“Please—please, Aunt Jessie, don’t say anything about it. I will make it up with Nan, and I promise never to be so nasty again. You cannot speak to her, you know, for you happened to overhear us; and it would not be fair, would it?”
“No; perhaps not,” said Mrs. Richmond a little doubtfully. “Well, my dear, I don’t want to be hard on you, and you know I have always loved you very much.”
“And I am away from my parents, too,” said Augusta, eager to take advantage of Mrs. Richmond’s softening mood. “And I am really awfully sorry that I lost my temper that time. I will go this very minute to Nan and make it up with her. You won’t speak to her about it, will you, Aunt Jessie?”
“I suppose not; but I hope very much that I am doing right.”
“Why, Aunt Jessie, you have never found me out in any meanness yet, have you? Why should you doubt me now?”
“I will try not to doubt you, dear. I will try to believe in you. Only, one thing, Augusta, your unkindness to Nan will have at least to undergo this punishment—you will receive a bad mark in the orderly-book for your conduct tonight.”
Now, up to the present Augusta’s marks in the orderly-book had been good, and she had done her utmost to fulfil the letter at least of Captain Richmond’s conditions. She had abstained from rudeness or roughness in her manner. She had—to the Richmond girls at least—been good-natured. Her private cruelties and unkindnesses to Nancy were not known to the rest of the party. Nancy herself never told. Augusta had therefore received good marks for conduct as well as for general intelligence and physical discipline. Her great hope was that Captain Richmond would bestow upon her what he called the Victoria Cross of his scheme; for after having received so valuable a proof of her excellent conduct, her father and mother would be abundantly satisfied, and would send her, on their return, to the longed-for school in Paris. But a bad mark for conduct just the day before the Captain’s return would seriously interfere with Augusta’s schemes. She walked down the shrubbery in deep thought and very much disturbed in her mind. Through the shrubbery there was a winding and very pretty path straight to the seashore. On the shore the Richmonds had arranged a tent. The tent was placed above high-water mark, and it was not only used for bathing purposes, but was also a favourite resort of the children’s for all kinds of picnics and pleasure expeditions. They used to sit there with their work and storybooks. They often brought their tea there. It was their favourite place of retirement, too, be the weather wet or fine. Augusta now approached the tent, wondering if Nancy were there. Nan had withdrawn far back into its darkest corner; she was not reading, although a story-book lay at her side. She had evidently been crying very bitterly, for her face was disfigured and her eyes swollen. Augusta looked at her with great dislike; then it occurred to her that Nancy might be very useful to her, and in short that there was no use in making her unhappy. She sank down on a cushion near the little girl’s side, and said in a voice which she tried to make very sad and sympathetic:
“I am awfully angry with myself, Nancy. I know I ought not to have spoken to you as I did. I hope you will forgive me and let bygones be bygones.”
Nancy was naturally of a forgiving temperament; she looked up at Augusta now, and said in a low tone:
“Why do you say such dreadful things to me? Why must I keep my conscience burdened because of you?”