may I see her first?" she gasped.

"Yes; I will try and promise you that. Now, will you go to your room? I
must speak to Miss Drummond alone; she is a far worse culprit than you."

Mr. Everard opened the door for Hester, who went silently out.

"Meet me in the chapel to-night," he whispered low in her ear, "I will
talk with you and pray with you there."

He closed the door, and came back to Susan.

All throughout this interview his manner had been very gentle to Hester:
but the clergyman could be stern, and there was a gleam of very righteous
anger in his eyes as he turned to the sullen girl who leaned heavily
against the table.

"This narrative of Hester Thornton's is, of course, quite true, Miss
Drummond?"

"Oh, yes; there seems to be no use in denying that," said Susan.

"I must insist on your telling me the exact story of your sin. There is
no use in your attempting to deny anything; only the utmost candor on
your part can now save you from being publicly expelled."

"I am willing to tell," answered Susan. "I meant no harm; it was done as
a bit of fun. I had a cousin at home who was very clever at drawing
caricatures, and I happened to have nothing to do one day, and I was
alone in Annie's bedroom, and I thought I'd like to see what she kept in
her desk. I always had a fancy for collecting odd keys, and I found one
on my bunch which fitted her desk exactly. I opened it, and I found such
a smart little caricature of Mrs. Willis. I sent the caricature to my
cousin, and begged of her to make an exact copy of it. She did so, and I
put Annie's back in her desk, and pasted the other into Cecil's book. I
didn't like Dora Russell, and I wrapped up the sweeties in her theme; but
I did the other for pure fun, for I knew Cecil would be so shocked; but I
never guessed the blame would fall on Annie. When I found it did, I felt
inclined to tell once or twice, but it seemed too much trouble and,
besides, I knew Mrs. Willis would punish me, and, of course, I didn't
wish that.

"Dora Russell was always very nasty to me, and when I found she was
putting on such airs, and pretending she could write such a grand essay
for the prize, I thought I'd take down her pride a bit. I went to her
desk, and I got some of the rough copy of the thing she was calling 'The
River,' and I sent it off to my cousin, and my cousin made up such a
ridiculous paper, and she hit off Dora's writing to the life, and, of
course, I had to put it into D