Girls of the Forest

by L. T. Meade

As she lay with her eyes wide open it seemed to her that she was looking at the sea. It seemed to her, too, that she really did hear the murmur of the waves. The waves came close, and each wave as it pressed nearer and nearer to the excited child repeated the old cry: “Wash and be clean.”

“Oh, if only I could get to the sea!” was her thought. She pressed her hand to that part of her forehead which felt numb and strange. All of a sudden the numbness and strangeness seemed to depart. She saw one vivid picture after another, and each picture revealed to her the sin which she had sinned and the wrong she had committed. At last she saw that fearful picture when she stood with her little sister in the White Bay, and the waves had so nearly drowned them. She sat up in bed. The idea of going straight to Aunt Sophia and of telling her everything did not occur to her. She wanted to get back to the sea. How could she manage this? She was not in the least afraid of Aunt Sophy; she was only afraid of the God whom she had offended. She got up, pushed back her black hair, tied it neatly behind her ears, and taking her little sailor-hat and her dark-blue serge jacket, she put them on. She would go back to the sea. She did not know exactly how she could manage it, but somehow she would. When she was dressed she opened a drawer. She must have money. Aunt Sophia was liberal in the matter of pocket-money, but Pauline was careless and spent hers as she got it. All she possessed now was a shilling. She put the shilling into her pocket. Turning round, she saw the flash of the gold thimble as it rested on the mantelpiece. She slipped that also into her pocket. She then opened the window, and, as she had done on a previous night long ago, she got out and let herself down to the ground. She was now out all alone about midnight. Once again the numb feeling had come back to her; nevertheless her mind was made up. She would at any cost get back to the sea.

She walked across the grass. By-and-by she found herself at the wicket-gate. When she reached the gate she had a sudden overwhelming memory of Nancy King. During the last few weeks she had forgotten Nancy. Now she thought of her. Standing with one hand on the post of the wicket-gate, she reflected on an idea which presented itself to her. If she, Pauline, was wicked—if she had been a naughty girl from the first—surely Nancy was worse! If it was necessary for Pauline to wash and be clean, it was still more necessary for Nancy. Together they could visit the seaside; together lave themselves in the waves; together reach that beautiful state where sin did not trouble.

Pauline smiled to herself. She walked through the Forest in the dead of night, and presently reached Nancy’s home. Now, it would have been a very bad thing for Pauline, as it had very nearly been a bad thing for Penelope some weeks ago, had Lurcher been out. But Lurcher was ill, and had been sent to a neighboring vet.’s. And it also happened—just, as it were, in the nick of time—that Farmer King was returning very late from visiting a neighboring fair. He had been kept by a friend until past midnight, and had driven home through the woods. As Pauline got to the gate the farmer drew up his mare within a few feet of the tired girl. He saw a girl standing by the gate, and could not make out who she was or what she was doing. He said gruffly:

“You get out of this. What are you doing here at this time of night?”

Then Pauline raised a white face. He recognized the face, gave a smothered, hasty exclamation, sprang to the ground, flung the reins over the neck of the mare, and came towards the girl.

“Miss Pauline,” he said, “what in the name of all that is wonderful are you doing here at this hour?”

Pauline looked full up at him.

“You said you would help me. You said you would if ever the time came. I want to be helped—oh, so badly!—and I have come.”

“Because I said that?” exclaimed the farmer, his face flushing all over with intense gratification. “Then you be certain of one thing, my dear—sure and positive certain—that when Farmer King says a thing he will do it. You come straight in with me, missy—straight in with me this blessed minute.”