“Then that is capital,” said Miss Mackenzie in a tone of enjoyment.  “Have the girl summoned, please, Miss Ravenscroft.”

Miss Ravenscroft turned to the clerk, who went away at once in search of Ruth.  Ruth came in looking very white, her face dogged, her usual beauty and charm of manner having quite deserted her.  She wore her little school-apron and she kept folding it between her fingers as she stood in the presence of her judges.

“Your name?” said Miss Mackenzie.

“Ruth Craven.”

“Your age?”

“I am fourteen.”

“Where do you live?”

“In No. 2 Willow Cottages.”

“Oh, I know,” said Miss Mackenzie, looking with more approval at the child.  “I have often met your grandfather.  You live with him and his wife, don’t you?”

“Yes, madam.”

“And you have been admitted here as a foundationer?”

“Yes, madam.”

“In what class is Ruth Craven, Miss Ravenscroft?”

“Ruth is a very diligent pupil.  She is in the third remove,” replied Miss Ravenscroft, looking with kindly eyes at the child.

Ruth just glanced at her teacher, and then lowered her eyes.  Her beautiful little face was beginning to have its usual effect upon most of the ladies present.  Some of the stony despair had left it; the color came and went in her cheeks.  She ceased to fiddle with her apron, and clasped her two little white hands tightly together.

“My child,” said Mrs. Naylor, “your object in coming to school is doubtless the best object of all.”

Ruth raised inquiring eyes.

“I mean,” said the little old lady, “that you want to learn all you can—­to gain knowledge and wisdom, to learn goodness and forbearance and long-suffering and charity.”

“Oh, yes,” said Ruth, her eyes dilating.

“If,” continued Miss Mackenzie, interrupting Mrs. Naylor, and speaking in a very firm tone—­“if, instead of these pleasant things happening, a little girl learns to join insurrectionists, to forget those to whom she is indebted for such tremendous advantages, then how do matters stand—­eh, Ruth Craven?”

“I don’t understand,” said Ruth.

Her trembling and fear had come back to her.

“The dear child is frightened, Miss Mackenzie,” said Mrs. Naylor.

“I hope not,” said Miss Mackenzie; “but I as chairwoman am obliged to question her.—­Ruth Craven, is it true that you became a member of a silly schoolgirl society called the Wild Irish Girls, and that you wore a badge like this?”

Ruth nodded.

“Don’t nod to me.  Speak.”

“It is true,” said Ruth.

“Are you now a member of that society?”

“No.”

“Why did you join it?”

“Because I loved Kathleen O’Hara.”

“She is the promoter, then?”

Ruth was silent.

“You have heard me?”

“Yes, madam.”