“Long Jake’s there!—oh, mother, did you know he was coming?—and the rector’s there, too; he was here when we came; and I believe the old man’s going to die!”
Here was a very different kettle of fish from that which Mrs. Fleming had expected to find! Meanwhile, also, she thought, where was Sybil? But she decided that the first thing to do under the circumstances was to help to restore Margot’s self-control.
“Well, Long Jake has turned up in the nick of time, has he?” she said. “I knew he wanted to surprise you by coming down for your match this afternoon; but I thought his business had prevented. He’s been in London a week, you know. Now, Margot, this isn’t like you. Be sensible; you and I both know that we can leave Long Jake to do the very best thing in any kind of difficulty. Is there a chair where I can sit down? This place is so dark. Now tell me all about it, from the beginning, and presently I’ll go in.”
CHAPTER XVIII
MARGOT’S STORY
MARGOT was seated on the edge of her bed in the dormitory, no single item of the magnificent feast then in progress so much in demand as was the story which she was engaged in telling; her hearers sat transfixed, listening open-eyed, while dainties of the most delicate description were held motionless and forgotten half-way to their lips.
“And you met Long Jake!” broke in Josy, in amazed and envious tones. “Why, it sounds as though you’re making the whole thing up! How I wish I could have seen him! But what a wonderful thing! Oh, do go on! Don’t take any notice of me if I interrupt.”
“We went to the ‘Little House’ and knocked, and I could plainly hear voices inside. Of course, I thought it was Sybil. Yes, we’d left the rector’s pony tethered up. Wasn’t it awful about his knees—I told you, didn’t I? Then, after Long Jake had knocked again most awfully loud, the door was opened, and there stood the rector!”
“But how?” interrupted Gretta. “I thought Stella said he was away.”
“For a week he was; but he’d come back that afternoon; and when the curate told him about the old man, and how he’d spoken to Stella on the moor that day, you know, and how he’d said something about a ‘confession,’ he just came off straight to see him on his way to the parish-room, where he had some business or other.”
“Well?” inquired her hearers, each taking advantage of the moment in which Margot paused for breath to pop a dainty into her receptive mouth.