Chapter VII: A State of "dreadfulness."

Miss Noakes had not heard us, but our troubles were not over.

It was not until I had helped Adelaide to retire (for her poor hands were too badly burned to put up her own hair), and had gone away into my own room that I realized that Winnie was not with us and that she had been left behind in the stampede up the turret stairs. I crept around through the corridor into the darkened studio. Professor Waite and his friend had gone, why had not Winnie returned? I opened the door leading to the turret and called her name softly. I was answered by a groan. I hastened to light a candle and stole down the winding stair. Half way down I found Winnie sitting on the steps, a bundle of misery.

"I came up once," she exclaimed, "but Professor Waite was in the studio and I had to go back to the closet and wait until he left the house."

"It must have been very chilly and unpleasant with nothing but a watering can and a lawn mower to sit on," I remarked; "but why didn't you come all the way up this time. You surely don't intend to spend the night where you are."

"I don't know," Winnie replied, with another groan; "I've sprained my ankle or something, and I can't bear my weight on it. It was all that I could do to drag myself up and back again, and then as far as this. Ow! how it hurts! No, I just cannot take another step."

"Dear! dear!" I exclaimed; "what a night this has been! With Milly's narrow escape from death, and Adelaide's burned hands, and your sprained ankle, we have had enough Halloween for one year."

"What do you mean?" Winnie asked, in her absorption taking several little hops up the stairs. "Milly's escape? What has happened? Ow! wow! You'll have to get a derrick, Tib, and hoist me up. I cannot budge an inch."

"Lean on me," I said, "and listen while I tell you all about it"; and I rehearsed the thrilling story of Professor Waite's rescue.

"I can smell the smoke still. Snooks will think the house is on fire," Winnie declared, snuffing vigorously as we reached the studio. "You had better open the windows a bit and air off. And there are some burned scraps of Milly's wrapper on the floor; let's pick them all up. Ow! don't let go of me. This is really what Milly calls a state of dreadfulness--no other word will describe it. How can I ever stand it until morning?"

I helped her to her bed and bound up her ankle with Pond's Extract; but it had swollen so much and was so painful that when morning came Winnie consented to have the school physician called. He kindly asked no questions, and treated Adelaide's hands, only remarking, "I see you have been celebrating Halloween."

"He thinks I burned them in snatching the raisins out of the lighted alcohol," Adelaide said; "or perhaps in putting out some clothing which was set on fire in that way."

Even Madame was considerate and did not inquire closely into the details of the trouble.

"I hope you have learned from this," she said, "that it is a dangerous thing to play with fire."

Halloween was a disagreeable subject after this to all of us, but especially to Winnie. "Don't mention it," she would say. "I shall never play another trick in all my mortal days. I feel as mean and demoralized as a lunch-basket on its way home from a picnic."

The state of dreadfulness deepened as time went on. Winnie kept her room for days, and it was necessary to feed Adelaide at table, and dress and undress her; but their hurts troubled me less than the heart bruise received by my poor Milly. I kept her secret and she was brave, and no one else suspected it. Professor Waite was very impatient with her, treating her work contemptuously, and disregarding her personally altogether. He never alluded to the accident, treating it, as Winnie said, as of no more consequence than if he had extinguished a bale of cotton that had happened to take fire.

"That man is utterly incapable of sentiment," Winnie remarked wrathfully. "Now how natural it would be to make a romance out of such a rescue, but Professor Waite's heart is as stony as that of the Apollo Belvedere."

Milly smiled piteously and shook her head, while she looked significantly from me toward Adelaide, as much as to say: "We know better; he is not so stony-hearted as he seems."

Having my attention directed to the matter, I kept my eyes open for little indications of the state of Professor Waite's sentiments, and presently found that they were not lacking. The studio was not occupied by classes until after ten o'clock in the morning, and Professor Waite came every day very early, and painted there alone until the first wave of pupils swept in and filled the room with an encampment of easels. He explained to me that he was preparing a picture for the Academy exhibition, the morning light was good, and as his studio in the city was shared with another young artist, he preferred to come here where he could work quietly and undisturbed for a few hours each morning. He always bolted the corridor door to secure complete seclusion, and we had often to wait a few moments until he admitted us. He did not show us the painting, but it was evident that he was deeply interested in it, for he was frequently distraught, and apparently vexed at being obliged to turn his attention to our offences against art, just as he was worked up to a fine phrensy of production. At such times he would run his fingers through his hair, and stare at the work which the first unfortunate pupil presented with a repugnance which was often more clearly than politely expressed. Sometimes his ill humour vented itself on the model. We were in the habit of taking turns and, dressed in some picturesque costume, of posing for the class for a week at a time. After the Halloween experience it happened to be Milly's turn. We had costumed her as an Italian contadina, and thought that she looked very prettily. But Professor Waite was not satisfied.

"Why have you chosen a blonde for such a character?" he asked me impatiently. "That little snub nose and milk-and-water complexion have nothing Italian in their make up. If you could induce that superb creature, Miss Armstrong, to wear the costume, you would see the difference."

Milly had heard the remark though he did not intend she should do so, and her eyes suffused with tears as usual. "I will ask Adelaide," she said meekly, "but I don't believe she will be willing to pose for the class."

"Never mind the class," Professor Waite replied eagerly. "If Miss Armstrong will honor me by giving me personally a few sittings each morning for my Academy picture I shall be more gratified than I can express."

Milly, more than happy to attempt to do the professor a favor, besought Adelaide, who was obdurate and even indignant.

"The very idea!" she exclaimed. "I never heard of such assurance. _I_ figure in his picture at a public exhibition, indeed."

"Why, I am sure it's a great honor," Milly replied, bridling feebly; "and I won't have you treat him in such a _desultory_ manner."

We all laughed, for Milly, as usual when excited, had mixed her words--insulting and derogatory clamoring at the same time in her small mind for utterance.

"I think it would be perfectly scrum to be in an Academy picture," Winnie exclaimed. "I wish he would ask me."

Perfectly "scrum," or "scrumptious," was Winnie's superlative; while Adelaide, to express a similar delight, would have quoted the Anglicism, "Quite too far more than most awfully delicious."

"I wonder what his Academy picture is, anyway," Winnie went on, "and why he never shows it to us. I mean to ask him to let me see it; I am sure I might help him with some suggestions."

"Well you _are_ unassuming," I exclaimed, never dreaming that Winnie, with all her audacity, would dare to criticise a picture by our professor. What was my astonishment, therefore, on awakening the next morning, to find that Winnie was already dressed.

"I am going into the studio," she remarked coolly, "to take a look at Professor Waite's picture before he arrives."

"O Winnie!" I begged, "don't; you've no business to do such a thing." Winnie made a little face, courtesied, and flounced out of the room. She returned presently, all aglow with excitement.

"He was already there at work," she exclaimed, "painting, as the French say, like an _enrage_. He had forgotten to bolt the door and I slipped right in. His back was toward me, and he did not notice me at first, so I had one good solid look. And what do you suppose it is, Tib? Why, Adelaide, holding a candle and glancing over her shoulder as he must have seen her going down the stairs. The Rembrandtesque effect of artificial light and deep shadow is stunning. He has rigged up his lay-figure on the landing in the dark turret, and had a lighted candle wedged into her woodeny fingers, so that he gets the lighting on the face and drapery, while he has daylight on his canvas.

"Of course he has had to do the face from imagination or memory, but it was perfect. I screamed right out: 'Don't touch that again or you'll spoil it!' He turned the canvas back forward quicker than a wink, and looked at me as if he would like to eat me, but I didn't care, and I begged him not to disturb himself or interrupt his work on my account; that I had only dropped in in a friendly way to give him a little helpful criticism. With that he put on his eye-glasses and remarked; 'Well, you _are_ about the coolest young lady that it has ever been my privilege to meet,' but he had to come right down from that nifty position, for I said, 'If my opinions are of no use, perhaps Madame's will be more helpful; shall I ask her to come up and take a look at the picture?' That made him wince. He turned all sorts of colors, chewed his mustache, and hadn't a word to say. I felt sort of sorry for him and I assured him that I had no intention of telling, at least not if he was nice; and I reminded him that he owed the subject to me in the first place, for if I had not suggested the trick he would never have seen Adelaide in that particular lighting. With that he changed his tune and said that he was very grateful for my kind intention, and that if I would kindly lend him a photograph of Adelaide he would be still more grateful. But I told him that I did not think that it was fair to exhibit a portrait of Adelaide, and he admitted that it was not, and said that he had decided not to send the picture to the exhibition, but merely to keep it himself."

Adelaide happened to knock at our door at this juncture, and Winnie told her what she had discovered.

"This is past endurance," Adelaide exclaimed angrily; "you must come with me, Tib, and insist on Professor Waite's showing me this picture. If the face is recognizable as my portrait I shall destroy it then and there."

"Don't, Adelaide," I begged. "Professor Waite is a gentleman; he has already told Winnie that he does not intend to exhibit the picture----"

"But I do not choose that he shall possess it," she cried; "if you will not go with me I shall go alone," and she hurried to the studio door. It was locked, and Professor Waite did not choose to reply to her oft-repeated knocks. He evidently considered Winnie's visit all-sufficient for one morning. Adelaide came back in a towering passion. "If my poor hands would only let me write," she exclaimed, "I would give him such a piece of my mind. Winnie, be my amanuensis. Write what I dictate."

Winnie sat down good-humoredly and dashed off in her large scrawling script, which filled a page with these lines, the following indignant protest:

PROFESSOR WAITE:

I regret that I consider the liberty you have taken in painting
my portrait for the Academy Exhibition, without my knowledge or
consent, a dishonorable act of which no gentleman would be guilty,
and I demand that you destroy it instantly.

ADELAIDE ARMSTRONG.

She was excited and she spoke loudly. When she finished, there was dead silence in the little parlor. We all felt that Adelaide had put it a little too strongly. That silence was broken by a half-suppressed sneeze on the balcony outside the window. A sneeze which we all recognized as belonging to Miss Noakes. Had she been listening? Had she heard? Winnie balanced the ink bottle over the letter ready to obliterate its contents by an "accident" if Miss Noakes suddenly knocked. No one appeared, and going to the window a moment afterward, I saw Miss Noakes walking between her window and ours, and taking in great sniffs of the keen morning air with much apparent enjoyment.

The bell rang for breakfast and Adelaide and I walked along together, pausing to slip the note under the studio door. It would not go quite through, a little end protruding, but that did not strike us as of any consequence. I had descended one flight of stairs when I found that I had forgotten my geometry and I hastened back to get it. I met Winnie before I turned into the corridor. "Hurry," she exclaimed, "Snooks is just leaving her door; she will mark you for tardiness." I flew along at the top of my speed, but on reaching our corridor I saw a sight which suddenly arrested my footsteps. Miss Noakes stood before the studio door, carefully adjusting her eye-glasses and looking at the note; presently she stooped, picked it up, and read the address. She hesitated a moment, seemed half inclined to replace it, turned it over as though she wished to open it, then glancing down the hall and spying me, she placed it in the great leather bag which hung at her side. She closed the bag with a savage click and glared at me as I turned and fled, for I had not the courage to meet her.

I reported the calamity at breakfast table in an awe-stricken whisper to Milly, who turned a trifle pale.

"I am afraid it will get Professor Waite into trouble," she said, "Adelaide is still very angry with him, but I am sure she does not want to make him lose his position in the school."

"It may make her lose her own position," Cynthia Vaughn suggested. "Writing notes to young men is against the rules. It's an expellable offence. But then," she added, "this wasn't exactly a love letter."

"I should think not," I exclaimed.

"It's all the worse," Milly groaned, as she scalded her throat with hot coffee.

"Adelaide can say she didn't write it, you know," Cynthia suggested cheerfully. "Winnie wrote it; and she didn't poke it under the door either--Tib did that."

"Do you suppose, Cynthia Vaughn, that Adelaide would do such a mean thing as not to take the consequences of her own actions?" Milly asked indignantly. Then she clasped my hand, for Miss Noakes stood at Madame's table, and had opened her black bag and was handing Madame the note. We could see even at that distance that the seal was unbroken, but this gave us scant comfort; it was only putting off the evil day.

"Winnie might steal that note for us," Cynthia suggested, "before Madame has a chance to read it."

"Why are you always thinking up scrapes for Winnie to get into?" Milly asked.

Winnie pricked her ears, at the other side of the table. "What about Winnie?" she asked.

"Nothing," Milly replied shortly; but as we went up to the studio a little before ten o'clock, I explained the situation. To my surprise Winnie's eyes danced with merriment. "Snooks listened," she exclaimed, "she heard Adelaide, I knew she did, and now we know how she finds out things that happen in the Amen Corner; often and often I have thought that I heard her, and have opened the door quickly only to find the corridor empty. Of course she is smart enough to know that she would get caught if she listened at the door; she would never in the world have time enough to scuttle down to her own room before we would see her. But the balcony! Strange we never thought of that. I'll lay a trap for her--no, I need not; she has trapped herself; this affair is proof enough that she peeks and listens."

"But I don't see how this helps us," I exclaimed. "This is the worst scrape of the season. Don't you see it is? Such glee on your part is positively idiotic. We may all be expelled and Professor Waite too."

"Fret not your dear little sympathetic, apprehensive gizzard. Don't say one word, except to answer questions. Don't volunteer any confessions, or let Adelaide do so. Remember, the prisoner is not obliged to criminate himself, the burden of proof lies with Snooks, and she will find it a pretty heavy burden."

"Not with that note!" I replied.

"That note! Ha! ha! But I won't tell you. It's too good a joke."

"And Professor Waite's picture of Adelaide?"

"The picture, I had forgotten that," and Winnie became grave at once. "He must take it right away," she added. "I will tell him to."

"You talk as if you could make him do anything," I said.

"Anything I choose to try," Winnie replied confidently. We were at the studio door a little ahead of time, and Professor Waite threw it open at our knock, and welcomed us in with his palette still on his thumb. "Come and see my picture," he said, with a smile.

"Poor man!" I thought, "he would not look so happy if he knew how angry Adelaide is, and what a mine is waiting to be exploded beneath him."

He led us to the easel and displayed the canvas triumphantly.

It was an effective, striking picture, but it did not in the least resemble Adelaide.

Winnie uttered an exclamation of disgust. "There now, you've spoiled it. I knew you would. It was just perfect, and you've ruined it. I'm sure I never want to look at that thing again. I told you not to touch it. Why couldn't you let it alone?" and a half dozen other wails of the same order.

Professor Waite did not attempt to put a stop to her somewhat impertinent remarks. He was plainly annoyed, however, and when she had emptied the vials of her indignation, he replied: "I thought you would approve of the change, Miss DeWitt. It was a remark of yours this morning which made me realize that I had no right to paint Miss Armstrong's portrait without her permission; that probably she would be unwilling that I should possess it; and as I would gladly sacrifice any ambition or pleasure of my own for the sake of not offending her, I have, as you see, painted in an entirely new face."

"You are quite right, Professor," I exclaimed warmly; "and Adelaide will be grateful for your consideration."

At this juncture the girls trooped in and took their places at their easels, and Professor Waite laid the picture in the great chest in front of our door. The correction of work went on as usual until the latter part of the hour, when an ominous knock was heard at the door, and Madame, accompanied by Miss Noakes, sailed majestically into the room. Professor Waite bowed deeply and expressed himself as highly honored. Madame lifted her lorgnette and surveyed the class. Milly was posing in her despised Italian costume. Madame smiled kindly at her, and then passed about from easel to easel examining the girls' work. "I do not know whether it is exactly the thing for the young ladies to allow themselves to be painted in this way," she said, "though to be sure the studies are hardly recognizable as likenesses."

"The young ladies have all asked the permission of their parents to sit for each other," Professor Waite explained.

"For each other," Madame repeated doubtfully; "but do you never make sketches of them also, Professor? A parent might well object to having his daughter's portrait exhibited in a public place, sold to a stranger, or even shown among studies of professional models in your studio."

"I have made no studies from life from any of the young ladies," Professor Waite replied promptly.

Miss Noakes drew a long breath and seemed to bristle with anticipated triumph.

"I am glad that you can assure me of this," Madame replied in her softest, most purring accents. Then she glanced around the room again and asked, "Are all of the art students present? I do not see Miss Armstrong."

"Miss Armstrong has not honoured me by joining the class," Professor Waite replied stiffly.

"But she at least sits for the others, does she not? She is such a strikingly picturesque girl, I should think you would ask her."

"We have asked her," Milly replied, "but she is just as obstinate as she can be. I wish, Madame, you would make her."

Madame shook her little wiry curls. "This is a matter which must be left entirely to individual preference, my dear. It would be very wrong, indeed, for any of you to make a portrait of Miss Armstrong without her consent. I have known young amateur photographers to lay themselves open to an action at law by taking photographs of people without their knowledge. Our personality is a very sacred thing, and whoever possesses himself of that without warrant commits a dishonorable action."

Milly looked as if she were about to faint, while Professor Waite, who felt the intention of Madame's remarks, and his own thoughtlessness, bit his mustache nervously. Winnie was tittering in an unseemly manner behind her easel, but, thankful as I was that the professor had changed the portrait, I still felt the gravity of the occasion.

Madame's manner changed. "Miss Vaughn," she said to Cynthia, "will you ask Miss Armstrong to step to the studio for a moment." Then turning to our teacher, she added, "I have a very painful duty to perform, my dear Professor, and you must pardon me if my questions seem to you unwarranted. Will you tell me whether, for any reason whatever, you have carried on a written correspondence with Miss Armstrong or with any other member of this school?"

"I have not, Madame."

"Have never either written to her or received letters from her?"

"Never, Madame. Who has charged me with such a clandestine and dishonourable act?"

Madame did not reply, for Adelaide entered the room. She was very stately and pale. Cynthia had not had far to go, and Adelaide had come instantly.

"Why have you sent for me?" she asked resolutely.

"Merely to ask you one or two simple questions," Madame replied. "But first, Professor, may we be permitted to see the picture which you are preparing for the Academy exhibition?"

Adelaide leaned forward eagerly. Professor Waite was about to be punished for his presumption and yet she was not so glad as she fancied that she would be. Her anger had faded out and she almost pitied him. A hot blush swept up to his forehead as he felt her gaze, and silently placed the painting upon the easel. Madame examined it critically through her lorgnette; it was evidently not what she had expected to see.

Milly, who had not known of the change, could hardly believe her eyes, and seemed to fancy that a miracle had been performed to save her dear professor. Miss Noakes stood at the canvas with a look of disappointed malignity on her unattractive features.

"Is this the only picture which you intend to exhibit?" Madame asked, after a moment, during which she had assured herself that the face on the canvas was utterly unlike any of her pupils.

"It is the only one that I have had time to paint this season," Professor Waite replied. "The face bore at one time a resemblance to Miss Armstrong's, but I purposely destroyed that resemblance and shall send it in as you see it."

Madame seemed somewhat relieved, but she turned toward Adelaide, who had seated herself and was staring at the picture, her heart filled with a vague regret that she had written so unkind a letter.

"Young ladies," said Madame solemnly, "you have heard the questions which I have asked Professor Waite. Certain accusations have been made which have greatly troubled me. It has been suspected that a clandestine flirtation and correspondence has for some time been carried on between your professor and one of the members of this school. Hitherto I have paid no attention to these reports, as they rested only on suspicion, but this morning startling evidence has been produced, and before bringing it forward I call upon any young lady who has been guilty of such an indiscretion to anticipate the discovery of her fault by a full confession." No one responded. The accusation was so much more serious than the truth, that Adelaide did not imagine that she was the suspected culprit. Dead silence, in the midst of which Madame produced the fateful letter. Adelaide started and Madame asked in awful tones:

"Will any young lady present acknowledge that she has written this letter?"

Winnie and Adelaide each rose promptly.

Madame frowned. "Have we two claimants?" she asked.

"I am responsible for the contents of that note," said Adelaide.

"But I wrote it," added Winnie, "and I demand that it be read aloud."

It seemed to me that Winnie was absolutely insane, and even Adelaide seemed to feel that there was no necessity of rushing so recklessly on the spears of the enemy.

Professor Waite looked completely mystified, and Madame said very seriously:

"You will see, Professor, that this note is directed to you, and that it has not been opened. I could not take that liberty; but Miss Noakes discovered it being sent in a very irregular manner, which justified her in confiscating it. There are other suspicious matters connected with it, which I trust its contents will fully explain."

I felt that the crucial moment had arrived. Miss Noakes was absolutely radiant, and sat rubbing her hands with ghoulish glee. Madame looked troubled but judicial. The professor was a favourite of hers, but Miss Noakes had brought too weighty an accusation to be glossed over.

A silence like that before a thunder-clap reigned. Winnie covered her face with her handkerchief and shook--could it be with suppressed laughter? If so, it seemed to me that she must be going insane.

Professor Waite opened the letter and glanced over its contents. "This note is from Miss Winifred De Witt," he said to Madame, "and since I have her permission, I will read it aloud." And to our utter astonishment, Professor Waite read--not the indignant letter which Adelaide had dictated, but the following:

PROFESSOR WAITE.

_Dear Sir_: May I have your permission to place my easel on the
balcony in front of the corridor window and make a study of a
sunrise effect as seen across the roofs? The view is so very
beautiful that Miss Noakes spends much of her time there absorbed
in its enjoyment.

Very respectfully yours,
WINIFRED DE WITT.

Professor Waite politely handed this effusion to Madame. Miss Noakes snatched it from her hand and glared at it with the look of a foiled assassin. Madame bit her lips with annoyance and scowled at Miss Noakes. She was evidently angry with her for having caused her to arraign Professor Waite on insufficient testimony and creating a scene derogatory to her own dignity. She quickly recovered her self-possession, however, and remarked loftily:

"Miss De Witt, when you have any future communications to make with your professor, pray do so in a more fitting manner. Placing notes under doors is really unworthy of any young lady in my school."

"So is listening at windows," Cynthia whispered to Winnie. Madame turned to Professor Waite and expressed herself as much pleased that this very serious accusation had been proved to be founded on an entire mistake. She had herself felt perfect confidence in the integrity of Professor Waite and the propriety of her pupils throughout the entire affair, and had only investigated it to give the slander its proper refutation: and her stiff silk dress rustled with dignity out of the studio.

As for Miss Noakes, she simply disappeared, "evaporated," as Milly expressed it. The door had hardly closed upon Madame before our long-repressed feelings found vent in laughter. Winnie congratulated Professor Waite on the part of the school that he had been found innocent of so heinous a crime. The girls swarmed up to shake hands with him. Those who could not grasp his hand shook the skirts of his coat. Exuberant confusion reigned. Milly was dissolved in happy tears, and even Adelaide smiled when Professor Waite expressed his regret that Miss Noakes had connected their names in so disagreeable a manner.

It was not until the occupants of the Amen Corner had gathered in their study parlor that Adelaide said:

"But I really do not understand what became of my note; the one I dictated to Winnie and tucked under the door."

"Winnie, how did you manage to steal it?" Cynthia asked.

"I didn't take it from Snooks," Winnie replied. "It struck me that Adelaide had expressed herself rather strongly, and that she would regret it after she had cooled down, and if she didn't, she ought to. So while you were investigating the eavesdropping I destroyed that note, wrote one of my own and sealed it up in its place."

"And I've really put this note of yours under the door?" Adelaide asked.

"Yes, my dear, and that is why I have not shared Tib's anxiety since we knew that it had been confiscated. Don't you think that dig about Snooks enjoying the scenery of the back yard was rather good?" and Winnie chuckled with enjoyment of her own impertinence. "You should have seen her face when Professor Waite read that. Nebuchadnezzar's when he ordered Shadrach, Meshech, and Abednego to the burning, fiery furnace must have been amiable in comparison. She would have seen me boiled in oil with pleasure. I haven't enjoyed anything so much for ages."