"And what was her name?" asked Miss Peacock.
"Susan Marsh. She was asking Susan Marsh to do something, and Susan was refusing. She also mentioned Miss Lestrange."
"Then, doctor, if it is really your opinion that Christian Mitford is suffering from shock, what steps do you propose to take to relieve her mind?"
"If she has anything on her mind, Miss Peacock, the sooner she unburdens herself the better."
"I will do what I can, doctor. I am glad you have told me. Steps must certainly be instituted at once to relieve the poor child."
The doctor went away, promising to send certain medicines and to return again in the evening, or sooner if it were necessary.
He had scarcely left the house before the great gong in the central hall rang for prayers, and Miss Peacock a few minutes afterwards entered. All the girls were present, and also all the teachers, with the exception of little Jessie and Christian Mitford. Miss Peacock read a portion of the Bible, then uttered the usual prayer; and when the service was over as the girls were about to scatter to their different classrooms, she raised her hand.
"I have something to say," was her remark—"something which gives me a great deal of pain. As it concerns the entire school, I had better speak of it before the assembled school. Servants, you may leave the room; girls and teachers, please remain."
The servants filed out in their accustomed orderly manner. The door was closed behind them; the girls drew together in a group, and the teachers stood a little way off. Miss Peacock looked steadily at the assembled girls; she scarcely glanced at the teachers. Well she knew that the mischief, if mischief there were, was to be found in that group of bright-looking girls.
"I have always been very proud of my school," she began. "I have kept school here now for many years. I have been particular as to the sort of girls whom I have admitted to Penwerne Manor. No girl could ever come to this school without having a reference from the parents of a former pupil. By this means I have insured having in my midst girls of unimpeachable character, girls to whom the greater sins would at least be unknown. In all lives, my dear girls, there must come temptation; and such wrong-doing as worldliness, thoughtlessness, bad temper, and jealousies will disfigure and mar the peace of all communities. This must be the case as long as human nature is human nature. But there are other sins, which I have been proud—yes, proud—to think that my girls who live at Penwerne Manor would never commit. One of these sins is the sin of cruelty."