A Life Sentence. Sergeant Adeline
they were coming out, a bell began to ring, and presently they met a procession of school-girls, all dressed alike in white frocks and broad hats, on their way to some afternoon service of prayer and praise. Hubert scanned their faces heedfully as they passed by, but he could not find one amongst them that reminded him of the thin little countenance, the gipsy eyes of the convict Westwood's child.
He could not resist the temptation to ask a question.
"Have you not here," he said, "a girl called Jane Wood?"
Sister Agnes gazed at him in astonishment, and the tears suddenly rushed into her eyes.
"Do you know anything of Jane Wood?" she cried excitedly. "Oh, you ask for her at a very critical time! She has been with us four years, and we loved her as our own child; but she ran away from us two days ago, and we have not seen her since!"
CHAPTER IX.
"What do you mean?" said Hubert, starting in his turn. "The girl gone?"
Sister Agnes was in tears already.
"Let me fetch Sister Louisa or the Reverend Mother to you?" she cried. "They know all about it—as far as anybody can know anything. You—you are one of her friends, perhaps? Oh, the dear child—and we loved her so dearly!"
Hubert was looking pale and stern. He had stopped short on the gravelled pathway, half-way between the chapel and the entrance to the school. The beauty, the interest of the place was lost upon him at once. He cared only to hear what had become of the child whom he had fondly imagined himself to be benefiting. If she had been unhappy, if she had run away into the wide world on account of ill-treatment by her teachers and fellow-pupils, was he not to blame? He ought to have come to the place before and made inquiries, not left her fate to the light words of Mrs. Rumbold or some unknown Sister Louisa. He had made himself responsible for her education; was he not in some sort responsible for her happiness as well?
These questionings made his face look very dark and grave as he stood once more in the visitors' room, awaiting the arrival of the lady whom Sister Agnes had called Sister Louisa, and whose letters to Mrs. Rumbold he remembered that he had read.
He felt himself prejudiced against her before she arrived; but, when he saw her, he was compelled to own that she had a very attractive countenance. The face itself, framed in its setting of white and black, was long and pale, but beautiful by reason of its sweetness of expression; the gray eyes were full of tenderness, yet full of grief. There were marks of tears upon her face—the only one that the visitor had seen that was at all dolorous; and yet, noting her serene brow and gentle lips, Hubert, man of the world as he was, and more ready to cavil and despise than to admire, said to himself that, if any woman could make a young girl love her, surely this woman would not fail!
"You wish," she said, "to ask some questions about our pupil Jane Wood?"
"I do indeed. I am very much surprised to hear that she has left you."
"May I ask whether you have any authority from our friend Mrs. Rumbold to inquire?"
"Mrs. Rumbold takes her authority from me," said Hubert quietly.
Then, as the Sister looked at him with a little uncertainty in her mild gray eyes, he felt in his pocket and drew out a pocket-book.
"I think I have a letter here from Mrs. Rumbold which will establish my claim to make inquiries. It is a mere chance that I have not destroyed it, but it is here, and will serve as my credentials perhaps."
Sister Louisa took the letter from his hand and looked at it. It was the one which Mrs. Rumbold had written to Mr. Lepel when she had heard of Jane Wood's talent for music and other accomplishments from "the mother of the children" herself.
The good Sister smiled sadly as she gave it back.
"I see now who you are, Mr. Lepel. You are really this poor child's great friend and helper."
"I am acting for my family, of course," said Hubert, a little stiffly. "The girl has naturally no right to expect anything from us; but we were sorry for her desolate portion."
"Yes, poor child—she has a hard lot to bear."
If Hubert was stung by this asseveration, he did not show it.
"I always heard that she was very happy here," he said.
"And so she was—or so she seemed to be," said Sister Louisa, with energy. "She was a great favorite, always at the top of the classes, always full of life and spirit, always bright and engaging. Poor Janie! To think that she should have left us in this way!"
"Why did she leave you, and how?"
"Mr. Lepel," said the Sister, "if I tell you that our Janie had a fault, you won't think hardly of her or of us? A girl of fifteen is not often perfect, and we are sometimes obliged to reprove, even to punish, those under our charge; and yet I assure you there was not a person in the house, woman or child, who did not love poor Janie."
"I am to understand, then, that she was under punishment?"
Sister Louisa shook her head slightly and sighed. She felt that it was difficult to make this young man of the world understand that girls of fifteen were sometimes exceedingly trying to their elders and superiors; but she would do her best.
"Janie was very affectionate," she said, "but passionate in temper, and obstinate when thwarted. She had a curious amount of pride—much more than one usually finds in so young a girl or one of her extraction. Her high spirits too were a snare to her. She was reproved three days ago for laughing aloud in a chapel; and, as she showed an unsubmissive spirit, she was sent into a room alone in order to meditate. Into this room one of our lay Sisters went by accident, not knowing that Jane Wood was there for seclusion, and began to talk to her. This young woman, Martha by name, came from the neighborhood of Beechfield, and happened to mention Mrs. Rumbold."
"Ah, I see!" Hubert exclaimed involuntarily.
"Jane questioned her about the place—questioned her particularly, I believe, about a gentleman that she remembered. I think, Mr. Lepel, that she must have been thinking of yourself, according to the description that Martha tells us she gave of him; but Martha could not tell her your name, which it seems the child did not know. It was natural perhaps that Martha should pass on to the subject of that tragedy at Beechfield—the murder of Mr. Sydney Vane and the fate of the murderer."
Sister Louisa paused for a moment—it seemed to her that the young man's dark handsome face had turned exceedingly pale. He was leaning against the wall, close to the window; he moved aside a little, as he did not wish her to see his face, and begged her to proceed with her story. She went on.
"Martha's tale at this point becomes confused; either she is not sure of what she said or is reluctant to repeat it. Some slur, some imputation was no doubt thrown upon the name of Janie's father; and I believe that she thought that Martha knew her story and was insulting her. At any rate, the whole establishment was roused by the sound of screams proceeding from the room. We rushed thither, and found Martha crouching in a corner, shrieking hysterically, and declaring that Miss Wood was going to murder her; while Janie—poor Janie——"
"I can imagine it," said Hubert, in a low tone; while Sister Louisa paused for breath—and perhaps to recover the calmness that she had lost.
"Our poor Janie," proceeded the kind-hearted woman, "was like one who had gone mad. She was white as death, her eyes were flaming, her hands clenched; but all that she seemed able to say were the words, 'My father was innocent—innocent—innocent!' I should think that she repeated the words a hundred times. Greatly to our sorrow, Mr. Lepel, the whole story then came out. We could not silence either Martha or poor Janie—who, I really think, did not know what she was saying. In spite of our efforts to keep the matter quiet, in a very short time the whole house—Sisters, boarders, servants—all knew