[CHAPTER VI.]
EMILY'S good resolution lasted at least a week after school commenced. It opened on Wednesday, and Delia did not return till the following Monday, so that she had her room to herself for that time. She had succeeded in lulling her conscience into a certain degree of quietness, and the exact performance of the routine of religious observances which she had imposed upon herself, gave her a feeling of self-righteousness, so that she found herself, upon the whole, more comfortable than she had been for a long time back. Still there was all the time, at the bottom of her heart, an uneasy consciousness that all was not as it should be.
Her lesson upon Sunday was thoroughly learned and well recited, which was not the case generally in the class, and Emily rather expected some particular commendation, but Mr. Fletcher only said, "Very well, Emily," and she could not help thinking that his tone and manner were both sad and severe.
"If he knows anything about the matter, why don't he tell of it and have done?" she thought, rather impatiently. "I believe I should be almost glad to have it come out by accident. Almost anything would be better than to have it hanging over one's head forever."
Several of the girls noticed how serious Emily seemed, and, after they returned to their rooms, one of them remarked upon it, adding, "I wonder how long it will last?"
"Till Delia Mason comes back, and no longer," said Bella Faushane. "Delia can twist Emily round her finger, and she does it too."
"Perhaps Emily may have more stability about her than you think," remarked Lucy, who had always a kind word for every one. "She is very persevering about some things."
"That is true," said Bella, "and I may do her injustice; but I have noticed that there is nothing Emily dreads so much as ridicule. The mere making a little blunder in class, if it is noticed, seems to render her miserable for all day. I do not believe she will have the courage to say her prayers once if Delia laughs at her, and laugh at her she will, unless I am very much mistaken. Now here is Annette, who was afraid to go down the other night, lest Mr. Hugo should ask her a question in French, and who cries if she happens to make a mistake in repeating her text at the table. Yet, if it were a case of conscience, I believe she would be no more afraid of the den of lions than Daniel himself."
"Oh, well! That is different," said Annette. "Saying one's prayers is a thing one ought to do, and so one has to do it, whether one is afraid or not."
"A grand sentiment, awkwardly expressed, my dear child, as Mr. Fletcher would remark," said Bella, who was very fond of Annette, though she laughed, as all the girls did, at her simplicity. "But, tell me, Annette, is it not also a duty to improve in French, so long as our parents send us here especially for that purpose?"