THERE was an atmosphere of brooding uncertainty. Edith went to dinner and was afraid to look at Miss Foster. The latter asked no questions, but seemed preoccupied. Some of the girls at table rallied Edith about failing to make New Haven, others sympathized with her. Tommy sat at her elbow and said nothing.
Poor Tommy! Her heart was in a strange condition. The anxiety of Edith's absence over, the reaction had come on with redoubled force and left her limp and completely overwhelmed. All the while she was in church, these thoughts recurred to her again and again: Was Edith safe, or wasn't she? If not, what had she left undone, and what more could she do? Do? Do? She recoiled with horror at the situation! Had Edith defied college discipline? What had Tommy done? She had sanctioned Edith's doings by covering them up. Therefore, she was a party to them; she was equally culpable. She had dissimulated most abjectly and so added a second burden to her side of the scales. Now, she overbalanced Edith.
The problem of Tommy blotted out the problem of Edith. She had, indeed, seen Edith come to service as if nothing had happened. But Tommy could not stay in church. She fidgeted during the sermon and left before it was over. Her nerves were on the rack. She started down the road to the Upper Lake. At the bridge that spanned the brook she stopped and leaned over the arch, and let the cold wind play on her face and through her hair. The rush of water from the falls above, swelled by recent rains, poured over in frothing torrents and foamed and swirled under her. But it was as muddy as her brain, and clogged rather than cleared her thoughts. With a groan of disgust she turned away and went along the brook, past the plant houses, over the little wooden bridge at the second falls, and then straight up the hill under the strip of fir trees.
It was damp and muddy from thawed snows, but she strode up among the sodden pine needles, under a thicket of pines where a doubtful sun shone dimly. View of the college was shut out here. She was completely alone. Head bowed abjectly, she reasoned with herself, if what she had done was right. Why should she enter into a conspiracy with the unconscious Edith to block college discipline? And yet -- and yet -- she could not let her enemy go down to certain destruction. Edith probably would be expelled; her pride would be crushed to an agonized pulp. If it had happened to her, Tommy felt, she could never go home and live it out. She could never go home and tell of it. She could never stand the eternal groan that would be in her heart. And then Helen Crosby, and Elinor, and all those girls -- what a humiliation for their society! No, she felt a certain satisfaction in what she had done.
But Miss Foster -- and the Dean! Her lies to them! She called them lies bravely. In her heart she abhorred a lie. If ever trouble really came, she faced it like a Spartan, but she never sought to cover herself. It was adding another offense to the one already committed, and offense plus offense surely did not make zero. Miss Foster's eyes troubled her. She could not brush away the idea that they had looked into her heart. Even if things should turn out well, couId she bear to sit through meal after meal facing Miss Foster, knowing that she must suspect, must know?
"Oh-h!" she sighed desperately, "I must tell Miss Foster, and yet if I do -- Oh, doesn't she know already! Do you suppose a little snip of a Freshman could fool her? And if she knows, and knows I've tried to deceive her? And if she has told the Dean? And if it gets to the President! Oh, what a mess! I wish -- I wish I could think!"
But there seemed to be nothing to help her. The wind whistled through the trees above without noticing her, the water in the falls below rushed on with a distant roar, unconscious of her troubles. Only an inquisitive bluejay came close to her, looked through curious beady eyes from the top of a tree and, frightened, flew clamoring away.
Helen shivered in the wind and started down the hill again. She had found no solace -- only a multitude of answerless questions that tangled themselves tighter and tighter as she tried to think.
It was nearly dinnertime when she got to Porter. Fanny was just coming home from her Bible class. She looked at her roommate questioningly.
"What is troubling you, Helen?" she asked. "Tell me; there has been something on your mind since last night."
"I -- I wish I could tell you, Fanny, but I can't. I -- I'll think it out myself. It's all right."
She ate no dinner -- nothing would go down but water. She drank plenty of that, for she was feverish. Edith was too crestfallen to be cross. But Miss Foster said nothing about the affair. Only after dinner, as the girls were going out into the hall, she approached Helen.
"Miss Thompson," she said softly, "can you come up to my room for a few minutes?"
"Oh, Miss Foster," cried Helen, " I want to come up ! I -- I want to talk to you!"
Suddenly her problem had untangled itself. It stood solved.
Helen sat on the edge of the rocking-chair Miss Foster had offered her. She ran her fingers over the arms of it and followed them thoughtfully. Then:
"Miss Foster -- I want to tell you all about it. Perhaps -- you know; but let me tell you myself!"
There was an agony of appeal in her voice. Miss Foster looked down and waited.
"I -- I -- lied to you," whispered Helen, not trusting her voice. "You -- know I did?"
Miss Foster nodded, and an infinite relief came over her at this confession.
"But -- I -- had to do it! Because -- because -- Oh, can't you help me out?"
She could not bring herself to the point of betraying her enemy.
"Miss Brewster was not ill," suggested Miss Foster. Helen nodded her head, gulping down a sob. "And you knew where she was."
"I suspected," said Helen, braiding her fingers nervously. "And -- and -- I know Edith went to New Haven!" she whispered.
Miss Foster's eyes opened in surprise.
"New Haven! Without permission?"
"She hasn't told me so," added Helen hurriedly. "She doesn't know I suspect it. Oh, Miss Foster, don't let her be expelled!"
She trembled with emotion and her eyes filled.
"You did a very unwise thing to involve yourself in this, and tell me falsehoods. It is a grave offense."
"I know, I know! You can do what you like with me. I am ashamed to look you in the face. But I couldn't help it. What else could I do?"
"You should have told me and let me decide."
"But I couldn't carry tales. And then you asked me so suddenly, before the whole table -- I -- I couldn't, I felt I had to do something to cover her."
"My dear," said Miss Foster, "why should you want to shield Miss Brewster? I know you dislike each other. It is a most painful thing to see you sitting there at table without talking one to the other."
"It's a dreadful strain on me, but I don't hate her as much as all that. I couldn't see her -- disgraced for life."
"She has done a most dreadful thing, and you have aided her to escape detection. If she were to be left unpunished, what an example it would be to the rest of the college!"
"Oh!" cried Helen, rising to her feet aghast. "You wouldn't let this be known in the college!"
"No, no, not voluntarily," said Miss Foster hastily. "That question will be left to the Dean and the President."
"Oh! It will break her heart, Miss Foster. And when the President hears about me again" -- she went over and laid her head against the bookcase and sobbed.
"Don't go on like this, child," said Miss Foster, soothingly. "The main question is not about you, though you have done a very reprehensible thing. It is Miss Brewster."
"Oh, it is like a nightmare! You couldn't, in your heart, let her be expelled, Miss Foster," pleaded Helen. "Think what a dreadful thing it would be to her -- and to her mother. Then -- then it would be a terrible blow to the girls of her society, and I couldn't hurt Elinor and Helen Crosby for worlds!"
"My dear, can you understand what a terrible thing she has done? She went down there to Yale to some entertainment with young men -- without a chaperon --"
"Oh, no, no, no! Not without a chaperon! I overheard all her plans about it. She went to Mrs. Shepard's! Blanche Shepard came down from Smith, and her mother chaperoned them both to the play and they were under her care all the time."
"I am glad of that!" said Miss Foster, with such an utter relief as is brought by a sudden draught of fresh air. "It takes a great load off my heart."
Helen breathed more easily.
"But Miss Brewster's offense is still very, very great. She defied college discipline. She went off in spite of the Dean's refusal to permit her, and she went without registering."
"Does -- does the Dean know? She suspected this morning?"
"No, I have told her nothing; it was a mere coincidence that she was up on your corridor, coming to my room."
Helen tapped her foot on the edge of the rug thoughtfully.
"Miss Foster," she said, lifting her head slowly, "could you bear to bring up the horrible case to the Dean now?"
For a moment Miss Foster bit her lip.
"I feel as badly about it as you do, but it is my duty to report it to the Dean. Don't be alarmed. Miss Brewster would not be expelled. She would probably be sent to live off the campus."
"Oh!" cried Helen. "What a dreadful disgrace! It is almost as bad as the other. Miss Foster, please, please, do not do it. Miss Brewster is so proud she could never live under it. To make it public -- you might just as well expel her!"
"Oh, no -- she wouldn't feel so --"
"Look, look, Miss Foster! What she did was done thoughtlessly -- on the spur of the moment. The Dean would have let her go but for that one recitation, and she could have made up the lab hours. If she had stopped for a moment to think, she would never have done it."
"I believe that, Miss Thompson. But it still remains that she broke the college rules and defied the Dean."
Helen gazed at her helplessly, feeling that she had reached the end of her resources.
"I am not trying to defend Miss Brewster," she said at last, slowly. "What she did is an awful thing and deserves punishment. Only a thing of this sort is a dreadful disgrace for a girl. If -- if -- she were your sister -- or somebody you loved -- wouldn't it break your heart? Could you take it up to the Dean?"
Miss Foster looked into her eyes for a moment. Then she began to smile softly.
"You have touched a very tender spot, Miss Thompson. But you do very wrong to tempt me. No -- no, I can't take her to the Dean! I -- I think I will take care of Miss Brewster myself. No, I won't make it public or take it to any of the authorities. I will merely have a heart-to-heart talk with Miss Brewster."
"Oh, Miss Foster," cried Helen, grasping her hand, "aren't you dear! How can I ever thank you! But -- but -- please don't mention me to Miss Brewster. She could never stand that!"
"Indeed! Then why have you interceded for her?"
"Because -- I didn't want to see her disgraced, no matter how mean she had been to me. But then," sighed the girl, "I -- I -- feel satisfied now I've paid her back!"
There was a pause and silently the woman was admiring the girl. Then:
"And -- what will you do with me?" asked Helen, remembering, her brow clouding again. "I have been worse than Edith, because I lied."
Miss Foster's face sobered.
"What you did is not easily overlooked," she said. "You deliberately told me a falsehood and attempted to deceive me. You did deceive me, and that is unpardonable."
Helen bit her lip and said nothing.
"You know a person like that is not to be believed or relied upon again. How can you expect me --"
"Oh, Miss Foster!" said the horrified girl, her pride wounded. "You know you can trust me. I -- I never before -- I would not have -- What else could I do?"
"My dear, you have no excuse. The end never justifies the means. What you did was quite as reprehensible as what Miss Brewster did."
"I know, I know! I -- I wish you would punish me!"
"I am afraid there is nothing but moral punishment -- the penalty of never being believed a --"
"Oh! I would sooner -- You wouldn't do that!" She was looking at Miss Foster with pleading eyes.
"Well," said the latter, smiling, "what you did was a great sacrifice on your part. I understand your position fully, though I cannot justify it. But you are big hearted, and -- we will suspend even the moral punishment in your case. Only," added the head of the house, "I hope, if a thing like this ever happens again, you will take me into your confidence."