Hester Thornton also, but in a very different spirit, was working hard at her essay. Hester worked conscientiously; she had chosen “Marie Antoinette” as her theme, and she read the sorrowful story of the beautiful queen with intense interest, and tried hard to get herself into the spirit of the times about which she must write. She had scarcely begun her essay yet, but she had already collected most of the historical facts.
Hester was a very careful little student, and as she prepared herself for the great work. She thought little or nothing about the prize; she only wanted to do justice to the unfortunate Queen of France. She was in bed that night, and just dropping off to sleep, when she suddenly remembered that she had left a volume of French poetry on her school-desk. This was against the rules, and she knew that Miss Danesbury would confiscate the book in the morning, and would not let her have it back for a week. Hester particularly wanted this special book just now, as some of the verses bore reference to her subject, and she could scarcely get on with her essay without having it to refer to She must lose no time in instantly beginning to write her essay, and to do without her book of poetry for a week would be a serious injury to her.
She resolved, therefore, to break through one of the rules, and, after lying awake until the whole house was quiet, to slip downstairs, enter the school-room and secure her poems. She heard the clock strike eleven, and she knew that in a very few moments Miss Danesbury and Miss Good would have retired to their rooms. Ah, yes, that was Miss Danesbury’s step passing her door. Ten minutes later she glided out of bed, slipped on her dressing-gown, and opening her door, ran swiftly down the carpetless stairs, and found herself in the great stone hall which led to the school-room.
She was surprised to find the school-room door a little ajar, but she entered the room without hesitation, and, dark as it was, soon found her desk, and the book of poems lying on the top. Hester was about to return when she was startled by a little noise in that portion of the room where the first-class girls sat. The next moment somebody came heavily and rather clumsily down the room, and the moon which was just beginning to rise fell for an instant on a girl’s face. Hester recognised the face of Susan Drummond. What could she be doing here? She did not dare to speak, for she herself had broken a rule in visiting the school-room. She remained, therefore, perfectly still until Susan’s steps died away, and then, thankful to have secured her own property, returned to her bedroom, and a moment or two later was sound asleep.
Chapter Thirty.
“A Muddy Stream.”
In the morning Dora Russell sat down as usual before her orderly and neatly-kept desk. She raised the lid to find everything in its place—her books and exercises all as they should be, and her pet essay in a neat brown-paper cover, lying just as she had left it the night before. She was really getting quite excited about her river, and as this was a half-holiday, she determined to have a good work at it in the afternoon. She was beginning also to experience that longing for an auditor which occasionally is known to trouble the breasts of genius. She felt that those graceful ideas, that elegant language, those measured periods, might strike happily on some other ears before they were read aloud as the great work of the Midsummer holidays.
She knew that Hester Thornton was making what she was pleased to term a poor little attempt at trying for the same prize. Hester would scarcely venture to copy anything from Dora’s essay; she would probably be discouraged, poor girl, in working any longer at her own composition; but Dora felt that the temptation to read “The River,” as far as it had gone, to Hester was really too great to be resisted. Accordingly, after dinner she graciously invited Hester to accompany her to a bower in the garden, where the two friends might revel over the results of Dora’s extraordinary talents.