They reached the station in good time, and punctually to the minute the lights of the London express were seen in the distance. The train drew up, and among the few passengers who alighted the figure of Peggy, in her scarlet trimmed hat, was easily distinguished. She was assisted out of the carriage by an elderly gentleman, in a big travelling coat, who stood by her side as she looked about for her friends. As Mr. Asplin and Arthur approached, they only heard his hearty, “Now you are all right!” and Peggy’s elegant rejoinder, “Exceedingly indebted to you for all your kindness!” Then he stepped back into the carriage, and she came forward to meet them, half shy, half smiling, “I—I am afraid that you——”
“We will defer explanations, Mariquita, if you please, until we reach home. A fly is waiting. We will return as quickly as possible,” said the Vicar frigidly, and the brother and sister lagged behind as he led the way out of the station, gesticulating and whispering together in furtive fashion.
“Oh, you Peggy! Now you have done it! No end of a row!”
“Couldn’t help it! So sorry. Had to go. Stick to me, Arthur, whatever you do!”
“Like a leech! We’ll worry through somehow. Never say die!” Then the fly was reached, and they jolted home in silence.
Mrs. Asplin and the four young folks were sitting waiting in the drawing-room, and each one turned an eager, excited face towards the doorway as Peggy entered, her cheeks white, but with shining eyes, and hair ruffled into little ends beneath the scarlet cap. Mrs. Asplin would have rushed forward in welcome, but a look in her husband’s face restrained her, and there was a deathlike silence in the room as he took up his position by the mantelpiece.
“Mariquita,” he said slowly, “you have caused us to-night some hours of the most acute and painful anxiety which we have ever experienced. You disappeared suddenly from among us, and until ten o’clock, when your telegram arrived, we had not the faintest notion as to where you could be. The most tragic suspicions came to our minds. We have spent the evening in rushing to and fro, searching and inquiring in all directions. Mrs. Asplin has had a shock from which, I fear, she will be some time in recovering. Your brother’s pleasure in his visit has been spoiled. We await your explanation. I am at a loss to imagine any reason sufficiently good to excuse such behaviour; but I will say no more until I have heard what you have to say.”
Peggy stood like a prisoner at the bar, with hanging head and hands clasped together. As the Vicar spoke of his wife, she darted a look at Mrs. Asplin, and a quiver of emotion passed over her face. When he had finished she drew a deep breath, raised her head and looked him full in the face with her bright, earnest eyes.
“I am sorry,” she said slowly. “I can’t tell you in words how sorry I am. I know it will be difficult, but I hope you will forgive me. I was thinking what I had better do while I was coming back in the train, and I decided that I ought to tell you everything, even though it is supposed to be a secret. Robert will forgive me, and it is Robert’s secret as much as mine. I’ll begin at the beginning. About five weeks ago Robert saw an advertisement of a prize that was offered by a magazine. You had to make up a calendar with quotations for every day in the year, and the person who sent in the best selection would get thirty pounds. Rob wanted the money very badly to buy a microscope, and he asked me to help him. I was to have ten pounds for myself if we won, but I didn’t care about that. I just wanted to help Rob. I said I would take the money, because I knew if I didn’t he would not let me work so hard, and I thought I would spend it in buying p—p—presents for you all at Christmas.”—Peggy’s voice faltered at this point, and she gulped nervously several times before she could go on with her story.—“We had to work very hard, because the time was so short. Robert had not seen the advertisement until it had been out some time. I printed the headings on the cards; that is why I sat so much in my own room. The last fortnight I have been writing every morning before six o’clock. Oh, you can’t think how difficult it was to get it finished, but Robert was determined to go on; he thought our chance was very good, because he had found some beautiful extracts, and translated others, and the pages really looked pretty and dainty. The MS. had to be in London this morning; if it missed the post last night all our work would have been wasted, and at the very last Lady Darcy took Rob away with her, and I was left with everything to finish. I may have slept a little bit the last two nights; I did lie down for an hour or two, and I may have had a doze, but I don’t think so! I wrote the last word this morning after the breakfast-bell had rung, and I made up the parcel at twelve o’clock. I thought of going out and posting it then; of course, that is what I should have done, but”—her voice trembled once more—“I was so tired! I thought I would give it to the postman myself, and that would do just as well. I didn’t put it with the letters because I was afraid someone would see the address and ask questions, and Rob had said that I was to keep it a secret until we knew whether we had won. I left the parcel on my table. Then Arthur came! I was so happy—there was so much to talk about—we had tea—it seemed like five minutes. Everyone was amazed when we found it was time to dress, but even then I forgot all about the calendar. I only remembered that Arthur was here, and was going to stay for four days, and all the way upstairs I was saying to myself, ‘I’m happy, I’m happy; oh, I am happy!’ because, you know, though you are so kind, you have so many relations belonging to you whom you love better than me, and my own people are all far away, and sometimes I’ve been very lonely! I thought of nothing but Arthur, and then I opened the door of my room, and there, before my eyes, was the parcel; Rob’s parcel that he had trusted to me—that I had solemnly promised—to post in time——”
She stopped short, and there was a gasp of interest and commiseration among the listeners. Peggy caught it; she glanced sharply at the Vicar’s face, saw its sternness replaced by a momentary softness, and was quick to make the most of her opportunity. Out flew the dramatic little hand, her eyes flashed, her voice thrilled with suppressed excitement.