CHAPTER XXVI THE CLEW TO THE MYSTERY
Sunday can be the most delightful or the most wretched day in the world. When the heart is at peace, when the sun shines brightly, and things are going well, how sweet are the golden hours; how joyful and tuneful does the church bell sound; how soothing and stimulating to the highest part of our nature are the hymns and the church services! There is rest all round, and we feel it through and through our natures.
But there are other Sundays, again, which are just as miserable. There is the terrible ache in the heart; there is gloom over everything, and the cessation of customary occupations but increases this tenfold.
Christian, although a comparative stranger in the school, was now the one object of interest. She was thought of so much that there was little or no time to remember anybody else, and but for Star both Susan and Maud would have been allowed to have been as miserable and as naughty as they liked without anyone remarking them.
But Star, as she expressed it afterwards, felt almost vindictive that day. All that had gone before, and the wretched consequence of her own act of folly and unkindness in believing that Christian was guilty of the most disgraceful conduct, now caused her sensitive conscience to accuse her loudly. The best way to relieve herself was to put Christian right. She could only do this by forcing Susan and also Maud to confess. Star knew very well that a special and very daring rebellion was to take place in the front attic on the following Wednesday. Its nature she had not the slightest idea of. She herself, as she said, would no longer be a Penwernian. She would not attend the secret meeting. But that did not prevent her from being intensely unhappy about it. It was on account of that that Christian had broken the rules. Christian had been sent to Tregellick and had spent her money at Dawson's shop, and she had brought in food, and paid a bill there. Susan and Maud and Mary Hillary and Janet Bouverie had incited her to this act of rebellion. They were the real culprits; Christian was little more than a tool. Ill as Christian now was the conspiracy had not ceased to exist. There was no doubt whatever on that point. Star did not intend to make any more fuss—she was too broken-down for that—only she saw Maud with her own eyes knock down the prayer-book in church. It had not been done by accident; Star's quick eyes had detected Maud in the act. The prayer-book had been deliberately dropped on the floor. This aroused the little girl's suspicions. She saw Maud stoop down, and she herself was obliged to leave the pew. She looked back. Maud had risen, and she was bending towards a vulgar, showy-looking girl, in the pew just in front of her, the very name of whom Star did not know; and she gave the girl something—something in the nature of a letter. There was no doubt of it.
"It is the clew to the mystery," thought Star. "Now I will be firm. Now I intend to be what they call cruel. It is the clew to the mystery. I will find out. Christian lies at death's door; she is dependent, perhaps, on me to save her life."
After dinner Star sped very quickly upstairs. She went on tiptoe. When she reached the neighborhood of the White Corridor she took off her shoes. Then she glided along towards the door of the sickroom. It was very slightly ajar. Star peeped in. It so happened that Miss Peacock, who had been up all night, and was now worn out with anxiety, lay sound asleep in the arm-chair by the fire. Jessie was downstairs having her dinner. Neither was the nurse present. Star could look in at Christian. And it so happened that Christian looked back at Star; and although her face was white as death, and there were startling great shadows under her eyes, and although that same little face was not only white but strangely pinched, she recognized Star, and it seemed to Star that her eyes brightened and her lips moved in a sort of voiceless appeal.
This was enough for the little girl. Silently, without making the least vestige of noise, she glided across the floor and up to the sick girl's bed.