"I'm sorry enough, miss, but I think Miss Ermie is as bad as me. I'd never have done it, never, but for Miss Ermie. I think it's mean of her to keep away from me when I'm ill."

"Ermengarde is not at home, Susy; but if you want her very badly, if you really want her for anything important, I will write to her, and she shall come home--I know she will."

"Thank you, Miss Marjorie; I didn't think nothing at all about what I did when I was well, but now it seems to stay with me day and night, and I'm sorry I was so spiteful and mean to Miss Nelson. But it wasn't _my_ fault, miss--no, that it wasn't--that the picture was broke. What is it, Miss Marjorie? How you start."

"Nothing," said Marjorie; "only perhaps, Susy, you'd rather tell Ermie the rest; and she _shall_ come back; I promise you that that she shall come back."

"Thank you, Miss Marjorie; you are real good, and you comfort me wonderfully when you hold my hands."

"Well, I wish you'd let me put your sheets a little straight; there, that's better. Now I'm going to turn your pillow. And Susy, do let me push all that tangled hair out of your eyes. Now I'm going to kneel here, and you must shut your eyes. I promise you shall see Ermie.

Good-night, Susy; go to sleep."

Miss Nelson waited quietly in the little kitchen downstairs. The voices in Susy's sickroom ceased to murmur; presently Mrs. Collins stole softly upstairs. She returned in a few minutes accompanied by Marjorie. There were tears in the poor woman's eyes.

"My Susy's in a blessed, beautiful sleep!" she exclaimed. "And it's all owing to this dear little lady; may Heaven reward her! I don't know how to thank you, Miss Marjorie. Susy hasn't been in a blessed healthful sleep like that since she broke her leg. It puts heart into me to see the child looking quiet and peaceful once again. And now I'll go upstairs and sit with her."

Miss Nelson and Marjorie walked quickly home together. When they reached the house, the little girl made one request of her governess.

"I want to write to Ermie. May I do it to-night?"

"No, my love, I must forbid that. You are much too tired."

"But it _is_ so important--far more important than I can tell you, and I promised Susy."

"Maggie, do you want Ermengarde to come home?"

"Oh, yes; she must come home."

"Then you shall send her a telegram in the morning."

"But that seems cruel. My letter will be far, far better. I could explain things a little in a letter."

Miss Nelson considered for a moment.

"I have great trust in you, Maggie," she said. "I won't question you, for I daresay you have heard something from Susan Collins in confidence. I am sure you would not wish to recall Ermengarde unless there was great need."

"There is; oh, really, there is."

"Then you shall go to bed now, and I will send you to Glendower with Hudson by the first train in the morning."

CHAPTER XXII.

QUITE IN A NEW CHARACTER.

The day was lovely, and Ermengarde woke once more in the best of spirits. Notwithstanding her unhappy day, she had enjoyed herself much the night before. She had worn Lilias's simple white dress, and Marjorie's Maltese cross with its narrow gold chain had given to her appearance just that finish which best suited her youth.

Ermengarde had looked remarkably pretty, and many people had noticed the fact, and one or two of Mr. Wilton's gentlemen friends had congratulated him in quite audible tones on having such a charming and lovely little daughter. Ermengarde had herself heard these words, and had seen a glow, half of sadness half of pleasure, light up her father's dark eyes, and her own heart had swelled within her. She began to know the difference between real praise and flattery. She thought how fascinating it would all be when she was really grown up, and dull lessons were over, and Miss Nelson was no longer of the slightest consequence, when she could dress as she pleased, and do as she liked.

In the agreeable feelings which these thoughts gave her, she forgot about Basil's displeasure. She ceased to remember that the dearest friendship of her life was in danger of being broken, was so jeopardized that it was scarcely likely that the severed threads could ever be reunited with their old strength. Ermengarde was away from all unpleasant things, her fears about Flora were completely removed, and it was in her selfish and pleasure-loving nature to shut herself away from the memory of what worried her, and to enter fully into the delights of her present life. She rose gayly, and no one could have been merrier than she when she joined Lilias at the breakfast-table.

The two girls had this meal again alone in Lilias Russell's pretty boudoir.

"Shall we ride, or go out in the yacht?" said Lilias to her companion.

"I heard father making all arrangements for a sail last night, and I know he'll take us if we ask him. Which would you like best, Ermie? If you are a sailor, I can promise you a good jolly time on board the _Albatross_. I was so sorry you were not with us yesterday."

"Oh, I am a capital sailor," said Ermengarde. "We were at the Isle of Wight last year, and Basil and I sailed nearly every day. Maggie used to get sick, but we never did."

"There's just a lovely breeze getting up to-day," said Lilias. "I'm so glad you like sailing, Ermie, for I know we shall just have a perfect time. If you'll stay here for a few minutes, I'll run and ask father if he will take us with them."

Lilias stepped out through the open window, and Ermengarde leant against a trellised pillar in the veranda, and looked out over the peaceful summer scene, her pretty eyes full of a dreamy content. She was so happy at the thought that Flora was really gone that she felt very good and amiable; she liked herself all the better for having such nice, comfortable, kindly thoughts about everyone. Even Eric could scarcely have extracted a sharp retort from her at this moment.

Lilias came flying back. "It's all right!" she exclaimed. "The _Albatross_ sails in an hour, and we are to meet father and Mr.

Wilton, and the other gentlemen who are going to sail, on the quay at half-past eleven. I shall wear my white serge boating-costume. Have you anything pretty to put on, Ermie?"

"Nothing as nice as that," said Ermengarde with a jealous look.

"There's my dark blue serge, but it will look dowdy beside your white."

"I have two white serge boating-dresses," said Lilias. "I will lend you one if you will let me. Our figures are almost exactly alike, and we are the same height. My dress had scarcely to be altered at all for you last night. Come, Ermie, don't look so solemn. You shall look charming, I promise, and I will make you up such a posy to wear in your b.u.t.ton-hole. Now, shall we stroll about, or just sit here and be lazy?"

"Do let us sit here," said Ermengarde. "You don't know what a comfort the stillness is, Lily. At this hour at home all the little ones are about, and they make such a fuss and noise. I think it's the worst management to allow children to keep bothering one at all hours of the day."

"Well, I'm not tried in that way," said Lilias, with a quick half-suppressed sigh, "and as I adore children, I am afraid I can't quite sympathize--O Ermie, what a queer old shandrydan is coming up the avenue! Who can be in it? Who can be coming here at this hour?

Why, I do declare it's the one-horse fly from the station! Noah's Ark, we call that fly, it's so rusty and fusty, and so little in demand; for you know, when people come to Glendower, we always send for them, and I don't think the station is any use except for shunting purposes, and to land our visitors. Who _can_ be coming in Noah's Ark?"

Just then a very rough little head, surmounted by a brown straw hat, was pushed out of one of the windows of the old fly; a lot of wild, long, disordered hair began to wave in the breeze; and a hand was waved frantically to the two girls, as they sat in the cool veranda.

"Why, it's Maggie!" exclaimed Lilias. "It's Maggie, the duck, the sweet! How delicious! _What_ has brought her?"

She took a flying leap down the veranda steps, and across the lawn, to meet the old fly.

"It's Maggie!" echoed Ermengarde, who did not rush to meet her little sister. "What has happened? what _has_ gone wrong now?"

She rose from the luxurious chair in which she was lounging and, throwing back her head, gazed watchfully at the fervent meeting which was taking place between Lilias and Marjorie.

"Detestable of Maggie to follow me like this!" muttered Ermengarde. "I wonder Miss Nelson allows it. Really our governess is worse than useless, not a bit the sort of person to teach girls in our position.

Now, what _can_ be up? Oh, and there's Hudson! Poor, prim, proper old Hudson. She has come to take care of the darling cherub who never does wrong. Well I think it's taking a great liberty with Lady Russell's establishment, and I only trust and hope father will give it hotly to Miss Nelson."

"Well, Maggie." Ermengarde advanced a step or two in a very languid manner. "Oh, don't throttle me, please. How very hot and messy you look! and what has brought _you_ to Glendower?"

"The dear kind train, and the dear kind Noah's Ark," interrupted Lilias. "Don't I bless them both! Mag, I want to show you my grotto; I arranged the sh.e.l.ls in the pattern you spoke of last year. They look awfully well, only I'm not quite sure that I like such a broad row of yellow sh.e.l.ls round the edge."

Lilias spoke with some rapidity. She was standing opposite the two sisters; she was not at all an obtuse girl, and she felt annoyed at Ermengarde's coldness to Marjorie, and wanted to make up to her by extra enthusiasm on her own part. Lilias had never seen the home side of Ermie's character, and was amazed at the change in her expression.

"O Lily, I should love to look at the grotto!" exclaimed Marjorie, "and perhaps I'll have time for just one peep. But I'm going back again by the next train, and it's awfully important that I should speak to Ermie--awfully important."

Marjorie was never a pretty child, and she certainly did not look her best at that moment. Fatigue had deprived her of what slight color she ever possessed; her hair was dreadfully tossed, her holland frock rumpled and not too clean, and her really beautiful gray eyes looked over-anxious. Marjorie's whole little face at that moment had a curious careworn look, out of keeping with its round and somewhat babyish form.