The Children of Wilton Chase

by L. T. Meade

Susy was an only child, and her mother, who had once been a lady's-maid, always dressed her neatly and with taste. Susy spoke with a more refined accent than most children of her class; her dress, too, was better than theirs; she thought a very little would make her what she most desired to be, a lady. And when Ermengarde began to take notice of her, she felt that her ambition was all but fulfilled.

Ermie had often met Susy in the grounds, and, attracted by her beautiful little face, had talked to her, and filled the poor child with conceit. Mr. Wilton had once seen Ermengarde and Susy chatting in a very confidential manner together. He at once separated the children, told Ermie she was not to make a friend of Susan Collins, and told Susan Collins that she was to mind her place, and go back to her mother. These instructions he further reiterated to Miss Nelson and to Susan's father. The children were forbidden to speak, and Ermengarde, proud, rebellious, without any real sense of right or honor, instantly contrived to evade her father's commands, and saw more of Susy than ever.

Not until to-day, however, had Susan Collins been inside Wilton Chase. Over and over she had longed to see the interior of what her mother was pleased to call the 'noble pile.' But not until to-day had this longing been gratified. In a most unexpected way she at last found herself at the Chase. She had enjoyed a good dinner there. That dinner had been followed by nearly an hour of great misery and terror. Still, she had been there, and she reflected with pride that, in consequence, she could now hold up her head higher than ever.

She was certainly not in a hurry to go away. Miss Nelson's room seemed a magnificent apartment to Susy. She was sure no one could come into it at present, and she walked round and round it now, examining its many treasures with a critical and somewhat envious spirit.

Once again, in the course of her wanderings, she came opposite the picture of the old-fashioned child—the child whose hair was curled in primitive and stiff ringlets, whose blue eyes looked out at the world with a somewhat meaningless stare, and whose impossible and rosy lips were pursed up in an inane smile.

Susy gazed long at this old-world portrait. It was set in a deep frame of blue enamel, and inside the frame was a gold rim. Susy said to herself that the picture, old-fashioned though it was, had a very genteel appearance. Then she began to fancy that the blue eyes and the lips of the child resembled her own. She pursed up her cherub mouth in imitation of the old-world lady. She smiled into the pictured eyes of the child of long ago.

In short Susy became fascinated by the miniature; she longed to possess it. With the longing came the temptation. Why should she not take it? The theft, if it could be called by such an ugly name, could never be traced to her. Not a soul in the place would ever know that she had been shut up in Miss Nelson's room. Only Ermengarde would know, and Ermie would not dare to tell.

Susy looked and longed and coveted. She thought of the pleasure this picture would give her in her own little attic-room at home. How she would gaze at it, and compare her face with the face of the old-fashioned child. Susy hated Miss Nelson, and if that good lady valued the picture, she would be only the more anxious to deprive her of it.

Miss Nelson had often and often snubbed Susy; she had also been cruel to Ermengarde. Susy could avenge Ermie as well as herself, if she took away the miniature.

Susan was not the child long to withstand any sudden keen desire. She stretched up her hand, lifted the little miniature from its hook on the wall, and slipped it into the pocket of her pink frock.