"We will neither of us reproach the other, Emily. If I have harmed you, you have done as much for me. I believe Lucy Spencer and Mr. Fletcher would have converted me before this time, if your example had not always been before my eyes, to show me how much religious professions are worth. But as I said, reproaches are useless. I have now only to await my fate with as much philosophy as I can."
"Don't give up in despair," said Emily. "I will go out and look as soon as the French class is dismissed, and it is possible after all that I may find it. You need not go."
"Thank you, but there would be more risk than good in doing so. Most likely some one has found it before this time, and the very fact of your being seen searching for any thing will excite suspicion."
"But I really did lose something yesterday, Delia—a lead pencil with an ivory head. If any one asks me a question, I can say I am looking for that."
"Just as you please," was the reply, "but don't accuse me of asking you to tell lies for me. I don't mean to be ungracious, dear, but I am so tired and sick of the whole concern. I shall manage to see Mr. Hugo when class is out, and do you wait for me up here. Heigho! I wish it was over. I know he will be so angry."
As soon as class was over, Delia approached Mr. Hugo with a paper, and requested him to look over and correct a French letter, which she had been writing to a former schoolmate. He took the hint at once, dismissed the other young ladies, and Emily went up to her room to dispose of her books.
She could not help hoping that the worst of her troubles was over. Delia was evidently heartily sick of the part she had been playing and seriously desirous of throwing it up. The loss of the book was unfortunate, but after all her name might not be in it, and then no one need know to whom it had belonged. She put on her bonnet and went down to the garden, which she found quite deserted, for the morning was raw and cold. She was walking slowly along, looking carefully on each side the path, when she almost ran against some one, and looking up, she beheld Mr. Fletcher. She would rather have seen almost any one else.
"What are you searching for, Emily?" said he, rather sternly.
"For my pencil, sir," replied Emily, quietly, for she had, as Delia remarked, made great progress in the art of lying. "I think I dropped it here, yesterday, when I was walking and here it is, sure enough," she added, stooping down and picking it up. "It lies between the stones as nicely as if it had been put there for safe keeping."
She turned to go into the house, but Mr. Fletcher detained her.