Jane Faithful, aided by her staff of teachers, did her best, and sweeter, brighter girls than Margaret Devereux and Evelyn Ross it would be difficult to find. They were neither of them exactly beautiful, but there was a wonderful look of strength about them, like those who have met Apollyon in the Valley of the Shadow—and have come out on the other side. All the other girls were of varied intensity of character.
The remarkable thing about all these girls was that they had characters, that there was nothing small about them. It was impossible to reach the Halls of Faith, Hope, and Joy without having passed through Conflict. This expression is seldom seen on a young face, but when it is there, it has a specially ennobling effect.
Mrs. Faithful thought that a great deal might be done for Maureen by means of Margaret and Evelyn, but she wanted all her band of bright girls, all those who had passed through the Valley, to be kind and interested in the newcomer. She therefore spoke about her very simply.
"I have a few words to say to you, girls," began the headmistress. They were all in white on this summer morning, and as they were just preparing to go into the large schoolroom to begin their accustomed work, they paused and turned in some astonishment. Margaret, in especial, clasped the hand of Evelyn Ross and squeezed it.
Now Evelyn and Margaret four years ago used to be the direst foes. They were members of one household, but they could not live happily together or with anyone else; hence the chief reason for their arrival at Felicity.
"My dears," said Mrs. Faithful, who observed this affectionate clasp, "I have some pleasant news for you all. I am expecting almost immediately a young visitor. She is, I believe, fifteen years of age, but although tall looks much younger than her years. I have heard of her, but have not seen her. She will not be a pupil unless indeed she wishes to join any special class. She will sleep in the Chamber of Peace, and I want you, Margaret, and you, Evelyn, as my head girls, to take special care of her, and to do all in your power to make her happy. She has, I believe, a specially fine character which may be partly accounted for by her birth, for she belongs to mixed races, being French on her mother's side and Irish on her father's. Her name is Maureen, her surname is O'Brien. Maureen, as perhaps you know, is the Irish for Mary. She is greatly beloved by her uncle, and as far as I can tell by most of those who know her. There is, however, an exception, and I want you, Margaret, and you, Evelyn, to guard Maureen O'Brien against that exception. You have not yet been introduced to Henrietta Mostyn. Alas, alas! poor girl! It will, I greatly fear, be some time before you make her acquaintance. She has lived in the same house with Maureen, and cordially hates her—I fear because she is good. How you know what an awful thing hatred is. We have banished it, I hope, from the greater part of Felicity."
"We have—we have," said Margaret and Evelyn.
"I therefore ask you, my dear children," continued the headmistress, "to be particularly good to Maureen O'Brien. She comes of a noble stock. I wish you could have seen her father, Major O'Brien. He belonged indeed to those gifted ones whom the Lord has blessed. He was a soldier in the truest sense of the word. He died from the effects of a wound in battle, when Maureen was a very little child. Her mother had died before him. Major O'Brien died in saving a fellow-soldier who was in desperate straits. He dragged him away from the range of the enemies' guns. For this splendid action he got his V. C., and, although he died of his wounds later on, he truly died covered with glory. Now, my children, will you help me with regard to Maureen if she requires your help?"
"We will—we will!" said one and all.