A Letter of Credit is a Webnovel created by Susan Warner.
This lightnovel is currently completed.
Then one of the under teachers made a progress through the rooms to see that this was done and everybody in bed. Rotha made one of four girls who occupied a large room on the third floor. Each young lady had her own bed, her own press and drawers, and everything comfort called for; of course absolute privacy could not be given. When Rotha had been in her new quarters two or three weeks, there came a collision between her and her fellows in that room. One night Miss Jewett had been round as usual and turned off the gas. As soon as her retreating foot-steps were heard to reenter her own room, at the further end of the pa.s.sage, one of the girls sprang up and lit the gas again. The burner was near the head of her bed, so that she could see pretty well to read when she was lying down; which to Rotha’s great surprise she went on to do for some time– till Rotha fell asleep. The next night the same thing happened, and the next. Rotha became uneasy, and finally could bear it no longer. The fourth time this trick was played, she lifted her voice in protest.
“Miss Entable,” said she, “what you are doing is against the rules.”
She spoke clearly enough, though with a moderated voice; but not the least attention was paid to her remonstrance. One of her three companions was asleep; the second giggled; the reader took no notice. Rotha grew hot. What was she to do? Not give way. To give way in the face of opposition was never Rotha’s manner. She slipped out of bed and came near the one where the reader lay.
“Miss Entable, it is against rules, what you are doing.”
“Mind your own business,” said the other shortly.
“I am minding it,” returned Rotha. “It is my business to keep Mrs.
Mowbray’s rules, and not to help break them; and I will not.”
“Will not what? You want to curry favour with old Mowbray–that’s what you do. I have no patience with such meanness!”
“You had better go and tell her what we are doing,” said the third girl scornfully.
“Miss Mc Pherson,” said Rotha, her voice trembling a little with wrath, “I think Mrs. Mowbray trusts you. How can you bear to be false to trust?”
“Stuff!”
“Cant!”
“n.o.body asks your opinion about it. Who are you?” said the Mc Pherson, who in her own opinion was somebody.
“Nor do I ask yours,” said Rotha. “I will not help you break madame’s rules. The light is one fourth part mine; and my part shall not burn after hours.”
With which deliverance she turned off the gas. Words of smothered rage and scorn followed her as she went back to bed; and the next day Rotha was plainly ostracised by a large part of her school-mates.
The next evening the gas was lighted again after ten o’clock.
“Now you Carpenter,” said the reader, “I am not going to stand any of your ill manners. You will let the gas alone, if you please.”
“I cannot let it alone,” said Rotha. “I should be a sharer in your dishonour.”
“Dishonour! well, let it alone, or I’ll–“
“What, Miss Entable?”
“Mc Pherson and I will put you in bed and tie you there; and Jennings will help. We are three against one. So hold your tongue.”
Rotha reflected. It did not suit her feeling of self-respect to be concerned in a row. She raised herself on one elbow.
“I do not choose to fight,” she said; “that is not my way. But if you do not put the gas out, I shall tell Mrs. Mowbray that she must make somebody watch to see that her orders are observed.”
Now there arose a storm; rage and contempt and reviling were heaped on Rotha’s head. “Informer!”–“Spy!”–“Mean tell tale!”–were some of the gentle marks of esteem bestowed on her.
“I am not an informer,” said Rotha, when she could be heard; “I am not going to mention any names. I will only tell Mrs. Mowbray that she must charge somebody to see that her orders are observed.”
“Orders! She is a mean, pinching, narrow-minded, low, school ma’am. You should see how it is at Mrs. De Joyce’s. The girls have liberty–they receive their friends–they go to the opera–they have little dances– they do just what they like. Mrs. De Joyce is such a lady! it is another thing. I am not going to stay in this mean house after this term is out.”
“Mary Entable!” said Rotha, rising up on her elbow and speaking with blazing eyes; “are you not ashamed of yourself? Mrs. Mowbray, who has just been so kind to you! so generous! so good! How long is it since she was nursing you through a terrible sickness–nursing you night and day– entertaining your mother and your sister for ten days, in her crowded house. Do you dare call her narrow? Answer me one thing, if you can; did your mother and sister bear the expense of their stay here, or did she?
Answer me, if you have a fraction of a soul in you!–Aren’t you ashamed!
I should think you would cover up your face in the bedclothes, and never look at anybody again!”
Leaning on her elbow, raised so up in her bed, Rotha had delivered herself of the foregoing; in a moderated voice it is true, but with a cutting energy and directness. The other three girls were at first silent, partly with astonishment, Rotha’s usual manner was so contained.
“You may do as you like,” she went on more composedly, “but help you I will not in your wrong ways. If the gas is lighted again after ten o’clock, I shall take my measures. I come of an honest family.”
That last cut was too much. The storm of abuse burst forth again; but Rotha wrapped herself in her coverlets and said no more. The gas was not relighted that evening. However, in the nature of the case it followed that lawless girls would not be long kept in check by the influence of one whom they regarded so lightly as these did Rotha. A fortnight later, the latter came to Mrs. Mowbray one day when she was alone in the library.
“Well, my child–what is it?” said the kind voice she had learned to love devotedly. Mrs. Mowbray was arranging some of the displaced books in the bookcases, and spoke with only a fleeting glance at the person approaching her, to see who it was.
“May I speak to you, madame?”
“Yes–speak. What is it?”
“I do not know how to say what I want to say.”
“Straight out, my child. Straight out is best. What is the matter?”
“Nothing, with me, madame. But–if it would not give too much trouble–I thought I would like it very much if I could be put in another room.”
“Sleeping room?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Why?”–Mrs. Mowbray’s quick hands were busy all the while she was talking; putting up and pulling down. Rotha hesitated.
“Madame, before I answer I should like to ask another question. What ought I to do if I see something done which you have forbidden?”
A quick sharp glance came her way now.
“What have you seen?”
“That is just what I do not know whether I ought to tell you. I thought, perhaps it would be the best way for me to go where I could not see it.”
“Why?” said Mrs. Mowbray dryly.
“Then I should not be sharing the wrong. I suppose, more than that is not my affair. I am afraid it would be troublesome to move me.”
“Any change is troublesome in a house like this,” the lady answered; and Rotha stood still, not knowing how to go on. Mrs. Mowbray stepped up on the library steps to arrange some books on the upper shelves; and till she came down she did not speak again.
“You are quite right to mention no names and give no stories,” she said then. “I always doubt an informer. And you are quite right also in refusing to countenance what is wrong. I will give you another room, my dear.” She took Rotha in her arms and kissed her repeatedly. “Have I found a friend?” she said.
“You, madame?” said Rotha. “I cannot do anything for _you;_ but you have done everything for me.”
“You can give me love and truth that is all we any of us can give to one another, isn’t it? The ways of shewing may be different.–Where are you going to spend the holidays?” she said with a change of tone.
“I don’t know, madame. I have not thought about it.”