Early on the following morning a little figure in white might have been seen gliding from room to room all along the corridors where the Penwerne Manor girls slept. Softly door after door was opened and the little woman went in. She stood by the beds where the girls slept, and touched each young sleeper lightly on the shoulder. In many cases the girls were not asleep at all, but in others fatigue and sorrow had made them sleep soundly. To each and all Jessie had the same message to give:

"Christian is better. The crisis is past. The doctor now hopes that she will live."

The untold relief of her words brought a look of rapture to some faces, and sudden tears, which joy brought forth, to others.

Little Jessie went last to Star's room. She knew that in the whole of that house no one felt more keen anxiety than Star Lestrange. Jessie felt that she could stay with Star for a minute or two when she had given her message to the rest of the school.

When she opened the door Star was up. She turned quite a haggard face towards the little woman.

"Why, Star, my dear," said Jessie, "haven't you been to bed all night?"

"No," replied Star; "I couldn't sleep. I sat by the window, and then I knelt by the window, and then—and then—— Oh, Jessie, is she dead? Tell me the worst; don't keep me in suspense. Is she dead, Jessie?"

"No, Star. I have good news for you. Oh, my child, don't give way!"

For Star had suddenly flung herself face downwards on her little bed, and with arms outstretched over the bedclothes, had given way to a burst of uncontrollable tears.

"She will live," said Star, amongst her choking sobs. "Oh! tell me what the doctor says."

"She is better. She slept until three this morning; then she awoke with the fever gone, looking very calm, but, oh, so weak! We gave her nourishment by spoonfuls, and she fell asleep again. The doctor has gone home for a couple of hours; he will be back soon after ten o'clock. Of course, her state is terribly precarious; but now Dr. Tarbut thinks there is every reason to hope."

"Yes, she will live now," said Star. She rose suddenly to her feet. "Thank you, Jessie," she said.

She ran up to the little woman, flung her arms round her neck, and kissed her passionately.

"I love you, Jessie. You know it, don't you?"

"I do, Star. And if you could only guess how I love you!"

"You love us all. You are a sort of guardian angel in the school. Sometimes I think you are even nicer and more beloved than our dear Miss Peacock. How is she this morning?"

"She looks bad, but she is keeping up wonderfully. The relief of this change for the better in Christian is doing her more good than any medicine."

"Can I do anything to help, Jessie?"

"I was going to speak to you about that, Star. There will naturally be a sort of reaction in the school to-day. The girls suffered severely yesterday, and Miss Peacock is the last person in the world to forget that fact. She says that there will only be morning lessons, and even these are to be of a very light and easy character. In the afternoon you are all to go for drives. Miss Peacock has ordered wagonettes to be sent round for the purpose. Then she wishes you to go to bed early to-night. To-morrow, of course, the ordinary routine will prevail."

"That is just like Miss Peacock," replied Star.

Her face did not brighten as she thought of the programme. Again she laid her hand on Jessie's shoulder.

"What can I do to help?"

"We don't have monitresses in this school," said Jessie, "but if you would act as one in your own class and amongst the girls of the third division——"

"Oh, amongst those girls!" said Star.

"Do you object, dear?"

"I object to nothing, Jessie; but you know the girls who are in the third class—Susan, Maud, Janet, Mary. I don't like them. I have quarreled with them now, too."

"But you will not think of yourself to-day, Star."

"Indeed—indeed I will not. Don't stay now; you have plenty to do. Trust me to strain every nerve to help you and dear Miss Peacock."

"I will tell her so, Star. I will give her your message. I can scarcely tell you how she trusts you. She said this morning, 'Get Star Lestrange to help. You know how fond she is of the Sixth Form girls.' She says that you can be more useful than any of the others to-day. You will do your best, won't you, Star?"

Jessie left the room, and Star flung herself again on her knees. She uttered a brief, passionate, earnest prayer; a cry of pure thanksgiving rose from her heart. Then, finishing her toilet, she ran downstairs.

The relief in the school was intense; each girl looked softened and inclined to be amiable. The knowledge, too, that they were to go for a long drive was highly appreciated. Depressed spirits were lifted again on the wings of hope; in short, the girls became themselves once more.

Lessons went on without any special interruption or any special event occurring. No music was permitted, but the ordinary work proceeded with ordinary satisfaction. The doctor's carriage, however, caused a flutter in the breasts of many of the girls. Star looked at the girls of her own class, and also at the girls of the third class. Suddenly she rose.

"He is going now," she said; "but I mean to be very bold. I mean to go into the entrance-hall and question him."

There was an attempt at clapping hands under the tables; but at the word "Hush!" from Miss Forest the girls refrained.

"Star, where are you going?" said her teacher.

"I want to ask Dr. Tarbut how Christian is," was Star's response.

Miss Forest's face showed that she longed to hear as much as the girls did. She made no remark, and Star ran into the hall.

"How is she?" asked the little girl.

The doctor was just putting on his overcoat. He turned kindly towards her.

"Why, Miss——"

"My name is Star—Star Lestrange," said the child.

"And you are anxious?"

"We are all anxious," said Star. "Please let me know the very, very truth."

"It is this, Miss Star," said the doctor, and he put his hand on her shoulder. "This is the very, very truth. Your friend is doing first-rate. Now, remember she must not be startled; she must be kept absolutely quiet. You must all recollect that there is a sick girl in the house, and you must on no account do anything to disturb her rest. She will be sleeping on and off the whole of the day, and very likely to-morrow, and for several days to come; and if no one disturbs her, I have not the slightest doubt that she will be quite well in a short time. But don't forget my message to you and the other girls: no noise, please."

"I'd cut my tongue out before I'd make any noise," said Star; and then she flashed a grateful, beautiful glance into the doctor's face, and ran back to her fellows.

Her news gave intense relief, and when the hour of recess came Christian was certainly the heroine, for no one else was talked about.

Morning lessons had come to an end; there was to be a hasty lunch, and then the girls were to start on their drive. The day was a most beautiful one for the time of the year, and they were all in good spirits.

Just as they were assembling in the hall, waiting for the wagonettes to come up, one of the servants, a housemaid who had been only a very short time at the Manor, darted into their midst and thrust a note into Susan Marsh's hand. The teachers were not present.

Susan grabbed the note, turned white, and thrust it into her pocket. Star had seen the transaction. She had not intended to drive in the same wagonette with Susan; she was looking forward to a peaceful time with Louisa Twining and some of her own special friends; but now she changed her mind.

The wagonettes came up, and Star pushed herself to the front.

"I am monitress," she said. "Will you, So-and-so, and So-and-so"—she mentioned a few names—"get into that wagonette?"

The wagonette was quickly filled. It drove a little way down the avenue to wait for the others. The next wagonette came up and also received its load of girls, and finally the fourth and last arrived at the door.

"Come along, Susan," said Star.

"What! are you going to drive with us?" said Susan.

"Yes," answered Star.

Susan got in, looking sulky. Soon the wagonette was filled. Star jumped in last, banged-to the door, and told the driver to start.

They reached their destination, a beautiful ruin about eight miles away, examined it to their hearts' content, had tea in a cottage near, where such things were supplied to visitors, and finally were about to start home, when Star went up to Susan and touched her on the arm.

"Read your note," she said brusquely.

"My note?"

"Don't be silly, Susan; I saw Ellen give it to you. Read it; I want to know the contents."

"What possible affair is it of yours?"

"I mean to make it my affair," said Star. "You had best be quick about it. You know I disobeyed yesterday."

"You did, and a fine row you'll get into. Oh, you immaculate girl, whom Miss Peacock thinks so much of! I can open her eyes."

"I can explain things to Miss Peacock," said Star; "but that is neither here nor there. I am prepared to suffer if I have done wrong. But, Susan, my wrong-doing won't put yours right. You are in a very serious position at this moment, and you had best let me help you."

"Help me?" said Susan. "Do you mean to?"

"I will tell you presently. Read your letter."

"I—I won't."

"Very well. Perhaps you will when I have spoken a little longer. Yesterday evening I went home to tea with Florence Dixie."

"You did? Well, I never!"

"I had tea with her, and she walked back with me part of the way. I asked her to tell me if you had sent her a note. She denied it."

"Of course she did, for I never sent her any note."

"Just wait a while, Susan, before you tell any more lies. Well, she and I were talking together, when those interesting friends of yours, the Mannerses, came up. They immediately spoke to Florence about the note that she had received. I can bring them forward as witnesses if necessary. That's about all for the present. Maud did deliver a note to Florence Dixie, and I can bring witnesses to prove it."

Susan turned very white. "Really, Star," she said, "I can't imagine why I have put up with your interference." But though she said the words in a defiant tone, she was a good deal shaken and very much alarmed. "You surely don't want to make mischief now," she said—"now, when she is better."

"Susan," said Star very earnestly, "do you know why I was so awfully wretched last night?"

"Were you wretched? I didn't know it."

"Oh, Susan! I could not sleep; I could not rest. I felt—oh, I can't tell you how I felt! But it was—it was almost like hell, Susan. And do you know what made me most unhappy of all? It was the feeling that if she died, you, Susan Marsh, would be in a way responsible for her death."

"Oh, how dare you say so?"

"Yes, Susan, you would. I am not angry now; I am just awfully miserable when I think about you. Can't you repent? Can't you be sorry? Can't you thank God for being so good to you? Oh, if—if she had died!"

Star's melodious voice, and Star's lovely eyes, and the pathos on the sweet little face were not altogether lost upon Susan Marsh at that moment. Without daring to tell herself so, she too had been in terror the night before; but the difference between her state and Star's was this—that Star was sorry because she had done wrong, while Susan was sorry because she feared punishment.

"Read your note," said Star, suddenly altering her tone and speaking with asperity; and Susan, contrary to her own inclination, took the note out of her pocket and read Emma Manners' words. When she had read the letter she handed it to Star.

"It seems to concern you too, Star," she said. "I suppose it is the best way out. I have to explain to the girls. They have been looking forward to something very special on Wednesday. I must tell them that on account of Christian's illness our special feast has been deferred. You will come, of course."

"I! What do you take me for?"

"But you will, Star; you will have to. There's no other way to keep the thing dark."

"Do you suppose I mean to keep it dark?"

"Star! Star!"

"Do you suppose it for a single moment, Susan?"

Miss Forest's voice was calling to the girls: "Come, girls; no more loitering. We must get back into our wagonettes and drive home or we shall be overtaken by the dusk."

Star and Susan were obliged to postpone any further conversation, but as Susan was getting into the wagonette she turned to her companion.

"We must fight this thing out," Susan said. "Where, and when?"

"In my room to-night," said Star without a moment's hesitation.

Susan nodded and got into the wagonette. Star was relieved to find that she could get into another of the carriages on her way home. She sat near her special friend Angela Goring.

"Why, Star, you don't look a bit well," said Angela.

"Angel," replied Star, "if you were going through exactly what I am at this present moment you would not look well either."

"You are bothered by that horrid girl."

"I am very nearly as bad myself," said Star.

"You?"

"Yes; I behaved abominably to that poor child. Yesterday I did wrong too."

"Oh! don't talk quite so loud; the others will hear."

"Then let us whisper together, Angel, for I must relieve my mind."

"Well, what is it?"

"In order to discover something about Susan, I disobeyed Miss Peacock. She said none of us were to leave the grounds. She sent a message. I heard the message delivered, and I went right away—right through the garden, and down by the left walk, and out onto the high-road. I was away for some hours, and I even had tea with one of the town girls. Think of that! I got home rather late. Of course no one noticed."

"We were all so anxious last night. But why did you do it? I must say you puzzle me a good deal."

"I did it; and what is more, I am not sorry. What I am sorry about is that I ever took that cruel attitude towards dear Christian."

Angela did not say anything more for a few minutes, but from time to time, as they were driving back through the sweet spring air, she glanced at Star. Star's piquant face was pale; her lashes were lowered; she looked intensely sad. Suddenly Angela bent towards her.

"Can I help you?" she asked. "Is there anything I can do? You know how much I love you."

"And I love you, Angel." She thought for a minute. "I may want a witness to-night," she said suddenly. "I know Jessie won't be too particular. This is a sort of half-holiday, and we may do things we are not allowed to do on ordinary occasions. I have asked Susan Marsh to meet me in my room to-night. Will you be present also?"

"Certainly, if it will help you."

"It may help me. It may be wiser. I'll let Susan know, and she can bring a friend of hers. Of course, she ought to bring Maud Thompson. I'll take care that she does. Now, let's talk of other matters, Angel. At ten o'clock to-night in my bedroom."

Angela squeezed Star's hand. Another girl joined in the conversation, and to hear Star's merry laugh during the remainder of that drive, one could scarcely guess what a weight rested on her heart.