“And he did not know where to find me,” murmured Sara. “And I was so near.” Somehow, she could not forget that she had been so near.
“He believed you were in school in France,” Mrs. Carmichael explained. “And he was continually misled by false clues. He has looked for you everywhere. When he saw you pass by, looking so sad and neglected, he did not dream that you were his friend’s poor child; but because you were a little girl, too, he was sorry for you, and wanted to make you happier. And he told Ram Dass to climb into your attic window and try to make you comfortable.”
Sara gave a start of joy; her whole look changed.
“Did Ram Dass bring the things?” she cried out; “did he tell Ram Dass to do it? Did he make the dream that came true!”
“Yes, my dear—yes! He is kind and good, and he was sorry for you, for little lost Sara Crewe’s sake.”
The library door opened and Mr. Carmichael appeared, calling Sara to him with a gesture.
“Mr. Carrisford is better already,” he said. “He wants you to come to him.”
Sara did not wait. When the Indian gentleman looked at her as she entered, he saw that her face was all alight.
She went and stood before his chair, with her hands clasped together against her breast.
“You sent the things to me,” she said, in a joyful emotional little voice—“the beautiful, beautiful things? You sent them!”
“Yes, poor, dear child, I did,” he answered her. He was weak and broken with long illness and trouble, but he looked at her with the look she remembered in her father’s eyes—that look of loving her and wanting to take her in his arms. It made her kneel down by him, just as she used to kneel by her father when they were the dearest friends and lovers in the world.
“Then it is you who are my friend,” she said; “it is you who are my friend!” And she dropped her face on his thin hand and kissed it again and again.
“The man will be himself again in three weeks,” Mr. Carmichael said aside to his wife. “Look at his face already.”
In fact, he did look changed. Here was the “little missus,” and he had new things to think of and plan for already. In the first place, there was Miss Minchin. She must be interviewed and told of the change which had taken place in the fortunes of her pupil.
Sara was not to return to the seminary at all. The Indian gentleman was very determined upon that point. She must remain where she was, and Mr. Carmichael should go and see Miss Minchin himself.
“I am glad I need not go back,” said Sara. “She will be very angry. She does not like me; though perhaps it is my fault, because I do not like her.”
But, oddly enough, Miss Minchin made it unnecessary for Mr. Carmichael to go to her, by actually coming in search of her pupil herself. She had wanted Sara for something, and on inquiry had heard an astonishing thing. One of the housemaids had seen her steal out of the area with something hidden under her cloak, and had also seen her go up the steps of the next door and enter the house.
“What does she mean!” cried Miss Minchin to Miss Amelia.
“I don’t know, I’m sure, sister,” answered Miss Amelia. “Unless she has made friends with him because he has lived in India.”
“It would be just like her to thrust herself upon him and try to gain his sympathies in some such impertinent fashion,” said Miss Minchin. “She must have been in the house two hours. I will not allow such presumption. I shall go and inquire into the matter, and apologize for her intrusion.”
Sara was sitting on a footstool close to Mr. Carrisford’s knee, and listening to some of the many things he felt it necessary to try to explain to her, when Ram Dass announced the visitor’s arrival.
Sara rose involuntarily, and became rather pale; but Mr. Carrisford saw that she stood quietly, and showed none of the ordinary signs of child terror.
Miss Minchin entered the room with a sternly dignified manner. She was correctly and well dressed, and rigidly polite.
“I am sorry to disturb Mr. Carrisford,” she said; “but I have explanations to make. I am Miss Minchin, the proprietress of the Young Ladies’ Seminary next door.”
The Indian gentleman looked at her for a moment in silent scrutiny. He was a man who had naturally a rather hot temper, and he did not wish it to get too much the better of him.
“So you are Miss Minchin?” he said.
“I am, sir.”
“In that case,” the Indian gentleman replied, “you have arrived at the right time. My solicitor, Mr. Carmichael, was just on the point of going to see you.”
Mr. Carmichael bowed slightly, and Miss Minchin looked from him to Mr. Carrisford in amazement.
“Your solicitor!” she said. “I do not understand. I have come here as a matter of duty. I have just discovered that you have been intruded upon through the forwardness of one of my pupils—a charity pupil. I came to explain that she intruded without my knowledge.” She turned upon Sara. “Go home at once,” she commanded indignantly. “You shall be severely punished. Go home at once.”
The Indian gentleman drew Sara to his side and patted her hand.
“She is not going.”
Miss Minchin felt rather as if she must be losing her senses.
“Not going!” she repeated.
“No,” said Mr. Carrisford. “She is not going home—if you give your house that name. Her home for the future will be with me.”
Miss Minchin fell back in amazed indignation.
“With you! With you, sir! What does this mean?”
“Kindly explain the matter, Carmichael,” said the Indian gentleman; “and get it over as quickly as possible.” And he made Sara sit down again, and held her hands in his—which was another trick of her papa’s.
Then Mr. Carmichael explained—in the quiet,
