The day after the escapade was the worst one that Peggy Montfort had ever known. She was too strong and healthy to lie awake all night, though it was much later than usual before she ceased to toss in uneasy wretchedness and lay peacefully sleeping. When morning came, she woke, and for a moment greeted the bright day joyfully. Then remembrance came like a hand at her throat, and she shivered, and all the blue seemed to fade away, and leave nothing but cold, miserable gray over all the world. What had she done? What would Uncle John and Margaret, what would Brother Hugh think, if they should know this? Slowly and heavily she dressed and went down to breakfast. There, it seemed as if everybody knew what she had done. Miss Russell's eyes rested thoughtfully on her as she bade her good morning; Peggy shrank away, and could not meet the gaze. If she did not know now, she would soon. "An honest, steady, sensible girl!" Well, Miss Russell would find she had been mistaken, that was all; and of course she would never trust again where she had once been deceived. And yet Peggy knew in her heart that there was no girl in the school who was so little likely to do this thing again as herself. She was by nature, as I have said, a law-abiding creature, with a natural reverence for authority. To have set the law at defiance was bad enough; to have done it secretly, and betrayed the trust that had been placed in her, that was worse! That was beyond possibility of pardon. Thus argued Peggy in her wretchedness; and all through the morning she went over it again and again, and yet again, seeing no help or comfort anywhere. Bertha Haughton, always quick in sympathy, saw the trouble in her friend's face, and came over in "gym" and begged to know what was the matter. Wasn't Peggy well? Had anything happened to trouble her? Peggy shook her head; she could not tell even this good friend—yet. There was some one else who must be told first. She promised to come to the Owls' Nest later in the day, and Bertha was forced to be content with this, and left her with a vague sense of uneasiness and a feeling that somehow little Peggy had grown suddenly older and more mature. Yes, there is nothing like trouble for that!
It was almost a relief when the summons came.
"Miss Montfort, Miss Russell would like to see you in the study."
Peggy steadied herself for the encounter, and went quietly. If only she could be met with a cold look, it would be easier, somehow—but no! the Principal's gray eyes were as kind as ever, her smile as gravely sweet, as she said, pleasantly, "Good morning, Miss Montfort. Good afternoon, I should say; I forgot how late it was. Sit down for a moment, will you? I want to ask you about something."
Peggy did not want to sit down. She wanted to stand still and go through with it, and then get away to her own room. But there was no disregarding the request, so she sat down on the edge of a chair and set her teeth.
"I hardly know where to begin!" said Miss Russell. "I am going to take you into my confidence—Peggy."
Peggy shivered a little, but said nothing, only set her teeth harder.
"There has been a good deal of trouble," Miss Russell went on, "a good deal of trouble in former years with the room which you now occupy. The girl who occupied it was—was wild and undisciplined, and took pleasure in breaking bounds, and in inducing others to do so. She—there were a number of girls who used to go out without leave, by way of the fire-escape outside the window."
She paused a moment, and looked at Peggy, but Peggy made no sign.
"That girl—left the school last year, not to return; but there are several still here who used to share in those wild pranks (undertaken in mere thoughtlessness, I am glad to think, and not with any evil intent), and I have been afraid—in fact, it has come to my ears, that the room was again being used for the same purpose."