CHAPTER VII.

"Come, do hurry up, Elizabeth, and promise," urged Valentine. "The time is going on, and the aunts will come home and catch us. You must be down stairs as if nothing had happened when they do come. Of course I know you are not going to give me away. If I had not thought I could depend on you pretty well, I should not have come. We were good friends when we were here before, and, after all, you are my own sister."

"I know, Val, and I want to help you," said Elizabeth, slowly; "but--"

"But what?"

"It does not seem right to deceive Aunt Caroline."

"Oh, what difference does that make? I am sure you used to deceive her enough when you came to this room all the time and had the Brady girls here, and everything else. You have changed very much, I think."

"I know I have changed. You see, I am a whole year older, and in a year you learn lots of things, and I am sure it is not right to deceive any one."

"I do call it a shame," exclaimed Valentine, walking about the room. "Here have I come all this distance expecting to find a sister who would help me, and now you go and turn your back on me. There is no use expecting anything of a girl. There never was one that was worth anything but Marjorie. I was going to tell you the whole story, and you know you like to hear things."

"Oh, I know I do!" cried poor Elizabeth. "I am just crazy to hear. What shall I do about it? I wish I had some one to advise me."

"Come, Elizabeth--there's a good girl! Don't tell, and I will begin right away to explain. I know you won't, so I will tell you, anyhow! You see, the other day at school--"

"Wait, wait, Val!" interrupted Elizabeth. "I must not hear, for if you once tell me I shall have to keep to it, for it would be a bargain; but if you don't I can decide later. I am going down stairs to think it over."

Valentine, left alone, scarcely knew what to think.

"I am in for it now," he said to himself. "Who ever would have thought of that meek little Elizabeth going back on me? I'm in an awful scrape, and I have a good mind to run away now, only I might meet Aunt Caroline on the doorstep, just as the Brady girls did. No, I have got to stick it out, now that I am here, and perhaps after all Elizabeth will come around. She is awfully curious to know what it is all about, that is one thing, and it may bring her to her senses. It is awfully poky up in this room all alone, and I do wish she would come back."

It was an hour and more before she did. Then the door was quietly opened, and Elizabeth stood before him.

"Well, you are going to promise now, aren't you?"

"No, Val, I have come to suggest something. If you will come over to one of the other rooms and hide, I will help you all I can. Aunt Caroline would not find you if you were in one of the other rooms--the one next to mine, for instance. Even that does not seem quite right, but it is better than being here. I have been thinking it over, and I am sure it is not right to have you here when Aunt Caroline told me never to come into this room again, and I actually had to go to her desk to steal the key. Will you come to one of the other rooms?"

"No. It has got to be this room or none. I might just as well go sit in the parlor as be in any room but this. Great Scott! how the fellows will laugh!"

"What fellows?"

"Never mind. Do you think I am going to tell you anything, Miss Spoilsport, Tattletale, and everything else?"

"Oh, Val, I am so sorry! I do want to help you!" Elizabeth was crying now.

"Oh, don't stand there blubbering! Go down and tell auntie all about it. How Val came and made you steal the key, and made you open the door, and made you do everything else. It was all his fault--oh yes!"

"Val, you are hateful!" cried Elizabeth, drying her eyes. "You know I am not that kind of a girl at all. I am sure I want to help you, and I want to know dreadfully why you came, but I know if I asked any one but you whether I ought to have let you into this room, they would say no. Mrs. Loring would, I know."

"And who is Mrs. Loring?"

"Patsy's mother."

"Oh, Patsy again! Everything is Patsy now. That is the reason you don't want to help me, because you have got a new friend. Even your own brother is of no account now."

"That is not a bit true, and you have no right to say it; and I don't think you are a very good brother to ask me to do what is not right."

"But there is no harm in it, really, Elizabeth! I am not doing the room any harm, and it can't possibly hurt Aunt Caroline to have me here. Where is the wrong of it?"

"The key," persisted Elizabeth. "I ought not to have taken the key."

"Oh, nonsense! You got it, and that's all there is about it. You can't undo what you have done, and now the best thing is to keep quiet about it and it won't hurt any one. But if you were to go and tell it would make a terrible fuss, and every one would be upset, and nobody would be a bit better for it."

There seemed to be some truth in this reasoning. After all, it would be easy to keep her aunt in ignorance, thought Elizabeth. She would never do such a thing again; but now that it was done--

Valentine saw that his argument had some effect, and he hastened to follow it up.

"And I do want to tell you all about it!" he added, craftily.

"Oh, Val," said Elizabeth, hurriedly. "I want to hear about it and I want to help you. And, after all, it is too late about the room. I--I--think I'll promise!"

"That you won't tell?"

"That I won't tell."

"Elizabeth, good for you! You're a brick! I knew you would come out all right. I just knew it."

"But wait! I have not altogether promised. Only almost."

"Oh, it's the same thing. I'm sure of you now!"

And Valentine capered about the room in excitement, until Elizabeth remembered that it was important that he should not be heard, and warned him to keep still.

"After all, it is not a secret for always," he said. "In two weeks you can tell them all about it if you want to. You see I am not binding you down forever." This with an air of generosity.

"It will be harder to tell then than now," remarked Elizabeth. "But I must go! I hear some one calling me. I'll tell you for certain when I come back."

She slipped out of the room, and it was but just in time. Her aunts had returned, and Miss Herrick wished to see her in the library. She met the maid who was looking for her on the stairs. The library was directly under the closed room, and Elizabeth wished that she could again warn Valentine to be very quiet. He was so careless.

She found her aunt in an unwonted frame of mind. Miss Herrick put her arm about Elizabeth and drew her to her side.

"I have been hearing very good accounts of my niece," she said. "I met Mrs. Arnold this afternoon, and she told me that your teacher speaks very highly of you, Elizabeth."

How this demonstration would have pleased Elizabeth yesterday, or even this morning! Now she felt like a hypocrite.

"And she is very anxious that I should allow you to take drawing-lessons." Here Miss Herrick paused and sighed heavily. "And you wish to yourself, do you not, Elizabeth?"

It had been the dearest wish of Elizabeth's heart since she began school, but now she felt as if she would be doing wrong if she were to take advantage of her aunt's kindness.

"I--I don't know," she faltered.

"If that is not human nature," exclaimed Miss Rebecca, who had not spoken before. "When you were not allowed to draw, nothing could keep a pencil out of your hand, and now that you are given permission you don't wish to do it."

"Oh, I do want to, Aunt Rebecca!" cried Elizabeth, recovering herself; "I want to, dreadfully. Are you really going to let me, Aunt Caroline?"

"I suppose so. Mrs. Arnold put it before me in such a light that I could not very well refuse. She says she has an excellent teacher, and if you have so much talent, Elizabeth, it seems wrong not to give my consent. But it is very hard for me to say yes! You must be a very good girl if I do."

Elizabeth hid her face in her aunt's shoulder. If she had heard this earlier she would not have yielded to Valentine's entreaties. It was too late now. She had allowed him to stay in the locked room, she had almost promised not to tell. There was a weight like lead on her heart.

"Stand up straight, Elizabeth," said Miss Herrick, her momentary tenderness passing. "Naturally you cannot understand my repugnance to the idea of your perfecting yourself in drawing and painting, and it is not to be expected that you should. It is connected with events which happened before you were born." Again she paused.

At any other time Elizabeth's curiosity would have been aroused, and her indignation also, at the fact that there were more mysteries, but now she paid no heed. If only she were not deceiving her aunt!

"There must be something queer about our family," she thought, desperately, "that we are all the time hiding something from one another. I do wish I were one of the Lorings. They never have any mysteries or secrets, and it is so nice."

Suddenly there was a loud thump overhead. Miss Herrick started and looked terrified. Elizabeth exclaimed aloud, and then again hid her face behind her aunt. Even Miss Rebecca seemed stirred from her usual indifference.

"What was that?" murmured Miss Herrick. "Was it--was it in the room overhead?"

Miss Rebecca nodded. "It sounded so," she said.

"What can it be?"

They listened, but there was no further sound.

"Shall I go and see, Aunt Caroline?" asked Elizabeth, in a timid voice.

"You, child! Why should you go? If we hear anything more I will send James. It is very strange."

"Perhaps the cat has been shut up somewhere," suggested Miss Rebecca; "or probably one of the servants has been in one of the empty rooms getting something. It does not necessarily follow that it is _that_ room, Caroline. I would not give it another thought."

"True, the box of oranges was put in the upper store-room. You are right, Rebecca. Strange how my thoughts always fly to the one place when I hear anything overhead. I suppose it was because we were talking about the drawing-lessons when it happened."

And she relapsed again into thought.

"So the locked room has something to do with Aunt Caroline not liking to have me learn to draw," said Elizabeth to herself. "I thought so. But, oh dear, it will never do for Val to make so much noise! I must go and tell him."

She slipped away very soon, and after going to her own room crept down the short flight of stairs and along the passageway to the door of the mysterious chamber. She found Valentine sitting on the floor, convulsed with laughter.

"Did you hear me?" he asked, in a stage whisper. "I haven't dared to move since. I upset a chair. Giminy! it scared me to death! And I expected the whole family to march in the door the very next minute. Didn't you hear me at all?"

"Hear you! I should think we did. It was a very narrow escape, and I have come to tell you that you must be more careful. You had better not stir at all, for we are in the library, right underneath. And oh, Val, I do feel so guilty! Aunt Caroline is so kind, and says I can take drawing-lessons, and here I am deceiving her! I suppose you would not let me off now?"

"Well, I should like to see myself letting you off now! No, sir. You have just the same as promised, and that is the end of it."

Elizabeth sighed deeply and was about to leave him, but he detained her.

"I say, Elizabeth, what about dinner? I'm awfully hungry."

"Hungry again? Why, I brought you a lot of things to eat."

"Gee whiz, girl! Do you think I can live for hours on crackers and cake? Don't you think you can smuggle up some dinner for me?"

"I will try," said Elizabeth, though somewhat doubtfully; "but I don't see how I am to do it."

"Put some things in a basket, and pretend they are for the Brady girls."

"I have not had anything to do with the Brady girls for ages," returned Elizabeth, with some contempt. "Not since I ran away."

"Ran away? You ran away? Ho, ho! so you're not so awfully good after all! What did you run away for?"

"I can't tell you. I can never tell you. And now I must go."

"Well, I like that," said Valentine, as he closed the door behind her; "she ran away, and isn't going to tell me about it! But I hope she will remember my dinner."

It was easy enough to remember his dinner, but not so simple a matter to secure it. Elizabeth was so absorbed in thinking it over that she forgot to eat anything herself.

"You are not eating a morsel," said Miss Herrick. "This will never do! I had hoped that going to school and companionship with other children would keep up your appetite. Don't you feel well?"

"Oh yes, Aunt Caroline, only I am not hungry. Perhaps, if you don't mind, I could have something to eat later."

It was an inspiration. In this way she could get something for Valentine. But she was doomed to disappointment.

"I do not approve of eating just before you go to bed," said her aunt. "Eat now or not at all."

Elizabeth was quite desperate. She must take the chance of finding something in the pantry. When dinner was over and her aunts had returned to the library she slipped into the pantry. Unfortunately nothing had been left there. All that she could find for Valentine were a few more crackers and some bread. However, it would keep him from starving.

Her brother received them with small thanks, but they were better than nothing. Then he wanted Elizabeth to stay with him, but this she would not do.

"I must go down stairs again to say good-night, and then I must go to bed," she said, firmly.

"Come here instead, and I will tell you the whole story," suggested Valentine, who had no desire for a lonely evening.

"No, this is the last time I am coming to-night. I--I think, Val, I will not hear your story at all. If I have deceived Aunt Caroline I have deceived her, but I am not going to be paid for it. I have been thinking it over. You are not to tell me. Good-night!"

It was half an hour later, and Valentine had come to the conclusion that he might as well go to bed himself, when there was a faint tap at the door. The room was lighted by but one candle--they had thought that a gas-light might show beneath the door, and attract attention--and the place was so gloomy and mysterious that when the knock came Valentine was startled in spite of himself.

"It is ghosts, maybe," he muttered. "This room is so queer and uncanny."

The tap was repeated, and he moved cautiously to the door. There stood Elizabeth, her dark eyes shining in the candle-light, and a deep color burning in her cheeks. For a moment she said nothing. Valentine was the first to speak.

"Good for you! So you have come to hear the story. Come in," he whispered.

"No, I am not coming in. I have only come to tell you that--that--"

"What?"

An awful dread seized Valentine's heart.

"That I cannot give that promise. I am going down now. I have been thinking and thinking, and I know it isn't right to deceive, and I don't want to hide anything. There is too much hiding in our family. I am going down now to tell Aunt Caroline you are here."

Valentine did not speak. She could scarcely see his face, for it was in shadow, but somehow it frightened her.

"Oh, Val, say something! I am so sorry, but I must. Will you ever forgive me?"

"No. You have the same as broken your promise."

He closed the door, and she turned and ran down stairs. Her aunts were sitting as she had left them. Miss Herrick was writing notes at the desk, while her sister read by the lamp on the table. The shelves which lined the walls were filled with books, and the engravings and etchings which hung above added to the sombre aspect of the room. It was absolutely still except for the scratching of Miss Herrick's pen, and for a moment or two Elizabeth stood there in the silence unnoticed.

"Aunt Caroline," she said at last.

It was in such a weak voice that no one heard her.

"Aunt Caroline!" she repeated.

"Yes," said Miss Herrick; but still her pen travelled swiftly across the page. It was provoking to be interrupted.

"Aunt Caroline!" said Elizabeth for the third time.

"What is it, Elizabeth?" said her aunt, at last laying down her pen. "I hear you, and I have answered. Don't stand there repeating my name like a parrot. Why are you not in bed?"

"Because I have something to tell you. I could not go to bed. I--I have something to tell you."

"So it appears. Suppose you tell me now, instead of this endless repetition. Come, I have no time to waste."

"Aunt Caroline," said Elizabeth, drawing nearer, and standing with her hands clasped behind her back, as she did when she had anything of importance to say, "Val is here."

"Val? What Val? What do you mean?"

"My brother Val."

"Is here? Oh no! you are mistaken, Elizabeth. Let me feel your hands. You ate no dinner, and you are feverish. Your eyes are very staring. Rebecca, do you suppose the child is delirious, or is she walking in her sleep?"

"I am not either, Aunt Caroline. I am not de--that long word, and I am wide awake. Val is here. He came this afternoon, and he is up in the locked room."

Miss Herrick rose to her feet, and even Miss Rebecca dropped her book.

"She is certainly ill. Rebecca, ring the bell for James to go for the doctor."

"I tell you I am not ill, Aunt Caroline," cried Elizabeth. "Val came and said that he wanted to hide, and that he must hide in that room. I got the key from your desk--you left your desk unlocked--and I let him into the room. It was very wrong, Aunt Caroline. I know it was wrong. And I am so sorry. That is the reason I am telling you, because I ought not to have done it. If you don't believe that he is here, come and see."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

A VIRGINIA CAVALIER.

BY MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL.