But Kitty had not gone to the Lower School. She was not going there any more. All of a sudden, just as though the hand of Almighty God Himself were stretched out, she was stopped in her wickedness. When Peggy spoke to her it was like the writing on the wall at the impious feast described in the Bible: “Thou art weighed in the balances, and art found wanting.” She walked rapidly, her head in a whirl, her breath coming quickly. How near to success she had been, but instead of success she had touched failure. Kitty was clever enough to know that in Peggy she had met an antagonist worthy of her powers; there was no getting round Peggy, there was no cajoling her, there was no rousing her pity. Peggy was sorry for others, but not for Kitty. Kitty recognised as a fact beyond all other facts that Peggy would do what she said; there was nothing for her, therefore, but in the moment of Peggy’s success to go away. She must leave The Red Gables, she must leave her schoolfellows, she must leave her hopes, her ambitions, all her plans for the future. She was found wanting. Yes, to her, Peggy stood in the place of God—Peggy, the Irish peasant girl, whom she had despised. She did not despise her now. In all the world she had never respected any one as she did Peggy Desmond at that moment.

In her little dark frock, without any hat, wearing her thin shoes and those black silk stockings which she had secured in so mean a manner, Kitty entered the village of Gable End and called at Miss Weston’s. Miss Weston was astonished to see the girl, and not a little frightened.

“I want you to help me,” said Kitty. “I want you to lend me an old hat and a jacket and a pair of gloves, and I want you to give me a pound. You need not make that white muslin frock, for I shall not need it. You can keep the four pounds, and give me one—will you? If you don’t——” But there was a look now on Kitty’s face which frightened Miss Weston.

“’Ave you got into trouble, my dear?” she said in a whisper.

“Yes, awful, awful; I can’t speak about it. I must go back to Aunt Gloriana; she will tell me what to do.”

“I’ll give you the pound, my dear. Can you get to ’er to-night?”

“Yes, oh yes. Don’t keep me, or I may miss my train. Thank you, Miss Weston. I’ll send you back your things.”

“If I could ’elp you in any way, my dear”——

“You can’t, no one can. God is angry with me.”

Kitty left Miss Weston’s house. The astonished dressmaker did not speak; but at the end of an hour, when the train to Folkestone was safely on its way, she put on her hat and jacket and went up to The Red Gables School. She inquired for Mrs. Fleming, and was ushered into her presence. “If you please, ma’am,” she said, “I think it only right to tell you that one of your young ladies came to me in great trouble. She wanted money to go back to Folkestone, and I gave it to ’er, ma’am. She was in very fearful trouble, ma’am, and said that God was angry with ’er. She seemed such a bright young lady too. I never saw ’er like that before.”

Just then Peggy rushed into the room. “Have you found her?” she asked in a distracted sort of voice.

Mrs. Fleming put her hand on the girl’s arm to restrain her.

“What was the name of the young lady you have come to me about?” she asked, turning to the dressmaker.

“Oh ma’am, Miss Kitty Merrydew, the sweetest, prettiest young lady I ever ’ad the pleasure of working for; she’d grace any style, ma’am. I never saw ’er in such a state as she was in to-night.”

“You are very kind to let me know,” said Mrs. Fleming. “How much money did you lend the young lady? I will return it to you.”

“Oh ma’am, thank you, no; it was ’er own money.”

“Very well. Good-evening.”

The dressmaker departed. After a time Mrs. Fleming turned to Peggy. Peggy had flung herself on her knees and had buried her face on an ottoman.

“Peggy, child, what’s wrong?”

“I did it!” said Peggy. “I did it!”

“You, my dear child! You did what?”

“Drove her out,” said Peggy, in a whisper. Then, after a pause, she said in a low, awed whisper, “into the black night.”

“Peggy, come and sit by me and tell me of this thing.”

Peggy looked up with dry eyes, which were shining brightly. “I said I’d tell, but I can’t—now.”

“Peggy, is that right?”

“I can’t—now,” repeated Peggy.

“My dear little girl, I think you ought.”

“I can’t—now,” repeated Peggy. Then she added: “You see, God is punishing her, I needn’t.”

Thus it came to pass that Kitty Merrydew left the school of The Red Gables.

Kitty’s aunt wrote a long, apologetic letter to Mrs. Fleming. The letter was full of bitter regrets for Kitty’s conduct, which she hoped Mrs. Fleming would overlook, although she naturally could not expect her to take the girl back to the school again. Mrs. Fleming did not know what that conduct was—she never did know, for Peggy never told. After a time she wrote to Miss Merrydew, proposing a foreign school, a strict school for her young niece, where the girl would be watched, and, if possible, her character reformed. Mrs. Fleming offered to pay the fees of that school herself.

The Howard miniature was, after all, adjudged to Alison Maude, which fact gave universal and sincere gratification.

Peggy lives at The Red Gables, happy, beloved, and blessed, and hopes eventually to win that great honour—the Howard Miniature Prize.