beg of her is not to tell father, for this is a sort of thing that would break my father's heart. You must come with me, of course, Janet; you must come at once and explain your share in the matter. That's what I waited for you here for. It is most important that everything should be told without a minute's delay."

Bridget's words were poured out with such intense passion and anguish that Janet was impressed in spite of herself. She was not only impressed; she was frightened. It took a great deal to arouse the sense of alarm in her calm breast, but she did realize now that she had got herself and the young Irish girl into a considerable scrape, and that, if she did not wish to have all her own projects destroyed, it behooved her to be extremely wary.

"Let us go down and walk by the sea, Biddy," she said. "Oh, yes, there's plenty of time; meals will be quite irregular to-day. Why, how you tremble, you poor little creature!"

"I'm not little," said Bridget; "I'm big, and I'm desperate. The time has gone by for you to come round me with soft words, Janet. Why am I to go and walk with you by the sea? The thing to be done is for us both to find Mrs. Freeman, and tell her, without mincing words, how wicked we are."

"Have you really made up your mind to do this?" said Janet.

She turned and faced her companion. The color had left her cheeks, her lips trembled, her eyes were dilated.

"Do you positively mean to do this cruel thing?" she repeated.

"Cruel?" said Bridget, stamping her foot; "it's the only bit of justice left; it's the one last chance of our ever retrieving our position. Oh, do come with me at once; there's just time for us to see Mrs. Freeman before tea."

"You can go, Bridget," said Janet. "If you are determined to go I cannot prevent you. You can make all this terrible mischief if you like; but you must do it alone, for I shall not be with you. The effect of your confession will be this: you will suffer some sort of punishment, and by and by you will be forgiven; and by and by, too, you will forget what you now consider such an awful tragedy; but what you are now doing will ruin me for all my life. I am only sixteen—but no matter. However long I live I shall never be able to get over this step that you are taking. If you go—as you say you will—to Mrs. Freeman, there is only one thing for me to do, and that is to run away from school. I won't remain here to be expelled; for expelled I shall be if you tell what you say you will of me. They'll make out that I am worse than you, and they'll expel me. You don't know the effect that such a disgrace will have on my future. I am not rich like you; I have no father to break his heart about me. The only relations I have left in the world are an old aunt, who is very stingy and very hard-hearted, and who would never forgive me if I did the smallest thing to incur her displeasure; and one sister, who is three years older than myself, and who is very pretty and very silly, and who has written to me to say she has lost her situation as companion. If you do what you are going to do, Bridget, I shall walk back to Eastcliff, and take the next train to Bristol, where Aunt Jane lives. You will ruin me, of course; but I don't suppose that fact will influence your decision. I did what I did for you out of a spirit of pure kindliness; but that, too, will be forgotten, now that your conscience has awakened. I am just waiting for you to choose what you will really do, Bridget, before I run away."

When Janet finished speaking she moved a few steps from her companion. She saw that her words had taken effect, for Biddy's determined expression had changed to one of indecision and fresh misery; her troubled eyes sought the ground, her red lips trembled.

"I see you have made up your mind," said Janet. (She saw quite the reverse, but she thought these words a politic stroke.) "I see you have quite made up your mind," she continued; "so there is nothing for me to do but to go. Good-by! I only wish I had never been so unlucky as to know you."

Janet turned on her heel, and began to walk down the avenue.

"You know you can't go like this," Bridget called after her. "Stop! Listen to me! You know perfectly well that, bad as you are, I don't want to ruin you. I'll go by myself, then, and say nothing about you. Will that content you?"

"I see you are going to be reasonable," said Janet, returning, and taking her companion's arm. "Now we can talk the matter out. Come down this shady walk, where no one will see us. Of course, the whole thing is most disagreeable and unpleasant, but surely two wise heads like ours can see a way even out of this difficulty."

"But there is no way, Janet, except by just confessing that we have behaved very badly. Come along, and let us do it at once. I don't believe you'll get into the awful scrape you make out. I won't let you! I'll take your part, and be your friend. You shall come to Ireland with Aunt Kathleen and me, and father will be ever so kind to you, and perhaps—I'm not sure—but perhaps I'll be able to give you one of the dogs."

"Thanks!" said Janet, slightly turning her head away; "but even the hope of ultimately possessing one of those valuable quadrupeds cannot lighten the gloom of my present position. There is no help for it, Biddy, we must stick to one another, and resolve, whatever happens, not to tell."

"But they know already," said Bridget. "Miss Delicia and Miss Dent know already! Did I not tell you that I overheard them talking about it?"

"Yes, my dear, you did. It is really most perplexing. You must let me think for a moment what is best to be done."

Janet stood still in the center of the path; Bridget looked at her anxiously.

"What a fool I was," she murmured under her breath, "to use that extract book. It was just my laziness; and how could I suppose that that stupid Miss Dent would go and pry into it? It will be a mercy if she does not discover where some of my own happy ideas have come from. If I trusted to my own brains I could have concocted something quite good enough to raise poor little Biddy in her class. Discovery would then have been impossible. Oh, what a sin laziness is!"

"What are we to do?" said Bridget, looking anxiously at her companion. "We have very little time to make up our minds in, for probably before now Miss Dent and Miss Delicia have told Mrs. Freeman. I do want, at least, to have the small merit of having told my own sin before it has been announced by another. There's no way out of it, Janet. Come and let us tell at once!"

"How aggravating you are!" replied Janet. "There is a way out of it. You must give me until after tea to think what is best to be done. Ah! there's the gong! We can't tell now until after tea, even if we wished to. Come along, Bridget, let us return to the house. I'll meet you in the South Walk at seven o'clock, and then I shall have something tangible to propose."

Bridget was obliged very unwillingly to consent to this delay. Hers was a nature always prone to extremes. She thought badly of her conduct in allowing Janet to help her with her lessons ever since the moment little Violet had given back the waxen doll, but even then she did not know the half of the sin which she and another had committed. It only needed Miss Dent and Miss Delicia to open her eyes. A sick sense of abasement was over her. Her proud spirit felt humbled to the very dust. She was so low about herself that she looked forward to confession with almost relief.

Janet's nature, however, was a great deal firmer and more resolute than Bridget's. There was no help for it: the Irish girl was bound to comply with her decision. The two walked slowly up to the house, where they parted, Janet running up to her room to take off her hat, wash her hands, and smooth her hair, and Biddy, tossing her shady hat off in the hall, and entering the tea room looking messed and untidy. On another day she would have been reprimanded for this, but the excitement which preceded the grand break-up prevented anyone noticing her. She sank down in the first vacant seat, and listlessly stirred the tea which she felt unable to drink.

Janet's conduct in this emergency differed in all respects from Bridget's. No girl could look fresher, sweeter, or more composed than she when, a moment or two later, she entered the long room. Mrs. Freeman was pouring out tea at the head of the table. Janet went straight up to her, and entered into a lucid explanation of what she had done at Eastcliff, and the purchases she had made.

"Very nice, my dear! Yes, quite satisfactory. Ah! very thoughtful of you, Janet. Sit down now, dear, and take your tea."

Janet found a place near Dolly. She ate heartily, and was sufficiently roused out of herself to be almost merry.

When the girls were leaving the tea room, Janet lingered a little behind the others. Her eyes anxiously followed Miss Delicia, who, with a flushed face and dubious, uncertain manner, was watching her elder sister, Mrs. Freeman. Miss Dent had not appeared at all at tea, which Janet regarded as a very bad sign, but she also felt sure, by the head mistress's calm expression, that the news of Bridget's delinquencies had not been revealed to her. Janet saw, however, by Miss Delicia's manner that this would not long be the case. Janet had thought the matter over carefully, and had made up her mind to a determined and bold stroke.

Miss Delicia, who had, as usual, been hopping about during the meal, attending to everyone's comforts, and quite forgetting her own, was now seen by Janet to walk up by the side of the long table, evidently with the intention of waylaying Mrs. Freeman as she left the room.

With a sudden movement Janet frustrated her intentions. Mrs. Freeman passed out through the upper door of the tea room, and Miss Delicia found herself coming plump up against Janet May.

"Oh, I want to speak to you!" said Janet.

"Pardon me," said Miss Delicia, "I will attend to you in a moment; but, first of all, I wish to say a word to my sister; she will shut herself up in her own room, for she is going to be very busy over accounts, if I don't immediately secure her. I'll be back with you in a moment, Janet, after I have spoken to Mrs. Freeman."

"Please forgive me," said Janet, "but what I have to say is of very great importance. Perhaps you won't want to speak to Mrs. Freeman after you have talked to me."

"Now, my dear, what do you mean?"

Miss Delicia raised her kind, but somewhat nervous eyes. She was a little round body, nearly a head shorter than tall Janet May.

"I want to speak to you by yourself," said Janet; "it is of great importance—the very greatest. Please talk to me before you say anything to Mrs. Freeman."

"Come to my private room," said Miss Delicia, taking Janet's hand in her own. "Come quickly before Patience sees us. Miss Patience is very curious; she will wonder what is up. Ah, here we are with the door shut; that is a comfort. Now, my dear, begin. Your manner quite frightens me."

"I have something most important to say. I am very glad—very, very glad—that it is to you, Miss Delicia, that I have got to say this thing. Your kindness is—is well known. Each girl in the school is well aware of the fact that you would not willingly hurt anyone."

"My dear, none of us would do that, I hope." Miss Delicia drew her little figure up. "We are Pickerings; my sister, Mrs. Freeman, is a Pickering by birth; and the Pickerings have been in the scholastic line from time immemorial. Those who guide the young ought always to be tolerant, always kind, always forbearing."

"Yes, yes," interrupted Janet, "I know that, of course, but some people are more forbearing than others. Mrs. Freeman, Miss Patience, and you are loved and respected by us all; but you are loved the most, for you are the kindest."

Miss Delicia's little face flushed all over.

"I am gratified, of course," she said, "but if this is the general feeling, I shall be most careful to keep the knowledge from my sisters Henrietta and Patience. Now, Janet, what is it you want to say to me?"

"I want to speak to you about Bridget O'Hara."

Miss Delicia felt the color receding from her cheeks.

"Oh!" she exclaimed; "what about her? I may as well say at once that I am not happy with regard to that young girl."

"I know," said Janet, "I—I know more than you think; that is what I want to speak about. Biddy has told me; poor Biddy, poor, poor misguided Biddy."

"Bridget O'Hara has told you? Told you what, Janet? It is your duty to speak; what has she told you?

"The truth, poor girl," said Janet, shaking her head mournfully. "I'll tell you everything, Miss Delicia. Biddy, through an accident, overheard you and Miss Dent speak about her this afternoon."

"Then she's an eavesdropper as well as everything else," said Miss Delicia. "Oh, this is too bad. I did not suppose that such an absolutely unprincipled, wicked girl ever existed; with her beautiful face too, and her kind, charming, open manners. Oh, she's a wolf in sheep's clothing, she will be the undoing of the entire school. It is very difficult, Janet, to rouse my anger, but when it is aroused I—I—well, I feel things extremely, my dear. I must go to Mrs. Freeman at once; don't keep me, I beg."

Janet placed herself between Miss Delicia and the door.

"I must keep you," she said. "You are not often angry, Miss Delicia; I want you on this occasion to be very forbearing, and to restrain your indignation until you have at least listened to me. Biddy did not mean to eavesdrop."

"Oh, don't talk to me, my dear!"

"I must, I will talk to you. Please, please let me say my say. Biddy behaved badly, disgracefully, but she did not mean to listen. She was in trouble, poor girl, about a friend of hers, a servant who was ill in Ireland. She was sitting in the shrubbery thinking about it all when you and Miss Dent came and sat in the summerhouse near by. You spoke her name, and said some very plain truths about her. She forgot all about going away and everything else in the intense interest with which she followed your words. She rushed away at last, and waited near the gates in the avenue to unburden herself to me. Whatever you may have said to Miss Dent, Miss Delicia, the effect on Bridget was really heartrending; she told me that you had opened her eyes, that she saw at last the disgrace of her own conduct. I never could have believed that the poor girl could get into such a state of mind; I really felt quite anxious about her. I don't think my sympathies were ever more thoroughly aroused, and you know that I am not easily carried away by my feelings."

"That is certainly the character you have received in the school, Janet May."

"It is true," repeated Janet, in her steady voice; "I am not demonstrative. Therefore, when I am roused to pity, the case which arouses me must be supposed to be extreme. Poor Biddy is in the most terrible anguish."

"Did she tell you, did she dare to tell you, that she copied her extracts from Pearson?"

"She did, she told me everything. She says she is quite sure that Mrs. Freeman will expel her, and that, if so, her father will die of grief."

"Oh, she has deputed you, then, to plead for her?"

"She has not; it has never occurred to her that anyone should plead for her. She does not feel even a vestige of hope in the matter; but I do plead for her, Miss Delicia. I ask you to have mercy upon her."

"Mercy," said Miss Delicia, "mercy! Is this sort of thing to go on in a respectable high-class school? We are not going to be heartlessly cruel to any girl, of course, but my sisters Henrietta and Patience must decide what is really to be done."

"I have come to you with a bold request," said Janet. "I will state it at once frankly. I want you not to consult your sisters about Bridget until—until after the festival to-morrow."

"I can't grant your request, my dear."

"But please consider. I am taking great and personal interest in Bridget; you know that I am very steady."

"You are, Janet; you are one of the best girls in the school."

"Thank you," said Janet, "I try to do my duty; I take a great interest in Bridget, and I have an influence over her. You know how badly she has been brought up; you know how reckless she is, how untaught, how affectionate and generous she can be, and yet also how desperate and defiant. There are only two people in the world whom she greatly loves; her old father is one; oh, she has told me lovely, pathetic stories about her gray-headed old father; and her aunt, Lady Kathleen Peterham, is the other. To-morrow is to be a great day in the school, and if Bridget is to be in disgrace and publicly held up to opprobrium, you can imagine what Lady Kathleen's feelings will be—what Bridget's own feelings will be. What will be the effect? Bridget will be taken away from school and in all probability never educated at all."

"But, my dear—you are a remarkably wise girl, Janet—my dear, the fact of my sisters knowing the truth about Bridget O'Hara need not be followed by public and open disgrace. We three must consult over the matter and decide what are the best steps to take."

"Forgive me," said Janet, "you know—you must know what Mrs. Freeman's and Miss Patience's sentiments will be. If you, who are so gentle and charitable, feel intense anger, what will their anger be? Reflect, Miss Delicia, you must reflect on the plain fact that they will feel it their duty publicly to disgrace Bridget."

"For the sake of example," murmured Miss Delicia.

"Precisely," said Janet, "for the sake of example; and Biddy's character will be ruined forever. Lady Kathleen will take her from school, and all chance of making her what she may become, a brave and noble woman, will be at an end."

"If I thought that——" said Miss Delicia.

"It is true. I assure you, it is true!"

"What do you want me to do then, Janet?"

"Simply to keep your knowledge to yourself for twenty-four hours."

"I am much puzzled," murmured Miss Delicia. "You're a queer girl, Janet May, but I will own there is wisdom in your words."

"How sweet you are, Miss Delicia! You will never, never repent of this forbearance."

"But there is Miss Dent to be thought of, my love. She is most unhappy about the whole thing."

"You will talk to her," said Janet; "you will talk to her as if from yourself; you will, of course, not mention me, for who am I? nothing but a schoolgirl. You will tell Miss Dent that you have thought it wisest to defer saying anything to Mrs. Freeman until the anxieties of to-morrow are over. Oh, it does seem only right and natural; I am so deeply obliged to you. May I kiss you? This lesson in Christian forbearance will, I assure you, not be thrown away on me, and will, doubtless, be the saving of poor, poor Biddy."

Janet ran out of the room; Miss Delicia pressed her hand in a confused way to her forehead.

"Have I really promised not to tell?" she murmured; "I suppose so, although I don't remember saying the words. What a queer, clever girl that is, and yet, at the same time, how really kind. It is noble of her to plead like that for Bridget! Well, after all, twenty-four hours can't greatly signify, and the delay will certainly insure Henrietta and Patience a peaceful time. Now, I must go and talk to poor, dear Sarah Dent."