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diff --git a/4989-0.txt b/4989-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..80fc0c0 --- /dev/null +++ b/4989-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9481 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Sweet Girl Graduate, by Mrs. L. T. Meade + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: A Sweet Girl Graduate + +Author: Mrs. L. T. Meade + +Release Date: April 7, 2002 [eBook #4989] +[Most recently updated: September 4, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Jim Weiler, xooqi.com + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SWEET GIRL GRADUATE *** + + + + +A Sweet Girl Graduate + +by Mrs. L. T. Meade + +1891 + + +Contents + + CHAPTER I. GOING OUT INTO THE WORLD + CHAPTER II. THE DELIGHTS OF BEING A FRESHER + CHAPTER III. AN UNWILLING “AT HOME” + CHAPTER IV. AN EAVESDROPPER + CHAPTER V. WHY PRISCILLA PEEL WENT TO ST. BENET’S + CHAPTER VI. COLLEGE LIFE + CHAPTER VII. IN MISS OLIPHANT’S ROOM + CHAPTER VIII. THE KINDEST AND MOST COMFORTING WAY + CHAPTER IX. A NEW LIFE + CHAPTER X. ST. HILDA’S CHAPEL + CHAPTER XI. CONSPIRATORS + CHAPTER XII. A GOOD THING TO BE YOUNG + CHAPTER XIII. CAUGHT IN A TRAP + CHAPTER XIV. IN THE ELLIOT-SMITH’S DRAWING-ROOM + CHAPTER XV. POLLY SINGLETON + CHAPTER XVI. PRETTY LITTLE ROSALIND + CHAPTER XVII. SEALSKIN AND PINK CORAL + CHAPTER XVIII. A BLACK SELF AND A WHITE SELF + CHAPTER XIX. IN MISS ECCLESTON’S SITTING-ROOM + CHAPTER XX. A PAINTER + CHAPTER XXI. “I DETEST IT” + CHAPTER XXII. A BLACK SATIN JACKET + CHAPTER XXIII. THE FASHION OF THE DAY + CHAPTER XXIV. TWO EXTREMES + CHAPTER XXV. A MYSTERIOUS EPISODE + CHAPTER XXVI. IN THE ANTE-CHAPEL OF ST. HILDA’S + CHAPTER XXVII. BEAUTIFUL ANNABEL LEE + CHAPTER XXVIII. “COME AND KILL THE BOGIE” + CHAPTER XXIX. AT THE ELLIOT-SMITHS PARTY + CHAPTER XXX. “IF I HAD KNOWN YOU SOONER” + CHAPTER XXXI. A MESSAGE + CHAPTER XXXII. “THE PRINCESS” + CONCLUSION + + + + +CHAPTER I +GOING OUT INTO THE WORLD + + +Priscilla’s trunk was neatly packed. It was a new trunk and had a nice +canvas covering over it. The canvas was bound with red braid, and +Priscilla’s initials were worked on the top in large plain letters. Her +initials were P. P. P., and they stood for Priscilla Penywern Peel. The +trunk was corded and strapped and put away, and Priscilla stood by her +aunt’s side in the little parlor of Penywern Cottage. + +“Well, I think I’ve told you everything,” said the aunt. + +“Oh, yes, Aunt Raby, I sha’n’t forget. I’m to write once a week, and +I’m to try not to be nervous. I don’t suppose I shall be— I don’t see +why I should. Girls aren’t nervous nowadays, are they?” + +“I don’t know, my dear. It seems to me that if they aren’t they ought +to be. I can understand girls doing hard things if they must. I can +understand any one doing anything that has to be done, but as to not +being nervous— well— there! Sit down, Prissie, child, and take your +tea.” + +Priscilla was tall and slight. Her figure was younger than her years, +which were nearly nineteen, but her face was older. It was an almost +careworn face, thoughtful, grave, with anxious lines already deepening +the seriousness of the too serious mouth. + +Priscilla cut some bread and butter and poured out some tea for her +aunt and for herself. + +Miss Rachel Peel was not the least like her niece. She was short and +rather dumpy. She had a sensible, downright sort of face, and she took +life with a gravity which would have oppressed a less earnest spirit +than Priscilla’s. + +“Well, I’m tired,” she said, when the meal was over. “I suppose I’ve +done a great deal more than I thought I had all day. I think I’ll go to +bed early. We have said all our last words, haven’t we, Priscilla?” + +“Pretty nearly, Aunt Raby.” + +“Oh, yes, that reminds me— there’s one thing more. Your fees will be +all right, of course, and your traveling, and I have arranged about +your washing money.” + +“Yes, Aunt Raby, oh, yes; everything is all right.” + +Priscilla fidgeted, moved her position a little and looked longingly +out of the window. + +“You must have a little money over and above these things,” proceeded +Miss Peel in her sedate voice. “I am not rich, but I’ll allow you— yes, +I’ll manage to allow you two shillings a week. That will be for +pocket-money, you understand, child.” + +The girl’s old-young face flushed painfully. + +“I’ll want a few pence for stamps, of course,” she said. “But I sha’n’t +write a great many letters. I’ll be a great deal too busy studying. You +need not allow me anything like so large a sum as that, Aunt Raby.” + +“Nonsense, child. You’ll find it all too small when you go out into the +world. You are a clever girl, Prissie, and I’m going to be proud of +you. I don’t hold with the present craze about women’s education. But I +feel somehow that I shall be proud of you. You’ll be learned enough, +but you’ll be a woman with it all. I wouldn’t have you stinted for the +world, Prissie, my dear. Yes, I’ll make it ten shillings a month— yes, +I will. I can easily screw that sum out of the butter money. Now, not +another word. I’m off to bed. Good night, my love.” + +Priscilla kissed her aunt and went out. It was a lovely autumn evening. +She stepped on to the green sward which surrounded the little cottage, +and with the moonlight casting its full radiance on her slim figure, +looked steadily out over the sea. The cottage was on the top of some +high cliffs. The light of the moon made a bright path over the water, +and Priscilla had a good view of shining, silvered water and dark, deep +blue sky. + +She stood perfectly still, gazing straight out before her. Some of the +reflection and brightness of the moonlight seemed to get into her +anxious eyes and the faint dawn of a new-born hope to tremble around +her lips. She thought herself rich with ten shillings a month +pocket-money. She returned to the house, feeling overpowered at Aunt +Raby’s goodness. + +Upstairs in Prissie’s room there were two beds. One was small; in this +she herself slept. The other had now three occupants. Three heads were +raised when Prissie entered the room and three shrill voices exclaimed: + +“Here we are, all wide awake, Prissie, darling!” + +This remark, made simultaneously, was followed by prolonged peals of +laughter. + +“Three of you in that small bed!” said Priscilla. + +She stood still, and a smile broke all over her face. “Why, Hattie,” +she said, catching up the eldest of the three girls and giving her a +fervent hug— “how did you slip out of Aunt Raby’s room?” + +“Oh, I managed to,” said Hattie in a stage whisper. “Aunt Raby came +upstairs half an hour ago, and she undressed very fast, and got into +bed, and I heard her snoring in about a minute. It was then I slipped +away. She never heard.” + +“Hop up on the bed now, Prissie,” exclaimed Rose, another of the +children, “and let us all have a chat. Here, Katie, if you’ll promise +not to cry, you may get into the middle, between Hattie and me, then +you’ll be very close to darling Prissie.” + +Katie was the youngest of the three occupants of the bed; she was about +eight years old; her small face was delicate in its outline, her mouth +peevish; she did not look a strong child, and self-control could +scarcely be expected of her. + +Priscilla placed her candle on the chimney-piece, jumped on the bed +according to orders and looked earnestly at her three small sisters. + +“Now, Prissie,” said Hattie in the important little voice which she +always used, “begin, go on— tell us all about your grand college life.” + +“How can I, Hattie, when I don’t know what to say. I can’t _guess_ what +I am to do at college.” + +“Oh, dear,” sighed Rose, “I only wish I were the one to go! It will be +very dull living with Aunt Raby when you are away, Priscilla. She won’t +let us take long walks, and if ever we go in for a real, jolly lark we +are sure to be punished. Oh, dear, oh, dear!” + +“Even though it is for your good, I wish with all my heart you were not +going away, Prissie,” said Hattie in her blunt fashion. + +Katie burst into sudden loud wails. + +Priscilla colored. Then she spoke with firmness. “We have had enough of +this kind of talk. Katie, you shall come and sit in my lap, darling. +I’ll wrap you up quite warm in this big shawl. Now, girls,” she said, +“what _is_ the use of making things harder? You know, perfectly, you +two elder ones, why I must go away, and you, Katie, you know also, +don’t you, pet?” + +“Yes, Prissie,” answered Katie, speaking in a broken, half-sobbing +voice, “only I _am_ so lonely.” + +“But you’re not going to be selfish, darling. By and by I’ll come back +to you all. Once every year, at least, I’ll come back. And then, after +I’ve gone through my course of study, I’ll get a situation of some +sort— a good situation— and you three shall come and live with me. +There, what do you say to that? Only three years, and then such a jolly +time. Why, Katie will be only eleven then.” + +Priscilla spoke in a remarkably cheerful voice, but the appalling +magnitude of three years could not be diminished, and the three little +sisters who were to stay behind with Aunt Raby were still disposed to +view things dismally. + +“If _she_ wasn’t just what she is——” began Hattie. + +“If she didn’t think the least tiny morsel of a lark wrong——” continued +Rose. + +“Why, then we could pull along somehow,” sighed Hattie. + +“Oh, you’ll pull along as it is,” said Priscilla “I’ll write to you as +often as ever I can. If possible I’ll keep a sort of journal and send +it to you. And perhaps there’ll be stories and larks in it. Now you +really must go to sleep, for I have to get up so early in the morning. +Katie, darling, I’ll make a corner for you in my bed to-night. Won’t +that be a treat?” + +“Oh, yes, Prissie.” + +Katie’s pale face was lit up by a radiant smile; Hattie and Rose lay +down side by side and closed their eyes. In a few moments they were +sound asleep. + +As they lay in the sound, happy sleep of healthy childhood Priscilla +bent over them and kissed them. Then before she lay down herself she +knelt by the window, looked up at the clear, dark sky in which the moon +sailed in majesty, bent her head, murmured a few words of prayer, then +crept into bed by her little sister’s side. + +Prissie felt full of courage and good resolves. She was going out into +the world to-morrow, and she was quite determined that the world should +not conquer her, although she knew that she was a very poor maiden with +a specially heavy load of care on her young shoulders. + + + + +CHAPTER II +THE DELIGHTS OF BEING A FRESHER + + +The college was quite shut away in its own grounds, and only from the +upper windows did the girls get a peep of the old university town of +Kingsdene. From these, however, particularly in the winter, they could +see the gabled colleges, the chapels with their rich glory of +architecture and the smooth lawns of the college gardens as they sloped +gently down to the river. + +St. Benet’s, the college for women, was approached by a private road, +and high entrance gates obstructed the gaze of the curious. Inside +there were cheerful halls and pleasant gardens and gay, fresh, +unrestrained life. But the passer-by got no peep of these things unless +the high gates happened to be open. + +This was the first evening of term, and most of the girls were back. +There was nothing very particular going on, and they were walking about +the gardens, and greeting old friends, and telling each other their +experiences, and more or less picking up the threads which had been +broken or loosened in the long vacation. + +The evenings were drawing in, but the pleasant twilight which was soon +to be rendered brilliant by the full moon seemed to the girls even +nicer than broad daylight to linger about in. They did not want to go +into the houses; they flitted about in groups here and there, chatting +and laughing merrily. + +St. Benet’s had three halls, each with its own vice-principal, and a +certain number of resident students. Each hall stood in its own grounds +and was more or less a complete home in itself. There were resident +lecturers and demonstrators for the whole college and one lady +principal, who took the lead and was virtually head of the college. + +Miss Vincent was the name of the present principal. She was an old lady +and had a vice-principal under her at Vincent Hall, the largest and +newest of these spacious homes, where young women received the +advantages of university instruction to prepare them for the battle of +life. + +Priscilla was to live at Heath Hall— a slightly smaller house, which +stood at a little distance away— its grounds being divided from the +grounds of Vincent Hall by means of a rustic paling. Miss Heath was the +very popular vice-principal of this hall, and Prissie was considered a +fortunate girl to obtain a home in her house. She sat now a forlorn and +rather scared young person, huddled up in one corner of the fly which +turned in at the wide gates, and finally deposited her and her luggage +at the back entrance of Heath Hall. + +Priscilla looked out in the darkness of the autumn night with +frightened eyes. She hated herself for feeling nervous. She had told +Aunt Raby that, of course, she would have no silly tremors, yet here +she was trembling and scarcely able to pay the cabman his fare. + +She heard a girl’s laugh in the distance, and it caused her to start so +violently that she dropped one of her few treasured sixpences, which +went rolling about aimlessly almost under the horse’s hoofs. + +“Stop a minute, I’ll find it for you,” said a voice. A tall girl with +big, brown eyes suddenly darted into view, picked up the sixpence as if +by magic, popped it into Priscilla’s hand and then vanished. Priscilla +knew that this was the girl who had laughed; she heard her laughing +again as she turned to join some one who was standing beside a laurel +hedge. The two linked their arms together and walked off in the +darkness. + +“Such a frightened poor fresher!” said the girl who had picked up the +sixpence to her companion. + +“Maggie,” said the other in a warning voice, “I know you, I know what +you mean to do.” + +“My dear, good Nancy, it is more than I know myself. What awful +indiscretion does your prophetic soul see me perpetrating?” + +“Oh, Maggie, as if anything could change your nature! You know you’ll +take up that miserable fresher for about a fortnight, and make her +imagine that you are going to be excellent friends for the rest of your +life, and then— p—— f! you’ll snuff her out as if she had never +existed; I know you, Maggie, and I call it cruel.” + +“Is not that Miss Banister I hear talking?” said a voice quite close to +the two girls. + +They both turned, and immediately with heightened color rushed up +eagerly to shake hands with the vice-principal of their college. + +“How do you do, my dears?” she said in a hearty voice. “Are you quite +well, Maggie, and you, Nancy? Had you a pleasant holiday? And did you +two great chums spend it together?” + +The girls began answering eagerly; some other girls came up and joined +the group, all anxious to shake hands with Miss Heath and to get a word +of greeting from her. + +At this moment the dressing-gong for dinner sounded, and the little +group moved slowly toward the house. + +In the entrance hall numbers of girls who had recently arrived were +standing about; all had a nod, or a smile, or a kiss for Maggie +Oliphant. + +“How do you do, Miss Oliphant? Come and see me to-night in my room, +won’t you, dear?” issued from many throats. + +Maggie promised in her good-natured, affectionate, wholesale way. + +Nancy Banister was also greeted by several friends. She, too, was gay +and bright, but quieter than Maggie. Her face was more reliable in its +expression, but not nearly so beautiful. + +“If you accept all these invitations, Maggie,” she said as the two +girls walked down the corridor which led to their rooms, “you know you +will have to sit up until morning. Why will you say ‘yes’ to every one? +You know it only causes disappointment and jealousy.” + +Maggie laughed. + +“My dear, good creature, don’t worry your righteous soul,” she +answered. “I’ll call on all the girls I can, and the others must grin +and bear it. Now we have barely time to change our dresses for dinner. +Surely, though, Nance, there’s a light under Annabel Lee’s door. Who +have they dared to put into her room? It must be one of those wretched +freshers. I don’t think I can bear it. I shall have to go away into +another corridor.” + +“Maggie, dear— you are far too sensitive. Could the college afford to +keep a room empty because poor, dear Annie Lee occupied it?” + +“They could, they ought,” burst from Maggie. She stamped her foot with +anger. “That room is a shrine to me. It will always be a shrine. I +shall hate the person who lives in it.” Tears filled her bright brown +eyes. Her arched, proud lips trembled. She opened her door, and going +into her room, shut it with a bang, almost in Nancy Banister’s face. + +Nancy stood still for a moment. A quick sigh came from her lips. + +“Maggie is the dearest girl in the college,” she said to herself; “the +dearest, the sweetest, the prettiest, yet also the most tantalizing, +the most provoking, the most inconsequent. It is the greatest wonder +she has kept so long out of some serious scrape. She will never leave +here without doing something outrageous, and yet there isn’t a girl in +the place to be named with her. I wish—” here Nancy sighed again and +put her hand to her brow as if to chase away some perplexity. + +Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she went up to the door of the room +next to Maggie’s and knocked. + +There was a moment’s silence, then a constrained voice said: + +“Come in.” + +Nancy entered at once. + +Priscilla Peel was standing in the center of the room. The electric +light was turned on, revealing the bareness and absence of all ornament +of the apartment; a fire was laid in the grate but not lit, and +Priscilla’s ugly square trunk, its canvas covering removed, stood in a +prominent position, half on the hearthrug, half on the square of carpet +which covered the center of the floor. Priscilla had taken off her +jacket and hat. She had washed her hands, and removed her muddy boots, +and smoothed out her straight, light brown hair. She looked what she +felt— a very stiff and unformed specimen of girlhood. There was a great +lump in her throat, brought there by mingled nervousness and +home-sickness, but that very fact only made her manner icy and +repellent. + +“Forgive me,” said Nancy, blushing all over her rosy face. “I thought +perhaps you might like to know one or two things as you are quite +strange here. My name is Banister. I have a room in the same corridor, +but quite at the other end. You must come and visit me presently. Oh, +has no one lit your fire? Wouldn’t you like one? The evenings are +turning so chilly now, and a fire in one’s room gives one a home-like +feeling, doesn’t it? Shall I light it for you?” + +“No, no, thank you,” said Priscilla stiffly. She longed to rush at +Nancy and smother her with kisses, but she could only stand in the +middle of her room, helpless and awkward, held in a terrible bondage of +shyness. + +Nancy drew back a step, chilled in spite of herself. + +“I see there are matches on the chimney-piece,” she said, “so you can +light the fire yourself whenever you like. The gong that will sound in +a minute will be for dinner, and Miss Heath always likes us to be +punctual for that meal. It does not matter about any other. Do you +think you can find your way to the dining-hall or shall I come and +fetch you?” + +“No— thank you. I— I can manage.” + +“But I’ll come with pleasure if you like me to.” + +“No, I’d rather you didn’t trouble, please.” + +“Very well; if you’re sure you know the way. You go down the broad +stairs, then turn to the right, then to the left. Good-by. I must rush +off, or I shall be late.” + +Nancy shut the door behind her. She did it gently, although she did not +feel gentle, for she had a distinct sensation of being irritated. + +Meanwhile Priscilla, clasping her hands together behind the closed +door, looked yearningly in the direction where the bright face and +trim, neat girlish figure had stood. She was trembling slightly and her +eyes slowly filled with tears. + +“I feel sick and lonely and horrid,” she said under her breath. “Talk +of nerves; oh, if Aunt Raby could see me now! Why, I’m positively +shaking, I can scarcely speak, I can scarcely think properly. What +would the children say if they saw their Prissie now? And I’m the girl +who is to fight the world, and kill the dragon, and make a home for the +nestlings. Don’t I feel like it! Don’t I look like it! Don’t I just +loathe myself! How hideously I do my hair, and what a frightful dress I +have on. Oh, I wish I weren’t shaking so much. I know I shall get red +all over at dinner. I wish I weren’t going to dinner. I wish, oh, I +wish I were at home again.” + +Crash! bang! pealed the great gong through the house. Doors were opened +all along the corridor; light steps passed Priscilla’s room. She heard +the rustle of silk and the sweet, high tinkle of girlish laughter. + +She stayed in her room till the last footsteps had died away, then in +desperation made a rush for it, flew down the wide stairs in a bashful +agony, and, as a matter of course, entered the spacious dining-hall by +the door devoted to the dons. + +A girl’s life at one of the women’s colleges is supposed to be more or +less an unfettered sort of existence. The broad rules guiding conduct +are few and little more than those which must be exercised in any +well-organized family. But there is the unspoken etiquette made chiefly +by the students themselves, which fills the place like an atmosphere, +and which can only be transgressed at the risk of surly glances and +muttered comments and even words of derision. + +No student was expected to enter the hall by the dons’ entrance, and +for this enormity to be perpetrated by a fresher immediately made her +the cynosure of all eyes. Poor Priscilla was unconscious of any +offense. She grew scarlet under the gaze of the merciless young eyes +and further added to her sins by sitting down at one of the tables at +the top of the hall. + +No one reproved her in words or requested her to take a lower seat, but +some rude giggles were not inaudible; and Priscilla, who would +thankfully have taken her dinner in the scullery, heard hints about a +certain young person’s presumption, and about the cheek of those +wretched freshers, which must instantly be put down with a high hand. + +Priscilla had choked over her soup, and was making poor way with the +fish that followed, when suddenly a sweet, low voice addressed her. + +“This is your first evening at St. Benet’s,” said the voice. “I hope +you will be happy. I know you will, after a little.” + +Priscilla turned and met the full gaze of lovely eyes, brown like a +nut, soft and deep as the thick pile of velvet, and yet with a latent +flash and glow in them which gave them a red, half-wild gleam now and +then. The lips that belonged to this face were slightly parted in a +smile; the smile and the expression in the eyes stole straight down +with a glow of delicious comfort into Priscilla’s heart. + +“Thank you,” she said in her stiff, wooden tone; but her eyes did not +look stiff, and the girl began to talk again. + +“I believe my room is next to yours. My name is Oliphant— Margaret +Oliphant, but every one calls me Maggie. That is, of course, I mean my +friends do. Would you like to come into my room and let me tell you +some of the rules?” + +“Thank you,” said Priscilla again. She longed to add, “I should love +beyond words to come into your room”; but instead she remarked icily, +“I think Miss Heath has given me printed rules.” + +“Oh, you have seen our dear Dorothea— I mean Miss Heath. Isn’t she +lovely?” + +“I don’t know,” answered Priscilla. “I think she’s rather a plain +person.” + +“My dear Miss”— I have not caught your name— “you really are too +deliciously prosaic. Stay here for a month, and then tell me if you +think Dorothea— I mean Miss Heath— plain. No, I won’t say any more. You +must find out for yourself. But now, about the rules. I don’t mean the +_printed_ rules. We have, I assure you, at St. Benet’s all kinds of +little etiquettes which we expect each other to observe. We are +supposed to be democratic and inclined to go in for all that is +advanced in womanhood. But, oh dear, oh dear! let any student dare to +break one of our own little pet proprieties, and you will see how +conservative we can be.” + +“Have I broken any of them?” asked Priscilla in alarm. “I did notice +that every one stared at me when I came into the hall, but I thought it +was because my face was fresh, and I hoped people would get accustomed +to me by and by.” + +“You poor, dear child, there are lots of fresh faces here besides +yours. You should have come down under the shelter of my wing, then it +would have been all right.” + +“But what have I done? Do tell me. I’d much rather know.” + +“Well, dear, you have _only_ come into the hall by the dons’ entrance, +and you have _only_ seated yourself at the top of the table, where the +learned students who are going in for a tripos take their august meals. +That is pretty good for a fresher. Forgive me, we call the new girls +freshers for a week or two. Oh, you have done nothing wrong. Of course +not, how could you know any better? Only I think it would be nice to +put you up to our little rules, would it not?” + +“I should be very much obliged,” said Priscilla. “And please tell me +now where I ought to sit at dinner.” + +Miss Oliphant’s merry eyes twinkled. + +“Look down this long hall,” she said. “Observe that door at the further +end— that is the students’ door; through that door you ought to have +entered.” + +“Yes— well, well?” + +“What an impatient ‘well, well.’ I shall make you quite an enthusiastic +Benetite before dinner is over.” + +Priscilla blushed. + +“I am sorry I spoke too eagerly,” she said. + +“Oh, no, not a bit too eagerly.” + +“But please tell me where I ought to have seated myself.” + +“There is a table near that lower entrance, Miss——” + +“Peel,” interposed Priscilla. “My name is Priscilla Peel.” + +“How quaint and great-grandmotherly. Quite delicious! Well, Miss Peel, +by that entrance door is a table, a table rather in a draught, and +consecrated to the freshers— there the freshers humbly partake of +nourishment.” + +“I see. Then I am as far from the right place as I can be.” + +“About as far as you can be.” + +“And that is why all the girls have stared so at me.” + +“Yes, of course; but let them stare. Who minds such a trifle?” + +Priscilla sat silent for a few moments. One of the neat waiting-maids +removed her plate; her almost untasted dinner lay upon it. Miss +Oliphant turned to attack some roast mutton with truly British vigor. + +By and by Priscilla’s voice, stiff but with a break in it, fell upon +her ear. + +“I think the students at St. Benet’s must be very cruel.” + +“My dear Miss Peel, the honor of the most fascinating college in +England is imperiled. Unsay those words.” + +Maggie Oliphant was joking. Her voice was gay with badinage, her eyes +brimful of laughter. But Priscilla, unaccustomed to light repartee or +chaff in any form, replied to her with heavy and pained seriousness. + +“I think the students here are cruel,” she repeated. “How can a +stranger know which is the dons’ entrance and which is the right seat +to take at table? If nobody shows her, how can a stranger know? I do +think the students are cruel, and I am sorry— very sorry I came.” + + + + +CHAPTER III +AN UNWILLING “AT HOME” + + +Most of the girls who sat at those dinner-tables had fringed or tousled +or curled locks. Priscilla’s were brushed simply away from her broad +forehead. After saying her last words, she bent her head low over her +plate and longed even for the protection of a fringe to hide her +burning blushes. Her momentary courage had evaporated; she was shocked +at having betrayed herself to a stranger; her brief fit of passion left +her stiffer and shyer than ever. Blinding tears rushed to Priscilla’s +eyes, and her terror was that they would drop on to her plate. Suppose +some of those horrid girls saw her crying? Hateful thought. She would +rather die than show emotion before them. + +At this moment a soft, plump little hand was slipped into hers and the +sweetest of voices said: + +“I am so sorry anything has seemed unkind to you. Believe me, we are +not what you imagine. We have our fun and our prejudices, of course, +but we are not what you think we are.” + +Priscilla could not help smiling, nor could she resist slightly +squeezing the fingers which touched hers. + +“You are not unkind, I know,” she answered; and she ate the rest of her +dinner in a comforted frame of mind. + +After dinner one of the lecturers who resided at Heath Hall, a +pleasant, bright girl of two- or three-and-twenty, came and introduced +herself, and presently took Priscilla with her to her own room, to talk +over the line of study which the young girl proposed to take up. This +conference lasted some little time, and then Priscilla, in the +lecturer’s company, returned to the hall for tea. + +A great many girls kept coming in and out. Some stayed to have tea, but +most helped themselves to tea and bread and butter and took them away +to partake of in their own private rooms. + +Maggie Oliphant and Nancy Banister presently rushed in for this +purpose. Maggie, seeing Priscilla, ran up to her. + +“How are you getting on?” she asked brightly. “Oh, by-the-by, will you +cocoa with me to-night at half-past ten?” + +“I don’t know what you mean,” answered Priscilla. “But I’ll do it,” she +added, her eyes brightening. + +“All right, I’ll explain the simple ceremony when you come. My room is +next to yours, so you’ll have no difficulty in finding me out. I don’t +expect to have any one present except Miss Banister,” nodding her head +in Nancy’s direction, “and perhaps one other girl. By-by, I’ll see you +at half-past ten.” + +Maggie turned to leave the hall, but Nancy lingered for a moment by +Priscilla’s side. + +“Wouldn’t you like to take your tea up to your room?” she asked. “We +most of us do it. You may, you know.” + +“I don’t think I wish to,” answered Priscilla in an uncertain voice. + +Nancy half turned to go, then came back. + +“You are going to unpack by and by, aren’t you?” she asked. + +“Oh, yes, when I get back to my room.” + +“Perhaps you ought to know beforehand; the girls will be coming to +call.” + +Priscilla raised her eyes. + +“What girls?” she asked, alarm in her tone. + +“Oh, most of the students in your corridor. They always call on a +fresher the first night in her room. You need not bother yourself about +them; they’ll just talk for a little while and then go away. What is +the matter, Miss Peel? Maggie has told me your name, you see.” + +“What you tell me sounds so very— very formal.” + +“But it isn’t— not really. Shall I come and help you to entertain +them?” + +“I wish——” began Priscilla. She hesitated; the words seemed to stick in +her throat. + +“What did you say?” Nancy bent forward a little impatiently. + +“I wish— yes, do come,” with a violent effort. + +“All right, you may expect me.” + +Nancy flew after Maggie Oliphant, and Priscilla went slowly up the +wide, luxurious stairs. She turned down the corridor which led to her +own room. There were doors leading out of this corridor at both sides, +and Priscilla caught glimpses of luxurious rooms bright with flowers +and electric light. Girls were laughing and chatting in them; she saw +pictures on the walls and lounges and chairs scattered about. Her own +room was at the far end of the corridor. The electric light was also +brightening it, but the fire was unlit, and the presence of the +unpacked trunk, taking up a position of prominence on the floor, gave +it a very unhomelike feel. In itself the room was particularly +picturesque. It had two charming lattice windows, set in deep square +bays. One window faced the fireplace, the other the door. The effect +was slightly irregular, but for that very reason all the more charming. +The walls of the room were painted light blue; there was a +looking-glass over the mantel-piece set in a frame of the palest, most +delicate blue. A picture-rail ran round the room about six feet from +the ground, and the high frieze above had a scroll of wild roses +painted on it in bold, free relief. + +The panels of the doors were also decorated with sprays of wild flowers +in picturesque confusion. Both the flowers and the scroll were boldly +designed, but were unfinished, the final and completing touches +remaining yet to be given. + +Priscilla looked hungrily at these unexpected trophies of art. She +could have shouted with glee as she recognized some of her dear, wild +Devonshire flowers, among the groups on the door panels. She wondered +if all the rest of the students were treated to these artistic +decorations and grew a little happier and less homesick at the thought. + +Priscilla could have been an artist herself had the opportunity arisen, +but she was one of those girls all alive with aspiration and longing +who never up to the present had come in the way of special culture in +any style. + +She stood for some time gazing at the groups of wild flowers, then +remembering with horror that she was to receive visitors that night, +she looked round the room to see if she could do anything to make it +appear homelike and inviting. + +It was a nice room, certainly. Priscilla had never before in her whole +life occupied such a luxurious apartment, and yet it had a cold, +dreary, uninhabited feel. She had an intuition that none of the other +students’ rooms looked like hers. She rushed to light the fire, but +could not find the matches, which had been removed from their place on +the mantel-piece, and felt far too shy to ring the electric bell. It +was Priscilla’s fashion to clasp her hands together when she felt a +sense of dismay, and she did so now as she looked around the pretty +room, which yet with all its luxuries looked to her cold and dreary. + +The furniture was excellent of its kind. A Turkey carpet covered the +center of the floor, the boards round the edge were stained and +brightly polished. In one corner of the room was a little bed, made to +look like a sofa by day, with a Liberty cretonne covering. A curtain of +the same shut away the wardrobe and washing apparatus. Just under one +of the bay windows stood a writing-table, so contrived as to form a +writing-table, and a bookcase at the top, and a chest of drawers to +hold linen below. Besides this there was a small square table for tea +in the room and a couple of chairs. The whole effect was undoubtedly +bare. + +Priscilla was hesitating whether to begin to unpack her trunk or not +when a light knock was heard at her door. She said “Come in,” and two +girls burst rather noisily into the apartment. + +“How do you do?” they said, favoring the fresh girl with a brief nod. +“You came to-day, didn’t you? What are you going to study? Are you +clever?” + +These queries issued rapidly from the lips of the tallest of the girls. +She had red hair, tousled and tossed about her head. Her face was +essentially commonplace; her small restless eyes now glanced at +Priscilla, now wandered over the room. She did not wait for a reply to +any of her queries, but turned rapidly to her companion. + +“I told you so, Polly,” she said. “I was quite sure that she was going +to be put into Miss Lee’s room. You see, I’m right; this _is_ Annabel +Lee’s old room; it has never been occupied since.” + +“Hush!” said the other girl. + +The two walked across the apartment and seated themselves on +Priscilla’s bed. + +There came a fresh knock at the door, and this time three students +entered. They barely nodded to Priscilla and then rushed across the +room with cries of rapture to greet the girls who were seated on the +bed. + +“How do you do, Miss Atkins? How do you do, Miss Jones?” + +Miss Jones and Miss Atkins exchanged kisses with Miss Phillips, Miss +Marsh and Miss Day. The babel of tongues rose high, and every one had +something to say with regard to the room which had been assigned to +Priscilla. + +“Look,” said Miss Day, “it was in that corner she had her +rocking-chair. Girls, _do_ you remember Annabel’s rocking-chair, and +how she used to sway herself backward and forward in it and half-shut +her lovely eyes?” + +“Oh, and don’t I just seem to _see_ that little red tea-table of hers +near the fire,” burst from Miss Marsh. “That Japanese table, with the +Japanese tea-set— oh dear, oh dear! those cups of tea— those cakes! +Well, the room _was_ luxurious, _was_ worth coming to see in Annabel’s +time.” + +“It’s more than it is now,” laughed Miss Jones in a harsh voice. “How +bare the walls look without her pictures. It was in that recess the +large figure of Hope by Burne-Jones used to hang, and there, that +queer, wild, wonderful head looking out of clouds. You know she never +would tell us the artist’s name. Yes, she had pretty things everywhere! +How the room is altered! I don’t think I care for it a bit now.” + +“Could any one who knew Annabel Lee care for the room without her?” +asked one of the girls. She had a common, not to say vulgar, face, but +it wore a wistful expression as she uttered these words. + +All this time Priscilla was standing, feeling utterly shy and +miserable. From time to time other girls came in; they nodded to her +and then rushed upon their companions. The eager talk began afresh, and +always there were looks of regret and allusions, accompanied by sighs, +to the girl who had lived in the room last. + +“Well,” said one merry little girl, who was spoken to by the others as +Ada Hardy, “I have no doubt that by and by, when Miss——” She glanced +toward Priscilla. + +“Peel,” faltered Priscilla. + +“When Miss Peel unpacks her trunk, she’ll make the room look very +pretty, too.” + +“She can’t,” said Miss Day in a tragic voice; “she never could make the +room look at it used to— not if she was to live till the age of +Methuselah. Of course you’ll improve it, Miss Peel; you couldn’t +possibly exist in it as it is now.” + +“I can tell you of a capital shop in Kingsdene, Miss Peel,” said Miss +Marsh, “where you can buy tables and chairs, and pretty artistic +cloths, and little whatnots of all descriptions. I’d advise you to go +to Rigg’s. He’s in the High Street, No. 48.” + +“But Spilman has much the most _recherche’_ articles, you know, Lucy,” +interposed Miss Day. “I’ll walk over to Spilman’s to-morrow with you, +if you like, Miss Peel.” + +Before Priscilla had time to reply there was again a knock at the door, +and this time Nancy Banister, looking flushed and pretty, came in. + +She took in the scene at a glance; numbers of girls making themselves +at home in Priscilla’s room, some seated on her trunk, some on her +bureau, several curled up in comfortable attitudes on her bed and she +herself standing, meek, awkward, depressed, near one of the windows. + +“How tired you look, Miss Peel!” said Nancy Banister. + +Priscilla smiled gratefully at her. + +“And your trunk is not unpacked yet?” + +“Oh! there is time enough,” faltered Priscilla. + +“Are we in your way?” suddenly spoke Miss Marsh, springing to her feet. +“Good night. My name is Marsh, my room is thirty-eight.” + +She swung herself lazily and carelessly out of the room, followed, at +longer or shorter intervals, by the other girls, who all nodded to +Priscilla, told her their names and one or two the numbers of their +rooms. At last she was left alone with Nancy Banister. + +“Poor thing! How tired and white you look!” said Nancy. “But now that +dreadful martyrdom is over, you shall have a real cozy time. Don’t you +want a nice hot cup of cocoa? It will be ready in a minute or two. And +please may I help you to unpack?” + +“Thank you,” said Priscilla; her teeth were chattering. “If I might +have a fire?” she asked suddenly. + +“Oh, you poor, shivering darling! Of course. Are there no matches here? +There were some on the mantel-piece before dinner. No, I declare they +have vanished. How careless of the maid. I’ll run into Maggie’s room +and fetch some.” + +Miss Banister was not a minute away. She returned with a box of +matches, and, stooping down, set a light to the wood, and a pleasant +fire was soon blazing and crackling merrily. + +“Now, isn’t that better?” said Nancy. “Please sit down on your bed and +give me the key of your trunk. I’ll soon have the things out and put +all to rights for you. I’m a splendid unpacker.” + +But Priscilla had no desire to have her small and meager wardrobe +overhauled even by the kindest of St. Benet’s girls. + +“I will unpack presently myself, if you don’t mind,” she said. She felt +full of gratitude, but she could not help an almost surly tone coming +into her voice. + +Nancy drew back, repulsed and distressed. + +“Perhaps you would like me to go away?” she said. “I will go into +Maggie’s room and let you know when cocoa is ready.” + +“Thank you,” said Prissie. Miss Banister disappeared, and Priscilla sat +on by the fire, unconscious that she had given any pain or annoyance, +thinking with gratitude of Nancy, and with feelings of love of Maggie +Oliphant, and wondering what her little sisters were doing without her +at home to-night. + +By and by there came a tap at her door. Priscilla ran to open it. Miss +Oliphant stood outside. + +“Won’t you come in?” said Priscilla, throwing the door wide open and +smiling with joy. It was already delightful to her to look at Maggie. +“Please come in,” she added in a tone almost of entreaty. + +Maggie Oliphant started and turned pale. “Into that room? No, no, I +can’t,” she said in a queer voice. She rushed back to her own, leaving +Priscilla standing in amazement by her open door. + +There was a moment’s silence. Then Miss Oliphant’s voice, rich, soft +and lazy, was heard within the shelter of her own apartment. + +“Please come in, Miss Peel; cocoa awaits you. Do not stand on +ceremony.” + +Priscilla went timidly across the landing, and the instant found +herself in one of the prettiest of the students’ rooms at St. Benet’s. +A few rare prints and some beautiful photogravures of well-known +pictures adorned the walls. The room was crowded with knick-knacks and +rendered gay and sweet by many tall flowers in pots. A piano stood open +by one of the walls and a violin lay carelessly on a chair not far off. +There were piles of new music and some tempting, small, neatly bound +books lying about. A fire glowed on the hearth and a little brass +kettle sang merrily on the hob. The cocoa-table was drawn up in front +of the fire and on a quaintly shaped tray stood the bright little +cocoa-pot and the oddly devised cups and saucers. + +“Welcome to St. Benet’s!” said Maggie, going up and taking Priscilla’s +hand cordially within her own. “Now you’ll have to get into this low +chair and make yourself quite at home and happy.” + +“How snug you are here,” said Prissie, her eyes brightening and a pink +color mounting into her cheeks. She was glad that Maggie was alone; she +felt more at ease with her than with any one, but the next moment she +said with a look of apparent regret: + +“I thought Miss Banister was in your room?” + +“No; Nancy has gone to her own room at the end of the corridor to do +some work for an hour. She will come back to say good night. She always +does. Are you sorry to have me by myself?” + +“Indeed I am not,” said Priscilla. The smile, which made her rather +plain face attractive, crept slowly back to it. Maggie poured out a cup +of cocoa and brought it to her. Then, drawing another chair forward, +she seated herself in it, sipped her own cocoa and began to talk. + +Long afterward Priscilla remembered that talk. It was not what Maggie +said, for her conversation in itself was not at all brilliant, but it +was the sound of her rich, calm, rather lazy voice, the different +lights which glanced and gleamed in her eyes, the dimples about her +mouth, the attitude she put herself in. Maggie had a way of changing +color, too, which added to her fascination. Sometimes the beautiful +oval of her face would he almost ivory white, but then again a rosy +cloud would well up and up the cheeks and even slightly suffuse the +broad, low forehead. Her face was never long the same, never more than +a moment in repose; eyes, mouth, brow, even the very waves of her hair +seemed to Priscilla, this first night as she sat by her hearth, to be +all speech. + +The girls grew cozy and confidential together. Priscilla told Maggie +about her home, a little also about her past history and her motive in +coming to St. Benet’s. Maggie sympathized with all the expression she +was capable of. At last Priscilla bade her new friend good night, and, +rising from her luxurious chair, prepared to go back to her own room. + +She had just reached the door of Maggie’s room, and was about to turn +the handle, when a sudden thought arrested her. She came back a few +steps. + +“May I ask you a question?” she said. + +“Certainly,” replied Miss Oliphant. + +“Who is the girl who used to live in my room? Annabel Lee, the other +girls call her. Who is she? What is there remarkable about her?” + +To Priscilla’s astonishment, Maggie started a step forward, her eyes +blazed with an expression which was half frightened— half angry. She +interlocked one soft hand inside the other, her face grew white, hard +and strained. + +“You must not ask me about Annabel Lee,” she said in a whisper, “for I— +I can tell you nothing about her. I can _never_ tell you about her— +never.” + +Then she rushed to her sofa-bed, flung herself upon it face downward, +and burst into queer, silent, distressful tears. + +Some one touched Priscilla softly an her shoulder. + +“Let me take you to your room, Miss Peel,” said Nancy Banister. “Don’t +take any notice of Maggie; she will be all right by and by.” + +Nancy took Priscilla’s hand and walked with her across the corridor. + +“I am so sorry I said anything to hurt Miss Oliphant,” said Priscilla. + +“Oh, you were not to blame. You could not know any better. Of course, +now that you do know, you will never do it again.” + +“But I don’t know anything now. Please will _you_ tell me who Annabel +Lee is?” + +“Hush! don’t speak so loud. Annabel Lee” Nancy’s eyes filled with +tears— “no girl in the college was so popular.” + +“Why do you say _was?_ and why do you cry?” + +“I did not know that I cried. Annabel Lee is dead.” + +“Oh!” + +Priscilla walked into her room and Nancy went back to Maggie Oliphant. + + + + +CHAPTER IV +AN EAVESDROPPER + + +The students at St. Benet’s were accustomed to unlimited license in the +matter of sitting up at night. At a certain hour the electric light +were put out, but each girl was well supplied with candles and could +sit up and pursue her studies into the small hours, if she willed. + +It was late when Priscilla left Maggie Oliphant’s room on this first +night, but, long as her journey had been, and tired as she undoubtedly +felt, the events of the evening had excited her, and she did not care +to go to bed. Her fire was now burning well, and her room was warm and +cozy. She drew the bolt of her door, and, unlocking her trunk, began to +unpack. She was a methodical girl and well trained. Miss Rachel Peel +had instilled order into Priscilla from her earliest days, and she now +quickly disposed of her small but neat wardrobe. Her linen would just +fit into the drawers of the bureau. Her two or three dresses and +jackets were hung tidily away behind the curtain which formed her +wardrobe. + +Priscilla pushed her empty trunk against the wall, folded up the bits +of string and paper which lay scattered about, and then, slowly +undressing, she got into bed. + +She undressed with a certain sense of luxuriousness and pleasure. Her +room began to look charming to her now that her things were unpacked, +and the first sharp pain of her homesickness was greatly softened since +she had fallen in love with Maggie Oliphant. + +Priscilla had not often in the course of her life undressed by a fire, +but then had she ever spent an evening like this one? All was fresh to +her, new, exciting. Now she was really very tired, and the moment she +laid her head on her pillow would doubtless be asleep. + +She got into bed, and, putting out her candle, lay down. The firelight +played on the pale blue walls and lit up the bold design of the +briar-roses which ran round the frieze at the top of the room. + +Priscilla wondered why she did not drop asleep at once. She felt vexed +with herself when she discovered that each instant the chance of +slumber was flying before her, that every moment her tired body became +more restless and wide-awake. She could not help gazing at that scroll +of briar-roses; she could not help thinking of the hand that had +painted the flowers, of the girl whose presence had once made the room +in which she now lay so charming. + +Priscilla had not yet been twelve hours at St. Benet’s, and yet almost +every student she had met had spoken of Annabel Lee— had spoken of her +with interest, with regret. One girl had gone further than this; she +had breathed her name with bitter sorrow. + +Priscilla wished she had not been put into this room. She felt +absolutely nervous; she had a sense of usurping some one else’s place, +of turning somebody else out into the cold. She did not believe in +ghosts, but she had an uncomfortable sensation, and it would not have +greatly surprised her if Annabel had come gliding back in the night +watches to put the finishing touches to those scrolls of wild flowers +which ornamented the panels of the doors, and to the design of the +briar-rose which ran round the frieze of the room. Annabel might come +in, and pursue this work in stealthy spirit fashion, and then glide up +to her, and ask her to get out of this little white bed, and let the +strange visitor, to whom it had once belonged, rest in it herself once +more. + +Annabel Lee! It was a queer name— a wild, bewitching sort of a name— +the name of a girl in a song. + +Priscilla knew many of Poe’s strange songs, and she found herself now +murmuring some words which used to fascinate her long ago: + +“And the angels, not half so happy in heaven, + Went envying her and me; + Yes! that was the reason (as all men know + In this kingdom by the sea) + That the wind came out of the cloud by night, + Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee! + + “But our love it was stronger by far than the love + Of those who were older than we— + Of many far wiser than we; + And neither the angels in heaven above, + Nor the demons down under the sea, + Can ever dissever my soul from the soul + Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.” + + +Some ashes fell from the expiring fire; Priscilla jumped up in bed with +a start. Her heart was beating fast. She thought of Maggie’s exquisite +face. She remembered it as she had seen it that night when they were +sitting by the fire, as she had seen it last, when it turned so white +and the eyes blazed at her in anger. + +Priscilla stretched out her hand for a box of matches. She would light +her candle, and, as there was no chance of her going to sleep, sit up, +put her dressing-jacket on and begin to write a long letter home to +Aunt Raby and to her little sisters. Such methodical work would calm +nerves not often so highly strung. + +She rose, and fetching her neat little leather writing-case from where +she had placed it on the top of her bureau, prepared to open it. + +The little case was locked. Priscilla went over to her curtained +wardrobe, pushed it aside and felt in the pocket of the dress she had +worn that day for her purse. It was not there. Within that purse the +little key was safely hiding, but the purse itself was nowhere to be +found. + +Priscilla looked all around the room. In vain; the neat brown-leather +purse, which held the key, some very precious memoranda of different +sorts and her small store of worldly wealth, was nowhere to be found. + +She stood still for a moment in perplexity. All her nervous fears had +now completely vanished; a real calamity and a grave one stared her in +the face. Suppose her purse were gone? Suppose it had been stolen? The +very small supply of money which that purse contained was most precious +to Priscilla. It seemed to her that nothing could well be more terrible +than for her now to have to apply to Aunt Raby for fresh funds. Aunt +Raby had stinted herself dreadfully to get Priscilla’s modest little +outfit together, and now— oh, she would rather starve than appeal to +her again. + +Suddenly as she stood in the middle of her room a memory came back to +her. It was the recollection of a very trivial incident. She remembered +something dropping on the floor as she sat by Maggie’s side at dinner. +She had felt too nervous and miserable at the time to take any notice +of the slight sound made by the fall, but now it returned vividly to +her memory. She was sure that her purse must have dropped out of her +pocket at that moment, and was now convinced that it was now lying +quietly under the table where she had sat. + +Priscilla felt far too excited to wait until the morning to make +herself sure on this point. No; happen what might, she would set her +fears at rest now and find her way somehow through the strange and +sleeping house until she discovered her lost treasure. + +Partly re-dressing, she took her candle in her hand and softly unhasped +her door. It was a well-oiled lock and made no click or noise of any +kind as she turned the handle. When she opened the door wide it did not +creak. The long corridor outside had a stone floor and was richly +carpeted. No fear of treacherous, creaking boards here. Priscilla +prepared to walk briskly down the length of the corridor, when she was +arrested by seeing a light streaming out of Maggie Oliphant’s room. + +The electric lights were all extinguished, and this light alone shone +like a ray in the darkness. + +Prissie stood still, with a gasp of dismay. She did not want Maggie to +hear her now. She would have been distressed at Maggie being acquainted +with her carelessness. She felt sure that a girl like Maggie Oliphant +could never understand what a little purse, which only contained a +sovereign or two, would mean to her. + +On tiptoe, and shading the candle with her hand, she stole past the +partly open door. A rich tapestry curtain hung at the other side, and +Maggie doubtless thought the door was shut. + +Priscilla had almost gone past the open door, when her steps were again +arrested by the sound of voices. Some one said “Priscilla Peel,” and +then some one else laughed. + +Priscilla stood perfectly still. Of course she had no right to listen, +but she did. She waited breathless, in an agony of expectation, for the +next words. + +“I would not be jealous if I were you, Nancy,” said Maggie’s lazy, +sweet voice. “The poor girl is as queer as her name, but it gives me a +kind of aesthetic pleasure to be good to people. _You_ have no cause to +be jealous, sweet pet.” + +Priscilla raised one trembling hand and noiselessly put out her candle. +Her feet seemed rooted to the spot. + +Nancy murmured something which Priscilla could not hear. Then there was +the sound of one girl kissing another, and Maggie’s light laugh was +heard again. + +“The unfortunate girl has fallen in love with you, there’s no doubt +about that, Maggie,” said Nancy. + +“Well, my dear, she’ll get over that little fever presently. When I’m +kind to them, they all have it. I believe I am gracious to them just +because I like to see that grateful, affectionate expression in their +eyes. The fact is, Nance, I have a perfectly crazy desire to excite +love.” + +“But do you give love, Maggie? Do you ever give it back in return?” + +“Sometimes. I don’t know, I believe I am rather fond of you, for +instance.” + +“Maggie, was Geoffrey Hammond at St. Hilda’s this afternoon?” + +“I can’t possibly say,” replied Maggie in a cold voice. Then she added +excitedly, “I don’t believe the door is shut! You are so careless, +Nannie, so indifferent to the fact that there _may_ be eavesdroppers +about.” + +Priscilla crept back to her room. She had forgotten all about her +purse; every other feeling was completely swallowed up in a burning, +choking sense of anger. + + + + +CHAPTER V +WHY PRISCILLA PEEL WENT TO ST. BENET’S + + +Priscilla had received a shock, and hers was not the sort of nature to +take such a blow easily. She was a reserved girl, but her feelings were +deep, her affections very strong. Priscilla had a rather commonplace +past, but it was the sort of past to foster and deepen the +peculiarities of her character. Her father had died when she was +twelve, her mother when she was fourteen. They were north-country folk, +and they possessed all the best characteristics of their class. They +were rigidly upright people, they never went in debt; they considered +luxuries bad for the soul and the smaller refinements of life +altogether unnecessary. + +Mr. Peel managed to save a little money out of his earnings. He took +year by year these savings to the nearest county bank and invested them +to the best of his ability. The bank broke, and in one fell stroke he +lost all the savings of a life. This affected his health, and he never +held up his head or recovered his vigor of mind and body again. + +He died and two years afterward his wife followed him. Priscilla was +then fourteen and there were three little sisters several years +younger. They were merry little children, strong, healthy, untouched by +care. Priscilla, on the contrary, was grave and looked much older than +her years. + +On the night their mother was buried Aunt Rachel Peel, their father’s +sister, came from her home far away on the borders of Devonshire, and +told the four desolate children that she was going to take them away to +live on her little farm with her. + +Aunt Raby spoke in a very frank manner. She concealed nothing. + +“It’s only fair to tell you, Prissie,” she said, addressing the tall, +gawky girl, who stood with her hands folded in front of her— “it’s only +fair to tell you that hitherto I’ve just made two ends meet for one +mouth alone, and how I’m to fill four extra ones the Lord knows, but I +don’t. Still, I’m going to try, for it shall never be said that Andrew +Peel’s children wanted bread while his sister, Rachel Peel, lived.” + +“We have none of us big appetites,” said Priscilla after a long, solemn +pause; “we can do with very little food— very little. The only one who +ever is _really_ hungry is Hattie.” + +Aunt Raby looked up at the pale face, for Prissie was taller than her +aunt even then, and said in a shocked voice: + +“Good gracious, child! do you think I’d stint one of you? You ought all +to be hearty, and I hope you will be. No, no, it isn’t that, Prissie, +but there’ll be no luxuries, so don’t you expect them.” + +“I don’t want them,” answered Priscilla. + +The children all went to Devonshire, and Aunt Raby toiled, as perhaps +no woman had ever toiled before, to put bread into their mouths. Katie +had a fever, which made her pale and thin and took away that look of +robustness which had characterized the little Yorkshire maiden. Nobody +thought about the children’s education, and they might have grown up +without any were it not for Priscilla, who taught them what she knew +herself. Nobody thought Priscilla clever; she had no brilliance about +her in any way, but she had a great gift for acquiring knowledge. +Wherever she went she picked up a fresh fact, or a fresh fancy, or a +new idea, and these she turned over and over in her active, strong, +young brain until she assimilated them and made them part of herself. + +Among the few things that had been saved from her early home there was +a box of her father’s old books, and as these comprised several of the +early poets and essayists, she might have gone further and fared worse. + +One day the old clergyman who lived at a small vicarage near called to +see Miss Peel. He discovered Priscilla deep over Carlyle’s “History of +the French Revolution.” The young girl had become absorbed in the +fascination of the wild and terrible tale. Some of the horror of it had +got into her eyes as she raised them to return Mr. Hayes’ courteous +greeting. His attention was arrested by the look she gave him. He +questioned her about her reading, and presently offered to help her. +From this hour Priscilla made rapid progress. She was not taught in the +ordinary fashion, but she was being really educated. Her life was full +now; she knew nothing about the world, nothing about society. She had +no ambitions and she did not trouble herself to look very far ahead. +The old classics which she studied from morning till night abundantly +satisfied her really strong intellectual nature. + +Mr. Hayes allowed her to talk with him, even to argue points with him. +He always liked her to draw her own conclusions; he encouraged her +really original ideas; he was proud of his pupil, and he grew fond of +her. It was not Priscilla’s way to say a word about it, but she soon +loved the old clergyman as if he were her father. + +Some time between her sixteenth and seventeenth birthday that awakening +came which altered the whole course of her life. It was a summer’s day +Priscilla was seated in the old wainscoted parlor of the cottage, +devouring a book lent to her by Mr. Hayes on the origin of the Greek +drama and occasionally bending to kiss little Katie, who sat curled up +in her arms, when the two elder children rushed in with the information +that Aunt Raby had suddenly lain flat down in the hayfield, and they +thought she was asleep. + +Prissie tumbled her book in one direction and Katie in the other. In a +moment she was kneeling by Miss Peel’s side. + +“What is it, Aunt Raby?” she asked tenderly. “Are you ill?” + +The tired woman opened her eyes slowly. + +“I think I fainted, dear love,” she said. “Perhaps it was the heat of +the sun.” + +Priscilla managed to get her back into the house. She grew better +presently and seemed something like herself, but that evening the aunt +and niece had a long talk, and the next day Prissie went up to see Mr. +Hayes. + +“I am interested,” he said when he saw her enter the room, “to see how +you have construed that passage in Cicero, Priscilla. You know I warned +you of its difficulty.” + +“Oh, please, sir, don’t,” said Prissie, holding up her hand with an +impatient movement, which she now and then found herself indulging in. +“I don’t care if Cicero is at the bottom of the sea. I don’t want to +speak about him or think about him. His day is over, mine is— oh, sir, +I beg your pardon.” + +“Granted, my dear child. Sit down, Prissie. I will forgive your profane +words about Cicero, for I see you are excited. What is the matter?” + +“I want you to help me, Mr. Hayes. Will you help me? You have always +been my dear friend, my good friend.” + +“Of course I will help you. What is wrong? Speak to me fully.” + +“Aunt Raby fainted in the hayfield yesterday.” + +“Indeed? It was a warm day; I am truly concerned. Would she like to see +me? Is she better to-day?” + +“She is quite well to-day— quite well for the time.” + +“My dear Priscilla, what a tragic face! Your Aunt Raby is not the first +woman who has fainted and got out of her faint again and been none the +worse.” + +“That is just the point, Mr. Hayes. Aunt Raby has got out of her faint, +but she _is_ the worse.” + +Mr. Hayes looked hard into his pupil’s face. There was no beauty in it. +The mouth was wide, the complexion dull, the features irregular. Even +her eyes— and perhaps they were Prissie’s best point— were neither +large nor dark; but an expression now filled those eyes and lingered +round that mouth which made the old rector feel solemn. + +He took one of the girl’s thin unformed hands between his own. + +“My dear child,” he said, “something weighs on your mind. Tell your old +friend— your almost father— all that is in your heart.” + +Thus begged to make a confidence, Priscilla did tell a commonplace, and +yet tragic, story. Aunt Raby was affected with an incurable illness. It +would not kill her soon; she might live for years, but every year she +would grow a little weaker and a little less capable of toil. As long +as she lived the little farm belonged to her, but whenever she died it +would pass to a distant cousin. Whenever Aunt Raby died, Priscilla and +her three sisters would be penniless. + +“So I have come to you,” continued Prissie, “to say that I must take +steps at once to enable me to earn money. I must support Hattie and +Rose and Katie whenever Aunt Raby goes. I must earn money as soon as it +is possible for a girl to do so, and I must stop dreaming and thinking +of nothing but books, for perhaps books and I will have little to say +to each other in future.” + +“That would be sad,” replied Mr. Hayes, “for that would be taking a +directly opposite direction to the path which Providence clearly +intends you to walk in.” + +Priscilla raised her eyes and looked earnestly at the old rector. Then, +clasping her hands tightly together, she said with suppressed passion: + +“Why do you encourage me to be selfish, Mr. Hayes?” + +“I will not,” he replied, answering her look; “I will listen patiently +to all you have to say. How do you propose to earn bread for yourself +and your sisters?” + +“I thought of dressmaking.” + +“Um! Did you— make— the gown you have on?” + +“Yes,” replied Priscilla, looking down at her ungainly homespun +garment. + +The rector rose to his feet and smiled in the most sweet and benevolent +way. + +“I am no judge of such matters,” he said, “and I may be wrong. But my +impression is that the style and cut of that dress would scarcely have +a large demand in fashionable quarters.” + +“Oh, sir!” Prissie blushed all over. “You know I said I should have to +learn.” + +“My dear child,” said Mr. Hayes firmly, “when it becomes a question of +a woman earning her bread, let her turn to that path where promise +lies. There is no promise in the fit of that gown, Prissie. But here— +here there is much.” + +He touched her big forehead lightly with his hand. + +“You must not give up your books, my dear,” he said, “for, +independently of the pleasure they afford, they will also give you +bread and butter. Go home now and let me think over matters. Come again +to-morrow. I may have important things to say to you.” + +From this conversation came the results which, shortly after the +completion of her eighteenth year, made Priscilla an inmate of St. +Benet’s far-famed college for women. Mr. Hayes left no stone unturned +to effect his object. He thought Priscilla could do brilliantly as a +teacher, and he resolved that for this purpose she should have the +advantages which a collegiate life alone could offer to her. He himself +prepared her for her entrance examination, and he and Aunt Raby between +them managed the necessary funds to give the girl a three-years’ life +as a student in these halls of learning. + +Prissie knew very little about the money part of the scheme. She only +guessed what had become of Aunt Raby’s watch and chain; and a spasm +crossed her face when one day she happened to see that Aunt Raby’s poor +little jewel case was empty. The jewels and the watch could certainly +not fetch much, but they provided Prissie with a modest little outfit, +and Mr. Hayes had got a grant from a loan society, which further +lightened expenses for all parties. + +Priscilla bade her sisters, her aunt and the old rector good-by and +started on her new life with courage. + + + + +CHAPTER VI +COLLEGE LIFE + + +The routine of life at St. Benet’s was something as follows: + +The dressing-bell was rung at seven, and all the students were expected +to meet in the chapel for prayers at eight. Nothing was said if they +did not appear; no reproofs were uttered and no inquiries made; but the +good-fellowship between the students and the dons was so apparent in +the three halls that known wishes were always regarded, and, as a rule, +there were few absentees. + +The girls went to chapel in their white-straw sailor-hats, simply +trimmed with a broad band of ribbon of the college colors, green with a +narrow stripe of gold. Breakfast immediately followed chapel; tea and +coffee and different cold meats were placed on the side-tables, and the +girls helped themselves to what they pleased. + +The great event at breakfast was the post. Each student, when she +entered the breakfast-hall, would make an eager rush to the side-table +where the letters were neatly placed. During breakfast these were read +and chatted over. The whole meal was most informal and seldom lasted +more than a quarter of an hour. + +After breakfast the notice-board in the large entrance-hall was visited +and eagerly scanned, for it contained a detailed account of the hours +for the different lectures and the names of the lecturers who would +instruct the students during the day. By the side of the large official +notice-board hung another, which was read with quite as deep interest. +This contained particulars of the meetings of the different clubs and +societies for pleasure or profit got up by the girls themselves. + +On the morning after her arrival Priscilla, with the other students, +read the contents of these two boards, and then, in the company of a +fresher nearly as shy as herself, she wandered about the lovely grounds +which surrounded Heath Hall until nine o’clock, when lectures began. + +Lectures continued without interruption until lunchtime, a meal which +was taken very much when the girls pleased. The time allowed for this +light midday refreshment was from half-past twelve to two. +The-afternoons were mostly given up to games and gymnastics, although +occasionally there were more lectures, and the more studious of the +girls spent a considerable part of the time studying in their own +rooms. + +Tea was the convivial meal of the day. To this the girls invited +outside friends and acquaintances, and, as a rule, they always took it +in their own rooms. + +Dinner was at half-past six, and from half-past seven to half-past nine +was usually the time when the different clubs and societies met. + +There was a regularity and yet a freedom about the life; invisible +bounds were prescribed, beyond which no right-minded or conscientious +girl cared to venture, but the rules were really very few. Students +might visit their friends in Kingsdene and receive them at the college. +They might entertain them at luncheon or dinner or at tea in their own +rooms at a fixed charge, and provided the friends left at a certain +hour, and the girls themselves asked for leave of absence when they +wished to remain out, and mentioned the place to which they proposed to +go, no questions were asked and no objections offered. + +They were expected to return to the college not later than eleven at +night, and one invitation to go out in the week was, as a rule, the +most they ever accepted. + +Into this life Priscilla came, fresh from the Devonshire farm and from +all the pursuits and interests which had hitherto formed her world. She +had made a very firm niche for herself in Aunt Raby’s old cottage, and +the dislodgment therefrom caused her for the time such mental disquiet +and so many nervous and queer sensations that her pain was often acute +and her sense of awkwardness considerable. + +Priscilla’s best in her early life always seemed but a poor affair, and +she certainly neither looked nor was at her best at first here. After a +few days, however, she fitted into her new grooves, took up the line of +study which she intended to pursue and was quickly absorbed in all the +fascinations which it offered to a nature like hers. + +Her purse was restored to her on the morning after her arrival, and +neither Maggie Oliphant nor Nancy Banister ever guessed that she had +overheard some words of theirs on the night of her arrival, and that +these had put bitterness into her heart and nearly destroyed her faith +in her fellow-students. Both Maggie and Nance made several overtures of +kindness to Prissie, but the cold manner which was more or less +habitual to her never thawed, and, after a time, they left her alone. +There is no saying what might have happened to Prissie had she never +overheard this conversation. As it was, however, after the first shock +it gave her courage. + +She said to herself: + +“I should think very little of myself if I did not despise a girl like +Miss Oliphant. Is it likely I should care to imitate one whom I +despise? There was a brief, dreadful hour when I absolutely pined to +have pretty things in my room as she has in hers; now I can do without +them. My room shall remain bare and unadorned. In this state it will at +least look unique.” + +It did. The other students who lived in the same corridor came to visit +Priscilla in the free and easy manner which characterized them and made +remarks the reverse of flattering. When _was_ she going to put her +pictures up? Miss Day would be delighted to help her whenever she chose +to do it. When did she intend to go down to Kingsdene to order her +easy-chairs and little Japanese tables, and rugs, and the other small +but necessary articles which would be required to make her room +habitable? + +For several days Priscilla turned these inquiries aside. She blushed, +stammered, looked awkward and spoke of something else. At last, +however, she summoned up courage, and, once for all, delivered herself +from her tormentors. She did that remarkably brave thing which +sometimes very nervous people can brace themselves to do. + +It was evening and Miss Day, Miss Marsh and Nancy Banister had all come +in for a few minutes to see Priscilla on their way to their own rooms. + +“Do come and cocoa with me to-night, Miss Peel,” said Miss Day. “You’re +so dreadfully unsociable, not a bit like an ordinary St. Benet’s girl. +If you go on in this fashion, you’ll be moped to death before your +first term is over.” + +“I am accustomed to a very quiet life,” responded Priscilla, “and I +want to work; I have come here to work.” + +“Dear, dear! any one would suppose you were going in for a tripos. If +this were your last term I could understand it— but your first!” + +It was Miss Marsh who said these words. She was a bright-eyed, +merry-looking girl, the reverse of over-studious herself. + +“Oh, come along, dear; I’ll give you such a delicious cup of cocoa,” +said Miss Day. + +She crossed the room and tried to link her hand affectionately in +Prissie’s arm. Miss Peel drew back a step. + +“Thank you,” she said, “but I— I— cannot come.” + +“I must say you have a blunt way of refusing,” said Miss Day. She felt +inclined to be offended, but Nancy Banister, who was standing by and +had not hitherto spoken, bestowed a quick glance of approval on +Priscilla and then said something soothing to Miss Day. + +“May I cocoa with you instead, Annie?” she said. “I am afraid no one +can accuse me of killing myself with work, but we all respect earnest +workers— we must. It is for them St. Benet’s is really meant. It was +endowed for them, and built for them, and we poor drones must not throw +disparaging remarks on the busy bees.” + +“Oh, nonsense!” said Miss Marsh; “St. Benet’s was made for sociability +as well as study, and I have no patience with the students who don’t +try to combine the two. By the way,” she added, turning round and +speaking in a rather impertinent voice to Priscilla, “I sent you a +message to say I was going down to Kingsdene this afternoon and would +be happy to take you with me if you would care to visit Spilman’s.” + +“Thank you,” said Priscilla, “I got your note just too late to answer +it. I was going to speak to you about it,” she added. + +“Then you would have come?” + +Priscilla’s face grew very red. + +“No, I should not have come.” + +It was Miss Marsh’s turn to get red. + +“Come! Annie,” she exclaimed, turning to Miss Day, “we had better waste +no more time here. Miss Banister, we’ll see you presently, won’t we? +Good night, Miss Peel. Perhaps you don’t mind my saying something very +frank?” + +“I do,” said Priscilla, “but that won’t prevent your saying it, will +it?” + +“I don’t think it will. After you have been at St. Benet’s a little +longer you will know that we not only appreciate cleverness and +studious ways, but also obliging and sociable and friendly manners; +and— and— pretty rooms— rooms with easy-chairs, and comfortable +lounges, and the thousand and one things which give one a feeling of +home. Take my advice, Miss Peel, there’s no use fighting against the +tide. You’ll have to do as others do in the long run, and you may as +well do it at once. That is my plain opinion, and I should not have +given it to you if I had not thought you needed it. Good night.” + +“No, stop a minute,” said Priscilla. Every scrap of color had left her +face, every trace of nervousness her manner. She walked before the two +girls to the door and closed it. “Please stay just for a minute longer, +Miss Day and Miss Marsh, and you too, Miss Banister, if you will.” + +She went across the room again, and, opening the top drawer of her +bureau, took out her purse. Out of the purse she took a key. The key +fitted a small padlock and the padlock belonged to her trunk. She +unlocked her empty trunk and opened it. + +“There,” she said, turning to the girls— “there,” she continued, “you +will be good enough to notice that there are no photographs concealed +in this trunk, no pictures, no prints.” She lifted the tray. “Empty, +you see,” she added, pointing with her hand to the lower portion of the +trunk— “nothing here to make my room pretty, and cozy, and home-like.” +Then she shut the trunk again and locked it, and going up to where the +three girls stood, gazing at her in bewilderment and some alarm, she +unfastened her purse and turned all its contents into the palm of her +hand. + +“Look, Miss Marsh,” she said, turning to the girl who had spoken last. +“You may count what is here. One sovereign, one half-sovereign, two or +three shillings, some pence. Would this money go far at Spilman’s, do +you think?” + +Priscilla put it all slowly back again into her purse. Her face was +still absolutely colorless. She laid the purse on the top of her +bureau. + +“I do not suppose,” she said in a low, sad voice, “that I am the sort +of girl who often comes to a place of this sort. I am poor, and I have +got to work hard, and I have no time for pleasure. Nevertheless,” she +added— and now a great wave of color swept over her face, and her eyes +were lit up, and she had a sensation of feeling quite glad, and strong, +and happy— “I am not going away because I am poor, and I am not going +to mind what any one thinks of me as long as I do right. My room must +stay empty and bare, because I have no money to make it full and +beautiful. And do you think that I would ask those— those who sent me +here— to add one feather’s weight to their cares and expenses, to give +me money to buy beautiful things because I am afraid of you? No, I +should be _awfully_ afraid to do that; but I am not afraid of you.” + +Priscilla opened the drawer of her bureau and put her little light +purse back again in its hiding-place. + +“Good night, Miss Peel,” said Miss Day in a thin, small kind of voice. + +“Good night, Miss Peel,” said Miss Marsh. The girls went gently out of +the room. They closed the door behind them, without making any noise. +Nancy Banister remained behind. She came up to Priscilla and kissed +her. + +“You are brave,” she said. “I admire you. I— I— am proud of you. I am +glad to know that a girl like you has come to live here.” + +“Don’t— don’t,” said poor Prissie. Her little burst of courage had +deserted her. She covered her face with her trembling hands. She did +not want Nancy Banister to see that her eyes were full of tears. + + + + +CHAPTER VII +IN MISS OLIPHANT’S ROOM + + +“My dear,” said Nancy Banister that same evening— “my dear and beloved +Maggie, we have both been guilty of a huge mistake.” + +“What is that?” asked Miss Oliphant. She was leaning back in a deep +easy-chair, and Nancy, who did not care for luxurious seats, had +perched herself on a little stool at her feet. Nancy was a small, +nervous-looking person; she had a zealous face and eager, almost too +active movements. Nancy was the soul of bustling good nature, of +brightness and kindness. She often said that Maggie Oliphant’s laziness +rested her. + +“What is it?” said Maggie again. “How are we in the wrong, Nance?” + +She lifted her dimpled hand as she spoke and contemplated it with a +slow, satisfied sort of smile. + +“We have made a mistake about Miss Peel, that is all; she is a very +noble girl.” + +“Oh, my dear Nance! Poor little Puritan Prissie! What next?” + +“It is all very fine to call her names,” replied Nancy— here she sprang +to her feet— “but _I_ couldn’t do what she did. Do you know that she +absolutely and completely turned the tables on that vulgar Annie Day +and that pushing, silly little Lucy Marsh. I never saw any two look +smaller or poorer than those two when they skedaddled out of her room. +Yes, that’s the word— they skedaddled to the door, both of them, +looking as limp as a cotton dress when it has been worn for a week, and +one almost treading on the other’s heels; and I do not think Prissie +will be worried by them any more.” + +“Really, Nancy, you look quite pretty when you are excited! Now, what +did this wonderful Miss Peel do? Did she box the ears of those two +detestable girls? If so, she has my hearty congratulations.” + +“More than that, Maggie— that poor, little, meek, awkward, slim +creature absolutely demolished them. Oh! she did it in such a fine, +simple, unworldly sort of way. I only wish you had seen her! They were +twitting her about not going in for all the fun here, and, above +everything, for keeping her room so bare and unattractive. You know she +has been a fortnight here to-day, and she has not got an extra thing— +not one. There isn’t a room in the hall like hers— it’s so bare and +unhomelike. What’s the matter, Maggie?” + +“You needn’t go on, Nancy; if it’s about the room, I don’t want to hear +it. You know I can’t— I can’t bear it.” + +Maggie’s lips were trembling, her face was white. She shaded her eyes +with her hand. + +“Oh, my darling, I am so sorry. I forgot— I really did! There, you must +try and think it was any room. What she did was all the same. Well, +those girls had been twitting her. I expect she’s had a nice fortnight +of it! She turned very white, and at last her blood was up, and she +just gave it to them. She opened her little trunk. I really could have +cried. It was such a poor, pathetic sort of receptacle to be capable of +holding all one’s worldly goods, and she showed it to them— empty! ‘You +see,’ she said, ‘that I have no pictures nor ornaments here!’ Then she +turned the contents of her purse into her hand. I think, Maggie, she +had about thirty shillings in the world, and she asked Lucy Marsh to +count her money, and inquired how many things she thought it would +purchase at Spilman’s. Then, Maggie, Priscilla turned on them. Oh, she +did not look plain then, nor awkward either. Her eyes had such a +splendid good, brave sort of light in them. And she said she had come +here to work, and she meant to work, and her room must stay bare, for +she had no money to make it anything else. ‘But,’ she said, ‘I am not +afraid of you, but I _am_ afraid of hurting those’— whoever ‘those’ +are— ‘those’— oh, with such a ring on the word— ‘who have sent me +here!’ + +“After that the two girls skedaddled; they had had enough of her, and I +expect, Maggie, your little Puritan Prissie will be left in peace in +the future.” + +“Don’t call her my little Puritan,” said Maggie. “I have nothing to say +to her.” + +Maggie was leaning back again in her chair now; her face was still pale +and her soft eyes looked troubled. + +“I wish you wouldn’t tell me heroic stories, Nancy,” she remarked after +a pause. “They make me feel so uncomfortable. If Priscilla Peel is +going to be turned into a sort of heroine, she’ll be much more +unbearable than in her former character.” + +“Oh, Maggie, I wish you wouldn’t talk in that reckless way nor pretend +that you hate goodness. You know you adore it— you know you do! You +know you are far and away the most lovable and bewitching, and the— the +very best girl at St. Benet’s.” + +“No, dear little Nance, you are quite mistaken. Perhaps I’m bewitching— +I suppose to a certain extent I am, for people always tell me so— but +I’m _not_ lovable and I’m _not_ good. There, my dear, do let us turn +from that uninteresting person— Maggie Oliphant. And so, Nancy, you are +going to worship Priscilla Peel in future?” + +“Oh, dear no! that’s not my way. But I’m going to respect her very +much. I think we have both rather shunned her lately, and I _did_ feel +sure at first that you meant to be very kind to her, Maggie.” + +Miss Oliphant yawned. It was her way to get over emotion very quickly. +A moment before her face had been all eloquent with feeling; now its +expression was distinctly bored, and her lazy eyes were not even open +to their full extent. + +“Perhaps I found her stupid,” she said, “and so for that reason dropped +her. Perhaps I would have continued to be kind if she had reciprocated +attentions, but she did not. I am glad now, very glad, that we are +unlikely to be friends, for, after what you have just told me, I should +probably find her insupportable. Are you going, Nancy?” + +“Yes, I promised to have cocoa with Annie Day. I had almost forgotten. +Good night, Maggie.” + +Nancy shut the door softly behind her, and Maggie closed her eyes for a +moment with a sigh of relief. + +“It’s nice to be alone,” she said softly under her breath, “it’s nice +and yet it isn’t nice. Nancy irritated me dreadfully this evening. I +don’t like stories about good people. I don’t wish to think about good +people. I am determined that I will not allow my thoughts to dwell on +that unpleasant Priscilla Peel, and her pathetic poverty, and her burst +of heroics. It is too trying to hear footsteps in that room. No, I will +not think of that room nor of its inmate. Now, if I could only go to +sleep!” + +Maggie curled herself up in her luxurious chair, arranged a soft pillow +under her head and shut her eyes. In this attitude she made a charming +picture: her thick black lashes lay heavily on her pale cheeks; her red +lips were slightly parted; her breathing came quietly. By and by repose +took the place of tension— her face looked as if it were cut out of +marble. The excitement and unrest, which her words had betrayed, +vanished utterly; her features were beautiful, but almost +expressionless. + +This lasted for a short time, perhaps ten minutes; then a trivial +circumstance, the falling of a coal in the grate, disturbed the light +slumber of the sleeper. Maggie stirred restlessly and turned her head. +She was not awake, but she was dreaming. A faint rose tint visited each +cheek, and she clenched one hand, then moved it, and laid it over the +other. Presently tears stole from under the black eyelashes and rolled +down her cheeks. She opened her eyes wide; she was awake again; +unutterable regret, remorse, which might never be quieted, filled her +face. + +Maggie rose from her chair, and, going across the room, sat down at her +bureau. She turned a shaded lamp, so that the light might fall upon the +pages of a book she was studying, and, pushing her hands through her +thick hair, she began to read a passage from the splendid _Prometheus +Vinctus_ of Æschylus: + +“O divine ether, O swift-winged winds!” + + +She muttered the opening lines to herself, then turning the page began +to translate from the Greek with great ease and fluency: + +“O divine ether, and swift-winged winds, +O flowing rivers, and ocean with countless-dimpling smile, +Earth, mother of all, and the all-seeing circle of the sun, to you I +call; +Behold me, and the things that I, a god, suffer at the hands of gods. +Behold the wrongs with which I am worn away, and which I shall suffer +through endless time. +Such is the shameful bondage which the new ruler of the Blessed Ones +has invented for me. +Alas! Alas! I bewail my present and future misery——” + + +Any one who had seen Maggie in her deep and expressionless sleep but a +few minutes before would have watched her now with a sensation of +surprise. This queer girl was showing another phase of her complex +nature. Her face was no longer lacking in expression, no longer +stricken with sorrow nor harrowed with unavailing regret. A fine fire +filled her eyes; her brow, as she pushed back her hair, showed its +rather massive proportions. Now, intellect and the triumphant delight +of overcoming a mental difficulty reigned supreme in her face. She read +on without interruption for nearly an hour. At the end of that time her +cheeks were burning like two glowing crimson roses. + +A knock came at her door; she started and turned round petulantly. + +“It’s just my luck,” muttered Maggie. “I’d have got the sense of that +whole magnificent passage in another hour. It was beginning to fill me: +I was getting satisfied— now it’s all over! I’d have had a good night +if that knock hadn’t come— but now— now I am Maggie Oliphant, the most +miserable girl at St. Benet’s, once again.” + +The knock was repeated. Miss Oliphant sprang to her feet. + +“Come in,” she said in a petulant voice. + +The handle of the door was slowly turned, the tapestry curtain moved +forward and a little fair-haired girl, with an infantile expression of +face and looking years younger than her eighteen summers, tripped a few +steps into the room. + +“I beg your pardon, Maggie,” she said. “I had not a moment to come +sooner— not one really. That stupid Miss Turner chose to raise the +alarm for the fire brigade. Of course I had to go, and I’ve only just +come back and changed my dress.” + +“You ought to be in bed, Rosalind; it’s past eleven o’clock.” + +“Oh, as if that mattered! I’ll go in a minute. How cozy you look here.” + +“My dear, I am not going to keep you out of your beauty sleep. You can +admire my room another time. If you have a message for me, Rosalind, +let me have it, and then— oh, cruel word, but I must say it, my love— +Go!” + +Rosalind Merton had serene baby-blue eyes; they looked up now full at +Maggie. Then her dimpled little hand slid swiftly into the pocket of +her dress, came out again with a quick, little, frightened dart and +deposited a square envelope with some manly writing on it on the +bureau, where Maggie had been studying _Prometheus Vinctus._ The letter +covered the greater portion of the open page. It seemed to Maggie as if +the Greek play had suddenly faded and gone out of sight behind a +curtain. + +“There,” said Rosalind, “that’s for you. I was at Kingsdene to-day— +and— I— I said you should have it, and I— I promised that I’d _help_ +you, Maggie. I— yes— I promised. I said I would help you, if you’d let +me.” + +“Thank you,” replied Miss Oliphant in a lofty tone. The words came out +of her lips with the coldness of ice. “And if I need you— I— promise— +to ask your help. Where did you say you met Mr. Hammond?” + +Maggie took up her letter and opened it slowly. + +“At Spilman’s. He was buying something for his room. He——” Rosalind +blushed all over her face. + +Maggie took her letter out of its envelope. She looked at the first two +or three words, then laid it, open as it was, on the table. + +“Thank you, Rosalind,” she said in her usual tone. “It was kind of you +to bring this, certainly; but Mr. Hammond would have done better— yes, +undoubtedly better— had he sent his letter by post. There would have +been no mystery about it then, and I should have received it at least +two hours ago. Thank you, Rosalind, all the same— good night.” + +Rosalind Merton stepped demurely out of the room. In the corridor, +however, a change come over her small childish face. Her blue eyes +became full of angry flame and she clenched her baby hand and shook it +in the direction of the closed door. + +“Oh, Maggie Oliphant, what a deceiver you are!” she murmured. “You +think that I’m a baby and notice nothing, but I’m on the alert now, and +I’ll watch— and watch. I don’t love you any longer, Maggie Oliphant. +Who loves being snubbed? Oh, of course, you pretend you don’t care +about that letter! But I know you _do_ care; and I’ll get hold of all +your secrets before many weeks are over, see if I don’t!” + + + + +CHAPTER VIII +THE KINDEST AND MOST COMFORTING WAY + + +Maggie was once more alone. She stood quite still for nearly half a +minute in the center of her room. Her hands were clasped tightly +together. The expression of her face and her attitude showed such +intense feeling as to be almost theatrical. This was no acting, +however; it was Maggie’s nature to throw herself into attitudes before +spectators or alone. She required some vent for all her passionate +excitement, and what her girl friends called Miss Oliphant’s poses may +have afforded her a certain measure of relief. + +After standing still for these few seconds, she ran to the door and +drew the bolt; then, sinking down once more in her easy-chair, she took +up the letter which Rosalind Merton had brought her and began to read +the contents. Four sides of a sheet of paper were covered with small, +close writing, the neat somewhat cramped hand which at that time +characterized the men of St. Hilda’s College. + +Maggie’s eyes seemed to fly over the writing; they absorbed the sense, +they took the full meaning out of each word. At last all was known to +her, burnt in, indeed, upon her brain. + +She crushed the letter suddenly in one of her hands, then raised it to +her lips and kissed it; then fiercely, as though she hated it, tossed +it into the fire. After this she sat quiet, her hands folded meekly, +her head slightly bent. The color gradually left her cheeks. She looked +dead tired and languid. After a time she arose, and, walking very +slowly across her room, sat down by her bureau and drew a sheet of +paper before her. As she did so her eyes fell for a moment on the Greek +play which had fascinated her an hour ago. She found herself again +murmuring some lines from _Prometheus Vinctus:_ + +“O divine ether, and swift-winged winds——” + + +She interrupted herself with a petulant movement. + +“Folly!” she murmured, pushing the book aside. “Even glorious, great +thoughts like those don’t satisfy me. Whoever supposed they would? What +was I given a heart for? Why does it beat so fiercely, and long, and +love? and why is it wrong— wrong of me to love? Oh, Annabel Lee! oh, +darling! if only your wretched Maggie Oliphant had never known you!” + +Maggie dashed some heavy tears from her eyes. Then, taking up her pen, +she began to write. + +“HEATH HALL, +“ST. BENET’S. + + +“DEAR MR. HAMMMOND: I should prefer that you did not in future give +letters for me to any of my friends here. I do not wish to receive them +through the medium of any of my fellow-students. Please understand +this. When you have anything to say to me, you can write in the +ordinary course of post. I am not ashamed of any slight correspondence +we may have together; but I refuse to countenance, or to be in any +sense a party to, what may even seem underhand. + “I shall try to be at the Marshalls’ on Sunday afternoon, but I + have nothing to say in reply to your letter. My views are + unalterable. + + +“Yours sincerely, +“MARGARET OLIPHANT.” + + +Maggie did not read the letter after she had written it. She put it +into an envelope and directed it. Here was a large and bold hand and +the address was swiftly written + +“GEOFFREY HAMMOND, ESQ., + “St. Hilda’s, + “Kingsdene.” + + +She stamped her letter and, late as it was, took it down herself and +deposited it in the post-bag. + +The next morning, when the students strolled in to breakfast, many +pairs of eyes were raised with a new curiosity to watch Priscilla Peel. +Even Maggie, as she drank her coffee and munched a piece of dry toast, +for she was a very poor eater, could not help flashing a keen and +interested glance at the young girl as she came into the room. + +Prissie was the reverse of fashionable in her attire; her neat brown +cashmere dress had been made by Aunt Raby. The hemming, the stitching, +the gathering, the frilling which went to make up this useful garment +were neat, were even exquisite; but then, Aunt Raby was not gifted with +a stylish cut. Prissie’s hair was smoothly parted, but the thick plait +on the back of the neck was by no means artistically coiled. + +The girl’s plain, pale face was not set off by the severity of her +toilet; there was no touch of spring or brightness anywhere, no look or +note which should belong to one so young, unless it was the extreme +thinness of her figure. + +The curious eyes of the students were raised when she appeared and one +or two laughed and turned their heads away. They had heard of her +exploit of the night before. Miss Day and Miss Marsh had repeated this +good story. It had impressed them at the time, but they did not tell it +to others in an impressive way, and the girls, who had not seen +Prissie, but had only heard the tale, spoke of her to one another as an +“insufferable little prig.” + +“Isn’t it too absurd,” said Rosalind Merton, sidling up to Maggie and +casting some disdainful glances at poor Priscilla, “the conceit of some +people! Of all forms of conceit, preserve me from the priggish style.” + +“I don’t understand you,” said Maggie, raising her eyes and speaking in +her lazy voice. “Are there any prigs about? I don’t see them. Oh, Miss +Peel”— she jumped up hastily— “won’t you sit here by me? I have been +reserving this place for you, for I have been so anxious to know if you +would do me a kindness. Please sit down, and I’ll tell you what it is. +You needn’t wait, Rosalind. What I have got to say is for Miss Peel’s +ears.” + +Rosalind retired in dudgeon to the other end of the room, and, if the +laughing and muttering continued, they now only reached Maggie and +Priscilla in the form of very distant murmurs. + +“How pale you look,” said Maggie, turning to the girl, “and how cold +you are! Yes, I am quite sure you are bitterly cold. Now you shall have +a good breakfast. Let me help you. Please do. I’ll go to the side-table +and bring you something so tempting; wait and see.” + +“You mustn’t trouble really,” began Prissie. + +Miss Oliphant flashed a brilliant smile at her. Prissie found her words +arrested, and, in spite of herself, her coldness began to thaw. Maggie +ran over to the side-table and Priscilla kept repeating under her +breath: + +“She’s not true— she’s beautiful, but she’s false; she has the kindest, +sweetest, most comforting way in the world, but she only does it for +the sake of an aesthetic pleasure. I ought not to let her. I ought not +to speak to her. I ought to go away, and have nothing to do with her +proffers of goodwill, and yet somehow or other I can’t resist her.” + +Maggie came back with some delicately carved chicken and ham and a hot +cup of delicious coffee. + +“Is not this nice?” she said. “Now eat it all up and speak to me +afterward. Oh, how dreadfully cold you do look!” + +“I feel cold— in spirit as well as physically,” retorted Priscilla. + +“Well, let breakfast warm you— and— and— a small dose of the tonic of +sympathy, if I may dare to offer it.” + +Priscilla turned her eyes full upon Miss Oliphant. + +“Do you mean it?” she said in a choked kind of voice. “Is that quite +true what you said just now?” + +“True? What a queer child! Of course it is true. What do you take me +for? Why should not I sympathize with you?” + +“I want you to,” said Prissie. Tears filled her eyes; she turned her +head away. Maggie gave her hand a squeeze. + +“Now eat your breakfast,” she said. “I shall glance through my letters +while you are busy.” + +She leaned back in her chair and opened several envelopes. Priscilla +ate her chicken and ham, drank her coffee and felt the benefit of the +double tonic which had been administered in so timely a fashion. It was +one of Miss Oliphant’s peculiarities to inspire in those she wanted to +fascinate absolute and almost unreasoning faith for the time being. +Doubts would and might return in her absence, but in the sunshine of +her particularly genial manner they found it hard to live. + +After breakfast the girls were leaving the room together when Miss +Heath, the principal of the hall in which they resided, came into the +room. She was a tall, stately woman of about thirty-five and had seen +very little of Priscilla since her arrival, but now she stopped to give +both girls a special greeting. Her manners were very frank and +pleasant. + +“My dear,” she said to Prissie, “I have been anxious to cultivate your +acquaintance. Will you come and have tea with me in my room this +afternoon? And, Maggie, dear, will you come with Miss Peel?” + +She laid her hand on Maggie’s shoulder as she spoke, looked swiftly +into the young girl’s face, then turned with a glance of great interest +to Priscilla. + +“You will both come,” she said. “That is right. I won’t ask any one +else. We shall have a cozy time together, and Miss Peel can tell me all +about her studies, and aims, and ambitions.” + +“Thank you,” said Maggie, “I’ll answer for Miss Peel. We’ll both come; +we shall be delighted.” + +Miss Heath nodded to the pair and walked swiftly down the long hall to +the dons’ special entrance, where she disappeared. + +“Is not she charming?” whispered Maggie. “Did I not tell you you would +fall in love with Dorothea?” + +“But I have not,” said Priscilla, coloring. “And I don’t know whether +she is charming or not.” + +Maggie checked a petulant exclamation which was rising to her lips. She +was conscious of a curious desire to win her queer young companion’s +goodwill and sympathy. + +“Never mind,” she said, “the moment of victory is only delayed. You +will tell a very different story after you have had tea with Dorothea +this evening. Now, let us come and look at the notice-boards and see +what the day’s program is. By the way, are you going to attend any +lectures this morning?” + +“Yes, two,” said Prissie— “one on Middle History, from eleven to +twelve, and I have a French lecture afterward.” + +“Well, I am not doing anything this morning. I wish you were not. We +might have taken a long walk together. Don’t you love long walks?” + +“Oh, yes; but there is no time for anything of that sort here— nor——” +Priscilla hesitated. “I don’t think there’s space for a very long walk +here,” she added. The color rushed into her cheeks as she spoke and her +eyes looked wistful. + +Maggie laughed. + +“What _are_ your ideas in regard to space, Miss Peel? The whole of +Kingsdeneshire lies before us. We are untrammeled and can go where we +please. Is not that a sufficiently broad area for our roamings?” + +“But there is no sea,” said Priscilla. “We should never have time to +walk from here to the sea, and nothing— nothing else seems worth +while.” + +“Oh, you have lived by the sea?” + +“Yes, all my life. When I was a little girl, my home was near Whitby, +in Yorkshire, and lately I have lived close to Lyme— two extreme points +of England, you will say; but no matter, the sea is the same. To walk +for miles on the top of the cliffs, that means exercise.” + +“Ah,” said Maggie with a sigh, “I understand you— I know what you +mean.” + +She spoke quickly, as she always did under the least touch of +excitement. “Such a walk means more than exercise; it means thought, +aspiration. Your brain seems to expand then and ideas come. Of course +you don’t care for poor flat Kingsdeneshire.” + +Priscilla turned and stared at Miss Oliphant. Maggie laughed; she +raised her hand to her forehead. + +“I must not talk any more,” she said, turning pale and shrinking into +herself. “Forgive my rhapsodies. You’ll understand what they are worth +when you know me better. Oh, by the way, will you come with me to +Kingsdene on Sunday? We can go to the three o’clock service at the +chapel and afterward have tea with some friends of mine— the Marshalls— +they’d be delighted to see you.” + +“What chapel is the service at?” inquired Priscilla. + +“What chapel? Is there a second? Come with me, and you will never ask +that question again. Get under the shade of St. Hilda’s— see once those +fretted roofs and those painted windows. Listen but once to that angel +choir, and then dare to ask me what chapel I mean when I invite you to +come and taste of heaven beforehand.” + +“Thank you,” said Priscilla, “I’ll come. I cannot be expected to know +about things before I have heard of them, can I? But I am very much +obliged to you, and I shall be delighted to come.” + + + + +CHAPTER IX +A NEW LIFE + + +The vice-principal’s room at Heath Hall was double the size of those +occupied by the students. Miss Heath had, of course, a separate +sleeping apartment. Her delightful sitting-room, therefore, had not the +curtained-off effect which took slightly from the charm of the +students’ rooms. In summer Miss Heath’s room was beautiful, for the two +deep bay windows— one facing west, the other south— looked out upon +smoothly kept lawns and flower-beds, upon tall elm trees and also upon +a distant peep of the river, for which Kingsdene was famous, and some +of the spires and towers of the old churches. In winter, too, however— +and winter had almost come now— the vice-principal’s room had a unique +effect, and Priscilla never forgot the first time she saw it. The young +girl stepped across the threshold of a new life on this first evening. +She would always remember it. + +It was getting dark, and curtains were drawn round the cozy bays, and +the firelight blazed cheerfully. + +Prissie was a little before rather than behind her time, and there was +no one in the room to greet her when she entered. She felt so +overmastered by shyness, however, that this was almost a relief, and +she sank down into one of the many comfortable chairs with a feeling of +thankfulness and looked around her. + +The next moment a servant entered with a lamp, covered with a gold silk +shade. She placed it on a table near the fire, and lit a few candles, +which stood on carved brackets round the walls. Then Prissie saw what +made her forget Miss Heath and her shyness and all else— a great bank +of flowers, which stretched across one complete angle of the room. +There were some roses, some chrysanthemums, some geraniums. They were +cunningly arranged in pots, but had the effect at a little distance of +a gay, tropical garden. Prissie rushed to them, knelt down by a tall, +white Japanese chrysanthemum and buried her face in its long, wavy +petals. + +Prissie had never seen such flowers, and she loved all flowers. Her +heart swelled with a kind of wonder; and when, the next moment, she +felt a light and very soft kiss on her forehead she was scarcely +surprised. + +“My dear child,” said Miss Heath, “I am so sorry I was not in the room +when you came in; but never mind, my flowers gave you welcome.” + +“Yes,” said Prissie, standing up pale and with a luminous light in her +eyes. + +“You love flowers?” said Miss Heath, giving her a keen glance. + +“Oh, yes; but I did not know— I could not guess— that any flower could +be as beautiful as this,” and she touched the great white chrysanthemum +with her finger. + +“Yes, and there are some flowers even more wonderful. Have you ever +seen orchids?” + +“No.” + +“Then you have something to live for. Orchids are ordinary flowers +spiritualized. They have a glamor over them. We have good orchid shows +sometimes at Kingsdene. I will take you to the next.” + +The servant brought in tea, and Miss Heath placed Prissie in a +comfortable chair, where she was neither oppressed by lamplight nor +firelight. + +“A shy little soul like this will love the shade,” she said to herself. +“For all her plainness this is no ordinary girl, and I mean to draw her +out presently. What a brow she has, and what a light came into her eyes +when she looked at my white chrysanthemum.” + +There came a tap at the door, and Maggie Oliphant entered, looking +fresh and bright. She gave Prissie an affectionate glance and nod and +then began to busy herself, helping Miss Heath with the tea. During the +meal a little pleasant murmur of conversation was kept up. Miss Heath +and Maggie exchanged ideas. They even entered upon one or two delicate +little skirmishes, each cleverly arguing a slight point on which they +appeared to differ. Maggie could make smart repartees, and Miss Heath +could parry her graceful young adversary’s home thrusts with excellent +effect. + +They talked of one or two books which were then under discussion; they +said a little about music and a word or two with regard to the pictures +which were just then causing talk among the art critics in London. It +was all new to Prissie, this “light, airy, nothing” kind of talk. It +was not study; could it be classed under the head of recreation? + +Prissie was accustomed to classify everything, but she did not know +under what head to put this pleasant conversation. She was bewildered, +puzzled. She listened without losing a word. She forgot herself +absolutely. + +Miss Heath, however, who knew Maggie Oliphant, but did not know +Prissie, was observant of the silent young stranger through all the +delights of her pleasant talk. Almost imperceptibly she got Prissie to +say a word or two. She paused when she saw a question in Prissie’s +eyes, and her timid and gentle words were listened to with deference. +By slow degrees Maggie was the silent one and Priscilla and Miss Heath +held the field between them. + +“No, I have never been properly educated,” Prissie was saying. “I have +never gone to a high school. I don’t do things in the regular fashion. +I was so afraid I should not be able to pass the entrance examination +for St. Benet’s. I was delighted when I found that I had done so.” + +“You passed the examination creditably,” said Miss Heath. “I have +looked through your papers. Your answers were not stereotyped. They +were much better; they were thoughtful. Whoever has educated you, you +have been well taught. You can think.” + +“Oh, yes, my dear friend, Mr. Hayes, always said that was the first +thing.” + +“Ah, that accounts for it,” replied Miss Heath. “You have had the +advantage of listening to a cultivated man’s conversation. You ought to +do very well here. What do you mean to take up?” + +“Oh, everything. I can’t know too much.” + +Miss Heath laughed and looked at Maggie. Maggie was lying back in her +easy-chair, her head resting luxuriously against a dark velvet cushion. +She was tapping the floor slightly with her small foot; her eyes were +fixed on Prissie. When Miss Heath laughed Maggie echoed the sound, but +both laughs were in the sweetest sympathy. + +“You must not overwork yourself, my dear,” said Miss Heath. “That would +be a very false beginning. I think— I am sure— that you have an earnest +and ardent nature, but you must avoid an extreme which will only end in +disaster.” + +Prissie frowned. + +“What do you mean?” she said. “I have come here to study. It has been +done with such, such difficulty. It would be cruel to waste a moment. I +mustn’t; it wouldn’t be right. You can’t mean what you say.” + +Miss Heath was silent. She thought it kinder to look away from Prissie. +After a moment she said in a voice which she on purpose made intensely +quiet and matter of fact: + +“Many girls come to St. Benet’s, Miss Peel, who are, I fancy, +circumstanced like you. Their friends find it difficult to send them +here, but they make the sacrifice, sometimes in one way, sometimes in +another— and the girls come. They know it is their duty to study; they +have an ulterior motive, which underlies everything else. They know by +and by they must pay back.” + +“Oh, yes,” said Priscilla, starting forward and a flush coming into her +face. “I know that— that is what it is for. To pay back worthily— to +give back a thousandfold what you have received. Those girls can’t be +idle, can they?” she added in a gentle, piteous sort of way. + +“My dear, there have been several such girls at St. Benet’s, and none +of them has been idle; they have been best and first among our +students. Many of them have done more than well— many of them have +brought fame to St. Benet’s. They are in the world now and earning +honorable livelihoods as teachers or in other departments where +cultivated women can alone take the field. These girls are all paying +back a thousandfold those who have helped them.” + +“Yes,” said Prissie. + +“You would like to follow their example?” + +“Oh, yes; please tell me about them.” + +“Some of them were like you and thought they would take up everything— +everything I mean in the scholastic line. They filled their days with +lectures and studied into the short hours of the night. Maggie, dear, +please tell Miss Peel about Good-night and Good-morning.” + +“They were such a funny pair,” said Maggie. “They had rooms next to +each other in our corridor, Miss Peel. They were both studying for a +tripos, and during the term before the examination one went to bed at +four and one got up at four. Mary Joliffe used to go into Susan +Martin’s room and say good morning to her. Susan used to raise such a +white face and say, ‘Good night, my dear.’ Well, poor things, neither +of them got a tripos; they worked too hard.” + +“The simple English of all this,” said Miss Heath, “is that the +successful girl here is the girl who takes advantage of the whole life +mapped out for her, who divides her time between play and work, who +joins the clubs and enters heartily into the social life of the place. +Yes,” she added, looking suddenly full at Priscilla, “these last words +of mine may seem strange to you, dear. Believe me, however, they are +true. But I know,” she added with a sigh, “that it takes rather an old +person to believe in the education of _play.”_ + +Priscilla looked unconvinced. + +“I must do what you wish,” she said, “for, of course, you ought to +know.” + +“What a lame kind of assent, my love! Maggie, you will have to gently +lure this young person into the paths of frivolity. I promise you, my +dear, that you shall be a very cultivated woman some day; but I only +promise this if you will take advantage of all sides of the pleasant +life here. Now tell me what are your particular tastes? What branch of +study do you like best?” + +“I love Latin and Greek better than anything else in the world.” + +“Do you truly?” said Maggie, suddenly starting forward. “Then in one +thing we have a great sympathy. What have you read? Do tell me.” + +Miss Heath stepped directly into the background. The two girls +conversed for a long time together. + + + + +CHAPTER X +ST. HILDA’S CHAPEL + + +“Here we are now,” said Maggie Oliphant, touching her young companion; +“we are in good time; this is the outer chapel. Yes, I know all that +you are thinking, but you need not speak; I did not want to speak the +first time I came to St. Hilda’s. Just follow me quickly. I know this +verger; he will put us into two stalls; then it will be perfect.” + +“Yes,” answered Priscilla. She spoke in an awed kind of voice. The cool +effect of the dark oak, combined with the richness of the many shafts +of colored light coming from the magnificent windows, gave her own face +a curious expression. Was it caused by emotion or by the strange lights +in the chapel? + +Maggie glanced at her, touched her hand for a moment and then hurried +forward to her seat. + +The girls were accommodated with stalls just above the choir. They +could read out of the college prayer-books and had a fine view of the +church. + +The congregation streamed in, the choir followed; the doors between the +chapel and ante-chapel were shut, the curtains were dropped and the +service began. + +There is no better musical service in England than that which Sunday +after Sunday is conducted at St. Hilda’s Chapel at Kingsdene. The +harmony and the richness of the sounds which fill that old chapel can +scarcely be surpassed. The boys send up notes clear and sweet as +nightingales into the fretted arches of the roof; the men’s deeper +notes swell the music until it breaks on the ears in a full tide of +perfect harmony; the great organ fills in the breaks and pauses. This +splendid service of song seems to reach perfection. In its way earth +cannot give anything more perfect. + +Maggie Oliphant did not come very often to St. Hilda’s. At one time she +was a constant worshiper there, but that was a year ago, before +something happened which changed her. Then Sunday after Sunday two +lovely girls used to walk up the aisle side by side. The verger knew +them and reserved their favorite stalls for them. They used to kneel +together and listen to the service, and, what is more, take part in it. + +But a time came when one of the girls could never return to St. Hilda’s +and the other, people said, did not care to sit in the old seat without +her. They said she missed her friend and was more cut up than any one +else at the sudden death of one so fair and lovely. + +When Maggie took her place in the old stall to-day more than one person +turned to look at her with interest. + +Maggie always made a picturesque effect; she wore a large hat, with a +drooping plume of feathers; her dress was very rich and dark; her fair +face shone in the midst of these surroundings like an exquisite flower. + +The service went on. During the prayers Maggie wept, but, when a great +wave of song filled the vast building, she forgot all her sorrow; her +voice rose with the other singers, clear, sweet and high. Her soul +seemed to go up on her voice, for all the sadness left her face; her +eyes looked jubilant. + +Prissie had never been in any place like St. Hilda’s before. It had +been one of her dreams to go to the cathedral at Exeter, but year after +year this desire of hers had been put off and put off, and this was the +first time in her life that she had ever listened to cathedral music. +She was impressed, delighted, but not overpowered. + +“The organ is magnificent,” she said to herself, “but not grander than +the sea. The sea accompanies all the service at the dear little old +church at home.” + +People met and talked to one another in the green quadrangle outside +the chapel. Several other St. Benet girls had come to the afternoon +service. Among them was Miss Day and that fair, innocent-looking little +girl, Rosalind Merton. + +Miss Day and Miss Merton were together. They were both stepping back to +join Maggie and Prissie, when a tall, dark young man came hastily +forward, bowed to Rosalind Merton, and, coming up to Maggie Oliphant, +shook hands with her. + +“I saw you in chapel,” he said. “Are you coming to the Marshall’s to +tea?” + +“I am. Let me introduce to you my friend, Miss Peel. Miss Peel, this is +Mr. Hammond.” + +Hammond raised his hat to Prissie, said a courteous word to her and +then turned to speak again to Maggie. + +The three walked through the gates of the quadrangle and turned up the +narrow, picturesque High Street. It would soon be dusk; a wintry light +was over everything. Rosalind Merton and Miss Day followed behind. +Maggie, who was always absorbed with the present interest, did not heed +or notice them, but Priscilla heard one or two ill-bred giggles. + +She turned her head with indignation and received scornful glances from +both girls. The four met for a moment at a certain corner. Maggie said +something to Annie Day and introduced Mr. Hammond to her. As she did +so, Rosalind took the opportunity to come up to Priscilla and whisper +to her: + +“You’re not wanted, you know. You had much better come home with us.” + +“What do you mean?” replied Prissie in her matter-of-fact voice. “Miss +Oliphant has asked me to go with her to the Marshalls’.” + +“Oh, well— if you care to be in the——” resumed Rosalind. + +Maggie suddenly flashed round on her. + +“Come, Miss Peel, we’ll be late,” she said. “Goodby.” She nodded to +Rosalind; her eyes were full of an angry fire; she took Prissie’s hand +and hurried down the street. + +The two girls walked away, still giggling; a deep color mantled +Maggie’s cheeks. She turned and began to talk desperately to Mr. +Hammond. Her tone was flippant; her silvery laughter floated in the +air. Priscilla turned and gazed at her friend. She was seeing Maggie in +yet another aspect. She felt bewildered. + +The three presently reached a pleasant house standing in its own +grounds. They were shown into a large drawing-room, full of young +people. Mrs. Marshall, a pretty old lady, with white hair, came forward +to receive them. Maggie was swept away amid fervent embraces and +handshakes to the other end of the room. Mrs. Marshall saw that +Priscilla looked frightened; she took her under her wing, sat down by +her on a sofa and began to talk. + +Prissie answered in a sedate voice. Mrs. Marshall had a very gentle +manner. Prissie began to lose her shyness; she almost imagined that she +was back again with Aunt Raby. + +“My dear, you will like us all very much,” the old lady said. “No life +can be so absolutely delightful as that of a girl graduate at St. +Benet’s. The freedom from care, the mixture of study with play, the +pleasant social life, all combine to make young women both healthy and +wise. Ah, my love, we leave out the middle of the old proverb. The +girls at St. Benet’s are in that happy period of existence when they +need give no thought to money-making.” + +“Some are,” said Prissie. She sighed and the color rushed into her +cheeks. Mrs. Marshall looked at her affectionately. + +“Helen,” she called to her granddaughter who was standing near, “bring +Miss Peel another cup of tea— and some cake, Helen— some of that nice +cake you made yesterday. Now, my love, I insist. You don’t look at all +strong. You really must eat plenty.” + +Helen Marshall supplied Prissie’s wants, was introduced to her, and, +standing near, joined in the talk. + +“I am so glad you know Miss Oliphant,” said Mrs. Marshall. “She will +make a delightful friend for you.” + +“And isn’t she lovely?” said Helen Marshall. “I don’t think I know any +one with such a beautiful face. You ought to be very proud to have her +as a friend. Aren’t you very proud?” + +“No,” said Prissie, “I don’t know that I am. I am not even sure that +she is my friend.” + +“Of course she is— she wrote most affectionately of you to grandmother. +You can’t think how nicely she spoke. We were glad, we were delighted, +because Maggie— dear Maggie— has had no great friends lately. Now, if +you have had your tea, Miss Peel, I’ll take you about the room and +introduce you to one or two people.” + +Priscilla rose from her seat at once, and the two girls began to move +about the crowded drawing-room. Helen Marshall was very slight and +graceful; she piloted Prissie here and there without disturbing any +one’s arrangements. At last the two girls found themselves in an +immense conservatory, which opened into the drawing-room at one end. + +A great many of the guests were strolling about here. Priscilla’s eyes +sparkled at the sight of the lovely flowers. She forgot herself and +made eager exclamations of ecstasy. Helen, who up to now had thought +her a dull sort of girl, began to take an interest in her. + +“I’ll take you into our fern-house, which is just beyond here,” she +said. “We have got such exquisite maidenhairs and such a splendid +Killarney fern. Come; you shall see.” + +The fern-house seemed to be deserted. Helen opened the door first and +ran forward. Prissie followed. The fern-house was not large; they had +almost reached the end when a girl stood up suddenly and confronted +them. The girl was Maggie Oliphant. She was sitting there alone. Her +face was absolutely colorless and tears were lying wet on her +eyelashes. + +Maggie made a swift remark, a passing jest, and hurried past the two +into the conservatory. + +Priscilla could scarcely tell why, but at that moment she lost all +interest in both ferns and flowers. The look of misery on Maggie’s face +seemed to strike her own heart like a chill. + +“You look tired,” said Helen Marshall, who had not noticed Maggie’s +tearful eyes. + +“Perhaps I am,” answered Prissie. + +They went back again into the drawing-room. Prissie still could see +nothing but Miss Oliphant’s eyes and the look of distress on her pale +face. + +Helen suddenly made a remark. + +“Was there ever such a merry creature as Maggie?” she said. “Do look at +her now.” + +Prissie raised her eyes. Miss Oliphant was the center of a gay group, +among whom Geoffrey Hammond stood. Her laugh rang out clear and joyous; +her smile was like sunshine, her cheeks had roses in them and her eyes +were as bright as stars. + + + + +CHAPTER XI +CONSPIRATORS + + +Annie Day and her friend Rosalind ceased to laugh as soon as they +turned the corner. Annie now turned her eyes and fixed them on +Rosalind, who blushed and looked uncomfortable. + +“Well,” said Annie, “you are a humbug, Rose! What a story you told me +about Mr. Hammond— how he looked at you and was so anxious to make use +of you. Oh, you know all you said. You told me a charming story about +your position as gooseberry.’ You expected a little fun for yourself, +didn’t you, my friend? Well, it seems to me that if any one is to have +the fun, it is Priscilla Peel.” + +Rosalind had rather a nervous manner. She bit her lips now; her +baby-blue eyes looked angry, her innocent face wore a frown. She +dropped her hold of Annie Day’s arm. + +Miss Day was one of the most commonplace girls at Heath Hall. She had +neither good looks nor talent; she had no refinement of nature nor had +she those rugged but sterling qualities of honesty and integrity of +purpose which go far to cover a multitude of other defects. + +“I wish you wouldn’t speak to me in that way,” said Rosalind with a +little gasp. “I hate people to laugh at me, and I can’t stand sneers.” + +“Oh, no! you’re such a dear little innocent baby. Of course, I can +quite understand. And does she suppose I’ll ruffle her pretty little +feathers? No, not I. I’d rather invent a new cradle song for you, +Rosie, dear.” + +“Don’t, don’t!” said Rosalind. “Look here, Annie, I must say something— +yes, I must. I _hate_ Maggie Oliphant!” + +“You hate Miss Oliphant?” Annie Day stood still, turned round and +stared at her companion. “When did this revolution take place, my dear? +What about Rose and Maggie sitting side by side at dinner? And Rose +creeping away all by herself to Maggie’s room and angling for an +invitation to cocoa, and trying hard, very hard, to become a member of +the Dramatic Society, just because Maggie acts so splendidly. Has it +not been _Maggie— Maggie—_ ever since the term began, until we girls, +who were not in love with this quite too charming piece of perfection, +absolutely hated the sound of her name? Oh, Rose, what a fickle baby +you are. I am ashamed of you!” + +“Don’t!” said Rose again. She linked her hand half timidly in Miss +Day’s arm. Miss Day was almost a head and shoulders above the little, +delicate, fairy-like creature. “I suppose I can’t help changing my +mind,” she said. “I _did_ love Maggie, of course I loved her— she +fascinated me; but I don’t care for her— no, I _hate_ her now!” + +“How vehemently you pronounce that naughty word, my fair Rosalind. You +must give me some reasons for this grievous change in your feelings.” + +“She snubbed me,” said Rosalind; “she made little of me. I offered to +do her a kindness and she repulsed me. Who cares to be made little of +and repulsed?” + +Who, truly, Rosie?— not even an innocent baby. Now then, my love, let +me whisper a little secret to you. I have never loved Miss Oliphant. I +have never been a victim to her charms. Time was when she and Miss Lee— +poor Annabel!— ruled the whole of our hall. Those two girls carried +everything before them. That was before your day, Rose. Then Miss Lee +died. She caught a chill, and had a fever, and was dead in a couple of +days. Yes, of course, it was shocking. They moved her to the hospital, +and she died there. Oh, there was such excitement, and such grief— even +_I_ was sorry; for Annabel had a way about her, I can’t describe it, +but she _could_ fascinate you. It was awfully interesting to talk to +her, and even to look at her was a pleasure. We usedn’t to think much +about Maggie when Annabel was by; but now, what with Maggie and her +mystery, and Maggie and her love affair, and Maggie and her handsome +face, and her wealth, and her expectations, why she bids fair to be +more popular even than the two were when they were together. Yes, +little Rose, I don’t want her to be popular any more than you do. I +think it’s a very unhealthy sign of any place to have all the girls +sighing and groaning about one or two— dying to possess their +autographs, and kissing their photographs, and framing them, and +putting them up in their rooms. I hate that mawkish kind of nonsense,” +continued Miss Day, looking very virtuous, “and I think Miss Heath +ought to know about it, and put a stop to it. I do, really.” + +Rosalind was glad that the gathering darkness prevented her sharp +companion from seeing the blush on her face, for among her own sacred +possessions she kept an autograph letter of Maggie’s, and she had +passionately kissed Maggie’s beautiful face as it looked at her out of +a photograph, and, until the moment when all her feelings had undergone +such a change, was secretly saving up her pence to buy a frame for it. +Now she inquired eagerly: + +“What is the mystery about Miss Oliphant? So many people hint about it, +I do wish you would tell me, Annie.” + +“If I told you, pet, it would cease to be a mystery.” + +“But you might say what you know. _Do,_ Annie!” + +“Oh, it isn’t much— it’s really nothing; and yet— and yet—” + +“You know it isn’t nothing, Annie!” + +“Well, when Annabel died, people said that Maggie had more cause than +any one else to be sorry. I never could find out what that cause was; +but the servants spread some reports. They said they had found Maggie +and Annabel together; Annabel had fainted; and Maggie was in an awful +state of misery— in quite an unnatural state, they said; she went into +hysterics, and Miss Heath was sent for, and was a long time soothing +her. There was no apparent reason for this, although, somehow or other, +little whispers got abroad that the mystery of Annabel’s illness and +Maggie’s distress was connected with Geoffrey Hammond. Of course, +nothing was known, and nothing is known; but, certainly, the little +whisper got into the air. Dear me, Rosalind, you need not eat me with +your eyes. I am repeating mere conjectures, and it is highly probable +that not the slightest notice would have been taken of this little +rumor but for the tragedy which immediately followed. Annabel, who had +been as gay and well as any one at breakfast that morning, was never +seen in the college again. She was unconscious, the servants said, for +a long time, and when she awoke was in high fever. She was removed to +the hospital, and Maggie had seen the last of her friend. Poor Annabel +died in two days, and afterward Maggie took the fever. Yes, she has +been quite changed since then. She always had moods, as she called +them, but not like now. Sometimes I think she is almost flighty.” + +Rosalind was silent. After a while she said in a prim little voice, +which she adopted now and then when she wanted to conceal her real +feelings: + +“But I do wonder what the quarrel was about— I mean, what really +happened between Annabel and Maggie.” + +“Look here, Rosalind, have I said anything about a quarrel? Please +remember that the whole thing is conjecture from beginning to end, and +don’t go all over the place spreading stories and making mischief. I +have told you this in confidence, so don’t forget.” + +“I won’t forget,” replied Rosalind. “I don’t know why you should accuse +me of wanting to make mischief, Annie. I can’t help being curious, of +course, and, of course, I’d like to know more.” + +“Well, for that matter, so would I,” replied Annie. “Where there is a +mystery it’s much more satisfactory to get to the bottom of it. Of +course, something dreadful must have happened to account for the change +in Miss Oliphant. It would be a comfort to know the truth, and, of +course, one need never talk of it. By the way, Rosie, you are just the +person to ferret this little secret out; you are the right sort of +person for spying and peeping.” + +“Oh, thank you,” replied Rosalind; “if that’s your opinion of me I’m +not inclined to do anything to please you. Spying and peeping, indeed! +What next?” + +Annie Day patted her companion’s small white hand. + +“And so I’ve hurt the dear little baby’s feelings!” she said. “But I +didn’t mean to— no, that I didn’t. And she such a pretty, sweet little +pet as she is! Well, Rosie, you know what I mean. If we can find out +the truth about Miss Maggie we’ll just have a quiet little crow over +her all to ourselves. I don’t suppose we shall find out, but the +opportunities may arise— who knows? Now I want to speak to you about +another person, and that is Maggie’s new friend.” + +“What new friend?” Rosalind blushed brightly. + +“That ugly Priscilla Peel. She has taken her up. Any one can see that.” + +“Oh, I don’t think so.” + +“But I do— I am sure of it. Now I have good reason not to like Miss +Priscilla. You know what a virtuous parade she made of herself a few +nights ago?” + +“Yes, you told me.” + +“Horrid, set-up minx! Just the sort of girl who ought to be suppressed +and crushed out of a college like ours. Vaunting her poverty in our +very faces and refusing to make herself pleasant or one with us in any +sort of way. Lucy Marsh and I had a long talk over her that night, and +we put our heads together to concoct a nice little bit of punishment +for her. You know she’s horridly shy, and as _gauche_ as if she lived +in the backwoods, and we meant to ‘send her to Coventry.’ We had it all +arranged, and a whole lot of girls would have joined us, for it’s +contrary to the spirit of a place like this to allow girls of the +Priscilla Peel type to become popular or liked in any way. But, most +unluckily, poor, dear, good, but stupid, Nancy Banister was in the room +when Prissie made her little oration, and Nancy took her up as if she +were a heroine and spoke of her as if she had done something +magnificent, and, of course, Nancy told Maggie, and now Maggie is as +thick as possible with Prissie. So you see, my dear Rosalind, our +virtuous little scheme is completely knocked on the head.” + +“I don’t see—” began Rosalind. + +“You little goose, before a week is out Prissie will be the fashion. +All the girls will flock around her when Maggie takes her part. Bare, +ugly rooms will be the rage; poverty will be the height of the fashion, +and it will be considered wrong even to go in for the recognized +college recreations. Rosie, my love, we must nip this growing mischief +in the bud.” + +“How?” asked Rosalind. + +“We must separate Maggie Oliphant and Priscilla Peel.” + +“How?” asked Rose again. “I’m sure,” she added in a vehement voice, +“I’m willing— I’m more than willing.” + +“Good. Well, we’re at home now, and I absolutely must have a cup of +tea. No time for it in my room to-night— let’s come into the hall and +have some there. Look here, Rosalind, I’ll ask Lucy Marsh to have cocoa +to-night in my room, and you can come too. Now keep a silent tongue in +your head, Baby.” + + + + +CHAPTER XII +A GOOD THING TO BE YOUNG + + +It was long past the tea-hour at Heath Hall when Maggie Oliphant and +Priscilla started on their walk home. The brightness and gaiety of the +merry party at the Marshalls’ had increased as the moments flew on. +Even Priscilla had caught something of the charm. The kindly spirit +which animated every one seemed to get into her. She first became +interested, then she forgot herself. Prissie was no longer awkward; she +began to talk, and when she liked she could talk well. + +As the two girls were leaving the house Geoffrey Hammond put in a +sudden appearance. + +“I will see you home,” he said to Maggie. + +“No, no, you mustn’t,” she answered; her tone was vehement. She forgot +Prissie’s presence and half turned her back on her. + +“How unkind you are!” said the young man in a low tone. + +“No, Geoffrey, but I am struggling— you don’t know how hard I am +struggling— to be true to myself.” + +“You are altogether mistaken in your idea of truth,” said Hammond, +turning and walking a little way by her side. + +“I am not mistaken— I am right.” + +“Well, at least allow me to explain my side of the question.” + +“No, it cannot be; there shall be no explanations, I am resolved. Good +night, you must not come any further.” + +She held out her hand. Hammond took it limply between his own. + +“You are very cruel,” he murmured in the lowest of voices. + +He raised his hat, forgot even to bow to Priscilla, and hurried off +down a side street. + +Maggie walked on a little way. Then she turned and looked down the +street where he had vanished. Suddenly she raised her hand to her lips, +kissed it and blew the kiss after the figure which had already +disappeared. She laughed excitedly when she did this, and her whole +face was glowing with a beautiful color. + +Prissie, standing miserable and forgotten by the tall, handsome girl’s +side, could see the light in her eyes and the glow on her cheeks in the +lamplight. + +“I am here,” said Priscilla at last in a low, half-frightened voice. “I +am sorry I am here, but I am. I heard what you said to Mr. Hammond. I +am sorry I heard.” + +Maggie turned slowly and looked at her. Prissie returned her gaze. +Then, as if further words were wrung from her against her will, she +continued: + +“I saw the tears in your eyes in the fern-house at the Marshalls’. I am +very sorry, but I did see them.” + +“My dear Prissie!” said Maggie. She went up suddenly to the girl, put +her arm round her neck and kissed her. + +“Come home now,” she said, drawing Prissie’s hand through her arm. “I +don’t think I greatly mind your knowing,” she said after a pause. “You +are true; I see it in your face. You would never tell again— you would +never make mischief.” + +“Tell again! Of course not.” Prissie’s words came out with great vigor. + +“I know you would not, Priscilla; may I call you Priscilla?” + +“Yes.” + +“Will you be my friend and shall I be your friend?” + +“If you would,” said Prissie. “But you don’t mean it. It is impossible +that you can mean it. I’m not a bit like you— and— and— you only say +these things to be kind.” + +“What do you mean, Priscilla?” + +“I must tell you,” said Prissie, turning very pale. “I heard what you +said to Miss Banister the night I came to the college.” + +“What I said to Miss Banister? What did I say?” + +“Oh, can’t you remember? The words seemed burnt into me: I shall never +forget them. I had left my purse in the dining-hall, and I was going to +fetch it. Your door was a little open. I heard my name, and I stopped— +yes, I did stop to listen.” + +“Oh, what a naughty, mean little Prissie! You stopped to listen. And +what did you hear? Nothing good, of course? The bad thing was said to +punish you for listening.” + +“I heard,” said Priscilla, her own cheeks crimson now, “I heard you say +that it gave you an aesthetic pleasure to be kind, and that was why you +were good to me.” + +Maggie felt her own color rising. + +“Well, my dear,” she said, “it still gives me an aesthetic pleasure to +be kind. You could not expect me to fall in love with you the moment I +saw you. I was kind to you then, perhaps, for the reason I stated. It +is very different now.” + +“It was wrong of you to be kind to me for that reason.” + +“Wrong of me? What an extraordinary girl you are, Priscilla— why was it +wrong of me?” + +“Because I learned to love you. You were gentle to me and spoke +courteously when others were rude and only laughed; my whole heart went +out to you when you were so sweet and gentle and kind. I did not think— +I could not possibly think— that you were good just because it gave you +a sort of selfish pleasure. When I heard your words I felt dreadful. I +hated St. Benet’s; I wished I had never come. Your words turned +everything to bitterness for me.” + +“Did they really, Priscilla? Oh, Prissie! what a thoughtless, wild, +impulsive creature I am. Well, I don’t feel now as I did that night. If +those words were cruel, forgive me. Forget those words, Prissie.” + +“I will if you will.” + +“I? I have forgotten them utterly.” + +“Thank you, thank you.” + +“Then we’ll be friends— real friends; true friends?” + +Yes.” + +“You must say Yes, Maggie.’” + +“Yes, Maggie.” + +“That is right. Now keep your hand in my arm. Let’s walk fast. Is it +not glorious to walk in this semi-frosty sort of weather? Prissie, +you’ll see a vast lot that you don’t approve of in your new friend.” + +“Oh, I don’t care,” said Priscilla. + +She felt so joyous she could have skipped. + +“I’ve as many sides,” continued Maggie, “as a chamelon has colors. I am +the gayest of the gay, as well as the saddest of the sad. When I am gay +you may laugh with me, but I warn you when I am sad you must never cry +with me. Leave me alone when I have my dark moods on, Prissie.” + +“Very well, Maggie, I’ll remember.” + +“I think you’ll make a delightful friend,” said Miss Oliphant, just +glancing at her; “but I pity your side of the bargain.” + +“Why?” + +“Because I’ll try you so fearfully.” + +“Oh, no, you won’t. I don’t want to have a perfect friend.” + +“Perfect. No, child— Heaven forbid. But there are shades of perfection. +Now, when I get into my dark moods, I feel wicked as well as sad. No, +we won’t talk of them; we’ll keep them away. Prissie, I feel good +to-night— good— and glad: it’s such a nice feeling.” + +“I am sure of it,” said Priscilla. + +“What do you know about it, child? You have not tasted life yet. Wait +until you do. For instance— no, though— I won’t enlighten you. Prissie, +what do you think of Geoffrey Hammond?” + +“I think he loves you very much.” + +“Poor Geoffrey! Now, Prissie, you are to keep that little thought quite +dark in your mind— in fact, you are to put it out of your mind. You are +not to associate my name with Mr. Hammond’s— not even in your thoughts. +You will very likely hear us spoken of together, and some of the stupid +girls here will make little quizzing, senseless remarks. But there will +be no truth in them, Prissie. He is nothing to me nor I to him.” + +“Then why did you blow a kiss after him?” asked Priscilla. + +Maggie stood still. It was too dark for Priscilla to see her blush. + +“Oh, my many-sided nature!” she suddenly exclaimed. “It was a wicked +sprite made me blow that kiss. Prissie, my dear, I am cold: race me to +the house.” + +The two girls entered the wide hall, flushed and laughing. Other girls +were lingering about on the stairs. Some were just starting off to +evening service at Kingsdene; others were standing in groups, chatting. +Nancy Banister came up and spoke to Maggie. Maggie took her arm and +walked away with her. + +Prissie found herself standing alone in the hall. It was as if the +delightful friendship cemented between herself and Miss Oliphant in the +frosty air outside had fallen to pieces like a castle of cards the +moment they entered the house. Prissie felt a chill. Her high spirits +went down a very little. Then, resolving to banish the ignoble spirit +of distrust, she prepared to run upstairs to her own room. + +Miss Heath called her name as she was passing an open door. + +“Is that you, my dear? Will you come to my room after supper to-night?” + +“Oh, thank you,” said Prissie, her eyes sparkling. + +Miss Heath came to the threshold of her pretty room and smiled at the +young girl. + +“You look well and happy,” she said. “You are getting at home here. You +will love us all yet.” + +“I love you now!” said Prissie with fervor. + +Miss Heath, prompted by the look of intense and sincere gladness on the +young face, bent and kissed Priscilla. A rather disagreeable voice said +suddenly at her back: + +“I beg your pardon,” and Lucy Marsh ran down the stairs. + +She had knocked against Prissie in passing; she had witnessed Miss +Heath’s kiss. The expression on Lucy’s face was unpleasant. Prissie did +not notice it, however. She went slowly up to her room. The electric +light was on, the fire was blazing merrily. Priscilla removed her hat +and jacket, threw herself into the one easy-chair the room contained, +and gave herself up to pleasant dreams. Many new aspects of life were +opening before her. She felt that it was a good thing to be young, and +she was distinctly conscious of a great, soft glow of happiness. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII +CAUGHT IN A TRAP + + +College life is school life over again, but with wide differences. The +restraints which characterize the existence of a schoolgirl are +scarcely felt at all by the girl graduates. There are no punishments. +Up to a certain point she is free to be industrious or not as she +pleases. Some rules there are for her conduct and guidance, but they +are neither many nor arbitrary. In short, the young girl graduate is no +longer thought of as a child. She is a woman, with a woman’s +responsibilities; she is treated accordingly. + +Miss Day, Miss Marsh, Miss Merton and one or two other congenial +spirits entered heartily into the little plot which should deprive +Priscilla of Maggie Oliphant’s friendship. They were anxious to succeed +in this, because their characters were low, their natures jealous and +mean. Prissie had set up a higher standard than theirs, and they were +determined to crush the little aspirant for moral courage. If in +crushing Prissie they could also bring discredit upon Miss Oliphant, +their sense of victory would have been intensified; but it was one +thing for these conspirators to plot and plan and another thing for +them to perform. It is possible that in school life they might have +found this easier; opportunities might have arisen for them, with +mistresses to be obeyed, punishments to be dreaded, rewards to be won. +At St. Benet’s there was no one especially to be obeyed, and neither +rewards nor punishments entered into the lives of the girls. + +Maggie Oliphant did not care in the least what girls like Miss Day or +Miss Marsh said or thought about her, and Priscilla, who was very happy +and industrious just now, heard many innuendoes and sly little speeches +without taking in their meaning. + +Still, the conspirators did not despair. The term before Christmas was +in some ways rather a dull one, and they were glad of any excitement to +break the monotony. As difficulties increased their ardor also +deepened, and they were resolved not to leave a stone unturned to +effect their object. Where there is a will there is a way. This is true +as regards evil and good things alike. + +One foggy morning, toward the end of November, Priscilla was standing +by the door of one of the lecture-rooms, a book of French history, a +French grammar and exercise-book and thick note-book in her hand. She +was going to her French lecture and was standing patiently by the +lecture-room door, which had not yet been opened. + +Priscilla’s strongest bias was for Greek and Latin, but Mr. Hayes had +recommended her to take up modern languages as well, and she was +steadily plodding through the French and German, for which she had not +so strong a liking as for her beloved classics. Prissie was a very +eager learner, and she was busy now looking over her notes of the last +lecture and standing close to the door, so as to be one of the first to +take her place in the lecture-room. + +The rustling of a dress caused her to look round, and Rosalind Merton +stood by her side. Rosalind was by no means one of the “students” of +the college. She attended as few lectures as were compatible with her +remaining there, but French happened to be one of the subjects which +she thought it well to take up, and she appeared now by Prissie’s side +with the invariable notebook, without which no girl went to lecture, in +her hand. + +“Isn’t it cold?” she said, shivering and raising her pretty face to +Priscilla’s. + +Prissie glanced at her for a moment, said Yes, she supposed it was +cold, in an abstracted voice, and bent her head once more over her +note-book. + +Rosalind was looking very pretty in a dress of dark blue velveteen. Her +golden curly hair lay in little tendrils all over her head and curled +lovingly against her soft white throat. + +“I hate Kingsdene in a fog,” she continued, “and I think it’s very +wrong to keep us in this draughty passage until the lecture-room is +opened. Don’t you, Miss Peel?” + +“Well, we are before our time, so no one is to blame for that,” +answered Priscilla. + +“Of course, so we are.” Rosalind pulled out a small gold watch, which +she wore at her girdle. + +“How stupid of me to have mistaken the hour!” she exclaimed. Then +looking hard at Prissie, she continued in an anxious tone: + +“You are not going to attend any lectures this afternoon, are you, Miss +Peel?” + +“No,” answered Priscilla. “Why?” + +Rosalind’s blue eyes looked almost pathetic in their pleading. + +“I wonder”— she began; “I am so worried, I _wonder_ if you’d do me a +kindness.” + +“I can’t say until you ask me,” said Priscilla; “what do you want me to +do?” + +“There’s a girl at Kingsdene, a Miss Forbes. She makes my dresses now +and then; I had a letter from her last night, and she is going to +London in a hurry because her mother is ill. She made this dress for +me. Isn’t it pretty?” + +“Yes,” answered Priscilla, just glancing at it. “But what connection +has that with my doing anything for you?” + +“Oh, a great deal; I’m coming to that part. Miss Forbes wants me to pay +her for making this dress before she goes to London. I can only do this +by going to Kingsdene this afternoon.” + +“Well?” said Priscilla. + +“I want to know if you will come with me. Miss Heath does not like our +going to the town alone, particularly at this time of year, when the +evenings are so short. Will you come with me, Miss Peel? It will be +awfully good-natured of you, and I really do want poor Miss Forbes to +have her money before she goes to London.” + +“But cannot some of your own friends go with you?” returned Priscilla. +“I don’t wish to refuse, of course, if it is necessary; but I want to +work up my Greek notes this afternoon. The next lecture is a very stiff +one, and I sha’n’t he ready for it without some hard work.” + +“Oh, but you can study when you come back. _Do_ come with me. I would +not ask you, only I know you are so good-natured, and Annie Day and +Lucy Marsh have both to attend lectures this afternoon. I have no one +to ask— no one, really if you refuse. I have not half so many friends +as you think, and it would be quite too dreadful for poor Miss Forbes +not to have her money when she wants to spend it on her sick mother.” + +Priscilla hesitated for a moment. Two or three other girls were walking +down the corridor to the lecture-room; the door was flung open. + +“Very well,” she said as she entered the room, followed by Rosalind, “I +will go with you. At what hour do you want to start?” + +“At three o’clock. I’m awfully grateful. A thousand thanks, Miss Peel.” + +Prissie nodded, seated herself at the lecture-table and in the interest +of the work which lay before her soon forgot all about Rosalind and her +troubles. + +The afternoon of that day turned out not only foggy but wet. A +drizzling rain shrouded the landscape, and very few girls from St. +Benet’s were venturing abroad. + +At half-past two Nancy Banister came hastily into Priscilla’s room. + +“Maggie and I are going down to the library,” she said, “to have a cozy +read by the fire; we want you to come with us. Why, surely you are +never going out, Miss Peel?” + +“Yes, I am,” answered Prissie in a resigned voice. “I don’t like it a +bit, but Miss Merton has asked me to go with her to Kingsdene, and I +promised.” + +“Well, you sha’n’t keep your promise. This is not a fit day for you to +go out, and you have a cough, too. I heard you coughing last night.” + +“Yes, but that is nothing. I must go, Miss Banister,”, I must keep my +word. I dare say it won’t take Miss Merton and me very long to walk +into Kingsdene and back again.” + +“And I never knew that Rosalind Merton was one of your friends, +Prissie,” continued Nancy in a puzzled voice. + +“Nor is she— I scarcely know her; but when she asked me to go out with +her, I could not very well say no.” + +“I suppose not; but I am sorry, all the same, for it is not a fit day +for any one to be abroad, and Rosalind is such a giddy pate. Well, come +back as soon as you can. Maggie and I are going to have a jolly time, +and we only wish you were with us.” + +Nancy nodded brightly and took her leave, and Priscilla, putting on her +waterproof and her shabbiest hat, went down into the hall to meet +Rosalind. + +Rosalind was also in waterproof, but her hat was extremely pretty and +becoming, and Priscilla fancied she got a glimpse of a gay silk dress +under the waterproof cloak. + +“Oh, how quite too sweet of you to be ready!” said Rosalind with +effusion. She took Prissie’s hand and squeezed it affectionately, and +the two girls set off. + +The walk was a dreary one, for Kingsdene, one of the most beautiful +places in England in fine weather, lies so low that in the winter +months fogs are frequent, and the rain is almost incessant, so that +then the atmosphere is always damp and chilly. By the time the two +girls had got into the High Street Prissie’s thick, sensible boots were +covered with mud and Rosalind’s thin ones felt very damp to her feet. + +They soon reached the quarter where the dressmaker, Miss Forbes, lived. +Prissie was asked to wait downstairs, and Rosalind ran up several +flights of stairs to fulfil her mission. She came back at the end of a +few minutes, looking bright and radiant. + +“I am sorry to have kept you waiting, Miss Peel,” she said, “but my +boots were so muddy that Miss Forbes insisted on polishing them up for +me.” + +“Well, we can go home now, I suppose?” said Prissie. + +“Ye— es; only as we _are_ here, would you greatly mind our going round +by Bouverie Street? I want to inquire for a friend of mine, Mrs. +Elliot-Smith. She has not been well.” + +“Oh, I don’t mind,” said Priscilla. “Will it take us much out of our +way?” + +“No, only a step or two. Come, we have just to turn this corner, and +here we are. What a dear— quite too good-natured girl you are, Miss +Peel!” + +Prissie said nothing. The two started forth again in the drizzling mist +and fog, and presently found themselves in one of the most fashionable +streets of Kingsdene and standing before a ponderous hall-door, which +stood back in a portico. + +Rosalind rang the bell, which made a loud peal. The door was opened +almost immediately; but, instead of a servant appearing in answer to +the summons, a showily dressed girl, with a tousled head of flaxen +hair, light blue eyes and a pale face, stood before Rosalind and +Prissie. + +“Oh, you dear Rose!” she said, clasping her arms round Miss Merton and +dragging her into the house; “I had almost given you up. Do come in— do +come in, both of you. You are more than welcome. What a miserable, +horrid, too utterly depressing afternoon it is!” + +“How do you do, Meta?” said Rosalind, when she could interrupt this +eager flow of words. “May I introduce my friend, Miss Peel? Miss Peel, +this is my very great and special friend and chum, Meta Elliot-Smith.” + +“Oh, you charming darling!” said Meta, giving Rose a fresh hug and +glancing in a supercilious but friendly way at Prissie. + +“We came to inquire for your mother, dear Meta,” said Rose in a demure +tone. “Is she any better?” + +“Yes, my dear darling, she’s much better.” Meta’s eyes flashed +interrogation into Rose’s: Rose’s returned back glances which spoke +whole volumes of meaning. + +“Look here,” said Meta Elliot-Smith, “now that you two dear, precious +girls have come, you mustn’t go away. Oh, no, I couldn’t hear of it. I +have perfect oceans to say to you, Rose— and it is absolutely centuries +since we have met. Off with your waterproof and up you come to the +drawing-room for a cup of tea. One or two friends are dropping in +presently, and the Beechers and one or two more are upstairs now. You +know the Beechers, don’t you, Rosalind? Here, Miss Peel, let me help +you to unburden yourself. Little Rose is so nimble in her ways that she +doesn’t need any assistance.” + +“Oh, but indeed I can’t stay,” said Prissie. “It is quite impossible! +You know, Miss Merton, it is impossible. We are due at St. Benet’s now. +We ought to be going back at once.” + +Rosalind Merton’s only answer was to slip off her waterproof cloak and +stand arrayed in a fascinating toilet of silk and lace— a little too +dressy, perhaps, even for an afternoon party at Kingsdene, but vastly +becoming to its small wearer. + +Priscilla opened her eyes wide as she gazed at her companion. She saw +at once that she had been entrapped into her present false position, +and that Rosalind’s real object in coming to Kingsdene was not to pay +her dressmaker but to visit the Elliot-Smiths. + +“I can’t possible stay,” she said in a cold, angry voice. “I must go +back to St. Benet’s at once.” + +She began to button up her waterproof as fast as Miss Elliot-Smith was +unbuttoning it. + +“Nonsense, you silly old dear!” said Rosalind, who, having gained her +way, was now in the best of spirits. “You mustn’t listen to her, Meta; +she studies a great deal too hard, and a little relaxation will do her +all the good in the world. My dear Miss Peel, you can’t be so rude as +to refuse a cup of tea, and I know I shall catch an awful cold if I +don’t have one. Do come upstairs for half an hour; _do,_ there’s a dear +Prissie!” + +Priscilla hesitated. She had no knowledge of so-called “society.” Her +instincts told her it was very wrong to humor Rose. She disliked Miss +Elliot-Smith and felt wild at the trick which had been played on her. +Nevertheless, on an occasion of this kind, she was no match for Rose, +who knew perfectly what she was about, and stood smiling and pretty +before her. + +“Just for a few moments,” said Rosalind, coming up and whispering to +her. “I really won’t keep you long. You _will_ just oblige me for a few +minutes.” + +“Well, but I’m not fit to be seen in this old dress!” whispered back +poor Prissie. + +“Oh, yes, you are; you’re not bad at all, and I am sure Meta will find +you a secluded corner if you want it— won’t you, Meta?” + +“Yes, of course, if Miss Peel wants it,” answered Meta. “But she looks +all right, so deliciously quaint— I simply _adore_ quaint people! Quite +the sweet girl graduate, I do declare. You don’t at all answer to the +_role,_ you naughty Rosalind!” + +So Prissie, in her ill-made brown dress, her shabbiest hat and her +muddy boots, had to follow in the wake of Rosalind Merton and her +friend. At first she had been too angry to think much about her attire, +but she was painfully conscious of it when she entered a crowded +drawing-room, where every one else was in a suitable afternoon toilet. +She was glad to shrink away out of sight into the most remote corner +she could find; her muddy boots were pushed far in under her chair and +hidden as much as possible by her rather short dress; her cheeks burnt +unbecomingly; she felt miserable, self-conscious, ill at ease and very +cross with every one. It was in vain for poor Priscilla to whisper to +herself that Greek and Latin were glorious and great and dress and +fashion were things of no moment whatever. At this instant she knew all +too well that dress and fashion were reigning supreme. + +Meta Elliot-Smith was elusive, loud and vulgar, but she was also +good-natured. She admired Rosalind, but in her heart of hearts she +thought that her friend had played Prissie a very shabby trick. She +brought Prissie some tea, therefore, and stood for a moment or two by +her side, trying to make things a little more comfortable for her. Some +one soon claimed her attention, however, and poor Prissie found herself +alone. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV +IN THE ELLIOT-SMITH’S DRAWING-ROOM + + +The fun and talk rose fast and furious. More and more guests arrived; +the large drawing-rooms were soon almost as full as they could hold. +Priscilla, from her corner, half-hidden by a sheltering window curtain, +looked in vain for Rosalind. Where had she hidden herself? When were +they going away? Surely Rosalind would come to fetch her soon? They had +to walk home and be ready for dinner. + +Dinner at St. Benet’s was at half-past six, and Prissie reflected with +a great sensation of thankfulness that Rosalind and she must go back in +good time for this meal, as it was one of the rules of the college that +no girl should absent herself from late dinner without getting +permission from the principal. + +Prissie looked in agony at the clock which stood on a mantel-piece not +far from where she had ensconced herself. Presently it struck five; no +one heard its silver note in the babel of sound, but Priscilla watched +its slowly moving hands in an agony. + +Rose must come to fetch her presently. Prissie knew— she reflected to +her horror that she had not the moral courage to walk about those +drawing-rooms hunting for Rose. + +Two or three exquisitely dressed but frivolous-looking women stood in a +group not far from the window where Priscilla sat forlorn. They talked +about the cut of their mantles and the price they had given for their +new winter bonnets. Their shrill laughter reached Prissie’s ears, also +their words. They complimented one another, but talked scandal of their +neighbors. They called somebody— who Prissie could not imagine—“a +certain lady,” and spoke of how she was angling to get a footing in +society, and how the good set at Kingsdene would certainly never have +anything to do with her or hers. + +“She’s taking up those wretched girl graduates,” said one of these +gossips to her neighbor. Then her eye fell upon Prissie. She said +“Hush!” in an audible tone, and the little party moved away out of +earshot. + +The minute hand of the clock on the mantel-piece pointed to nearly +half-past five. Poor Prissie felt her miseries grow almost intolerable. +Tears of mortification and anguish were forcing themselves to her eyes. +She felt that, in addition to having lost so many hours of study, she +would get into a serious scrape at St. Benet’s for breaking one of the +known rules of the college. + +At this moment a quiet voice said, “How do you do?” + +She raised her tearful eyes. Geoffrey Hammond was standing by her side. +He gave her a kind glance, shook hands with her and stood by her window +uttering commonplaces until Priscilla had recovered her +self-possession. Then, dropping into a chair near, he said abruptly: + +“I saw you from the other end of the room. I was surprised. I did not +suppose you knew our hostess.” + +“Nor do I really,” said Priscilla with sudden vehemence. “Oh, it’s a +shame!” she added, her face reddening up woefully; “I have been +entrapped!” + +“You must not let the people who are near us hear you say words of that +kind,” said Hammond; “they will crowd around to hear your story. Now, I +want it all to myself. Do you think you can tell it to me in a low +voice?” + +To poor Hammond’s horror Prissie began to whisper. + +“I beg your pardon,” he said, interrupting her, “but do you know that +the buzzing noise caused by a whisper carries sound a long way? That is +a well authenticated fact. Now, if you will try to speak low.” + +“Oh, thank you; yes, I will,” said Prissie. She began a garbled +account. Hammond looked at her face and guessed the truth. The miseries +of her present position were depriving the poor girl of the full use of +her intellect. At last he ascertained that Priscilla’s all-absorbing +present anxiety was to be in time for the half-past six dinner at St. +Benet’s. + +“I know we’ll be late,” she said, “and I’ll have broken the rules, and +Miss Heath will be so much annoyed with me.” + +Hammond volunteered to look for Miss Merton. + +“Oh, thank you,” said Prissie, the tears springing to her eyes. “How +very, very kind you are.” + +“Please don’t speak of it,” said Hammond. “Stay where you are. I’ll +soon bring the young truant to your side.” + +He began to move about the drawing-rooms, and Prissie from her +hiding-place watched him with a world of gratitude in her face. “Talk +of my stirring from this corner,” she said to herself, “why, I feel +glued to the spot! Oh, my awful muddy boots. I daren’t even think of +them. Now I do hope Mr. Hammond will find Miss Merton quickly. How kind +he is! I wonder Maggie does not care for him as much as he cares for +her. I do not feel half as shy with him as I do with every one else in +this dreadful— dreadful room. Oh, I do trust he’ll soon come back and +bring Miss Merton with him. Then, if we run all the way, we may, +perhaps, be in time for dinner.” + +Hammond was absent about ten minutes; they seemed like so many hours to +anxious Prissie. To her horror she saw him returning alone, and now she +so far forgot her muddy boots as to run two or three steps to meet him. +She knocked over a footstool as she did so, and one or two people +looked round and shrugged their shoulders at the poor _gauche_ girl. + +“Where is she?” exclaimed Prissie, again speaking in a loud voice. “Oh, +haven’t you brought her? What shall I do?” + +“It’s all right, I assure you, Miss Peel. Let me conduct you back to +that snug seat in the window. I have seen Miss Merton, and she says you +are to make yourself happy. She asked Miss Heath’s permission for you +both to be absent from dinner to-day.” + +“She did? I never heard of anything so outrageous. _I_ won’t stay. I +shall go away at once.” + +“Had you not better just think calmly over it? If you return to St. +Benet’s without Miss Merton, you will get her into a scrape.” + +“Do you think I care for that? Oh, she has behaved disgracefully! She +has told Miss Heath a lie. I shall explain matters the very moment I go +back.” + +Priscilla was not often in a passion, but she felt in one now. She lost +her shyness and her voice rose without constraint. + +“I am not supposed to know the ways of society,” she said, “but I don’t +think I want to know much about this sort of society.” And she got up, +prepared to leave the room. + +The ladies, who had been gossiping at her side, turned at the sound of +her agitation. They saw a plain, badly dressed girl, with a frock +conveniently short for the muddy streets, but by no means in tone with +her present elegant surroundings, standing up and contradicting, or at +least appearing to contradict, Geoffrey Hammond, one of the best known +men at St. Hilda’s, a Senior Wrangler, too. What did this _gauche_ girl +mean? Most people were deferential to Hammond, but she seemed to be +scolding him. + +Prissie for the time being became more interesting even than the winter +fashions. The ladies drew a step or two nearer to enjoy the little +comedy. + +Priscilla noticed no one, but Hammond felt these good ladies in the +air. His cheeks burned and he wished himself well out of his present +position. + +“If you will sit down, Miss Peel,” he said in a low, firm voice, “I +think I can give you good reasons for not rushing away in this headlong +fashion.” + +“Well, what are they?” said Prissie. Hammond’s voice had a sufficiently +compelling power to make her sit down once more on her window-ledge. + +“Don’t you think,” he said, seating himself in front of her, “that we +may as well keep this discussion to ourselves?” + +“Oh, yes; was I speaking too loud? I wouldn’t vex _you_ for anything.” + +“Pardon me; you are still speaking a little loud.” + +“Oh!” Poor Prissie fell back, her face crimson. “Please say anything +you wish,” she presently piped in a voice as low as a little mouse +might have used. + +“What I have to say is simply this,” said Hammond: “You will gain +nothing now by rushing off to St. Benet’s. However hard you struggle, +you cannot get there in time for dinner. Would it not be best, then, to +remain here quietly until Miss Merton asks you to accompany her back to +the college? Then, of course, it will remain with you to pay her out in +any way you think well.” + +“Thank you; perhaps that is best. It is quite hopeless now to think of +getting back in time for dinner. I only hope Miss Merton won’t keep me +waiting very long, for it is very, very dull sitting here and seeing +people staring at you.” + +“I would not look at them if I were you, Miss Peel; and, if you will +permit me, I shall be only too pleased to keep you company.” + +“Oh, thank you,” said Prissie. “Then I sha’n’t mind staying at all.” + +The next half-hour seemed to pass on the wings of the wind. + +Priscilla was engaged in an animated discussion with Hammond on the +relative attractions of the “Iliad” and the “Odyssey;” her opinion +differed from his, and she was well able to hold her ground. Her face +was now both eloquent and attractive, her eyes were bright, her words +terse and epigrammatic. She looked so different a girl from the cowed +and miserable little Prissie of an hour ago that Rosalind Merton as she +came up and tapped her on the shoulder, felt a pang of envy. + +“I am sorry to interrupt you,” she said, “but it is time for us to be +going home. Have you given Mr. Hammond his message?” + +“What do you mean?” asked Priscilla. “I have not any message for Mr. +Hammond.” + +“You must have forgotten. Did not Miss Oliphant give you a letter for +him?” + +“Certainly not. What do you mean?” + +“I felt sure I saw her,” said Rosalind. “I suppose I was mistaken. +Well, sorry as I am to interrupt a pleasant talk, I fear I must ask you +to come home with me now.” + +She raised her pretty baby eyes to Hammond’s face as she spoke. He +absolutely scowled down at her, shook hands warmly with Priscilla and +turned away. + +“Come and bid Mrs. Elliot-Smith good-by,” said Rosalind, her eyes still +dancing. “She is at the other end of the drawing-room; come, you can +follow me.” + +“How disgracefully you have behaved, Miss Merton!” began Priscilla at +once. “You cannot expect me ever to speak to you again, and I shall +certainly tell Miss Heath.” + +They were walking across the crowded drawing-room now. Rosalind turned +and let her laughing eyes look full at Prissie. + +“My dear Miss Peel, pray reserve any little scolding you intend to +bestow upon me until we get out into the street, and please do not +tread upon my dress!” + + + + +CHAPTER XV +POLLY SINGLETON + + +Miss Day was having quite a large party for cocoa in her room. She had +invited not only her own chosen friends from Heath Hall, but also two +or three congenial spirits from Katharine Hall. Five or six +merry-looking girls were now assembled in her room. Miss Day’s room was +one of the largest in the college; it was showily furnished, with an +intention to produce a Japanese effect. Several paper lanterns hung +from the ceiling and were suspended to wire supports, which were +fastened to different articles of furniture. + +In honor of Miss Day’s cocoa, the lanterns were all lit now, and the +effect, on fans and pictures and on brilliant bits of color, were +grotesque and almost _bizarre._ + +Miss Day thought her room lovely. It was dazzling, but the reverse of +reposeful. + +The girls were lounging about, chatting and laughing; they were having +a good time and were absolutely at their ease. One, a red-haired girl, +with frank, open blue eyes and a freckled face, an inmate of Katharine +Hall, was sending her companions into fits of laughter. + +“Yes,” she was saying in a high, gay voice, “I’m not a bit ashamed of +it; there’s never the least use in not owning the truth. I’m used up, +girls: I haven’t a pennypiece to bless myself with, and this letter +came from Spilman to-night. Spilman says he’ll see Miss Eccleston if I +didn’t pay up. Madame Clarice wrote two nights ago, declaring _her_ +intention of visiting Miss Eccleston if I didn’t send her some money. I +shall have no money until next term. There’s a state of affairs!” + +“What do you mean to do, Polly?” asked Lucy Marsh in a sympathizing +tone. + +“Do? My dear creature, there’s only one thing to be done. I must have +an auction on the quiet. I shall sell my worldly all. I can buy things +again, you know, after dad sends me his next allowance.” + +“Oh, Polly, but you cannot really mean it!” Miss Marsh, Miss Day and +two or three more crowded around Polly Singleton as they spoke. + +“You can’t mean to have an auction,” began Miss Day; “no one ever heard +of such a thing at St. Benet’s. Why, it would be simply disgraceful!” + +“No, it wouldn’t— don’t turn cross, Annie. I’ll have an auction first +and then a great feed in the empty room. I can go on tick for the feed; +Jones, the confectioner, knows better than not to oblige me. He’s not +like that horrid Spilman and that mean Madame Clarice.” + +“But, Polly, if you write to your father, he’ll be sure to send you +what you want to clear off those two debts. You have often told us he +has lots of money.” + +“My dears, he has more tin than he knows what to do with; but do you +think I am going to have the poor old dear worried? When I was coming +here he said, Polly, you shall have thirty pounds every term to spend +as pocket money; not a penny more, not a penny less. And you must keep +out of debt on it; mind that, Polly Singleton.’ I gave the dear old dad +a hug. He’s the image of me— only with redder hair and more freckles. +And I said, I’ll do my best, dad, and, anyhow, you sha’n’t be put out +whatever happens.’” + +“Then you didn’t tell him you’d keep out of debt?” + +“No, for I knew I’d break my word. I’ve always been in debt ever since +I could remember. I wouldn’t know how it felt not to owe a lot of +money. It’s habit, and I don’t mind it a bit. But I don’t want dad to +know, and I don’t want Miss Eccleston to know, for perhaps she would +write to him. If those old horrors won’t wait for their money till next +term, why there’s nothing for it but an auction. I have some nice +things and they’ll go very cheap, so there’s a chance for you all, +girls.” + +“But if Miss Eccleston finds out?” said Miss Day. + +“What if she does? There’s no rule against auctions, and, as I don’t +suppose any of you will have one, it isn’t worth making a rule for me +alone. Anyhow, I’m resolved to risk it. My auction will be on Monday, +and I shall make out an inventory of my goods tomorrow.” + +“Will you advertise it on the notice-board in your hall, dear?” asked +Lucy Marsh. + +“Why not? A good idea! _The great A. will be held in Miss Singleton’s +room, from eight to ten o’clock on the evening of Monday next. Great +Bargains! Enormous Sacrifice! Things absolutely given away!_ Oh, what +fun! I’ll be my own auctioneer.” + +Polly lay back in her armchair and laughed loudly. + +“What is all this noise about?” asked a refined little voice, and +Rosalind Merton entered the room. + +Two or three girls jumped up at once to greet her. + +“Come in, Rosie; you’re just in time. What _do_ you think Miss +Singleton is going to do now?” + +“I can’t tell; what?” asked Rosalind. “Something _outre’,_ I feel +certain.” + +Polly made a wry face and winked her eyes at her companions. + +“I know I’m not refined enough for you, Miss Merton,” she drawled. “I’m +rough, like my dad, rough and ready; but, at any rate, I’m honest— at +least, I think I’m honest. When I owe money, I don’t leave a stone +unturned to pay what I owe. Having sinned, I repent. I enter the Valley +of Humiliation and give up all. Who can do more?” + +“Oh, dear, Polly, I don’t think I’d call owing a little money sinning,” +said Lucy Marsh, whose ideas were known to be somewhat lax. + +“Well, my dear, there’s nothing for those in debt but to sell their +possessions. My auction is on Monday. Will you come, Rosalind?” + +“You don’t mean it,” said Rose, her blue eyes beginning to sparkle. + +“Yes, I do, absolutely and truly mean it.” + +“And you will sell your things— your lovely things?” + +“My things, my lovely, lovely things must be sold.” + +“But not your clothes? Your new sealskin jacket, for instance?” + +Polly made a wry face for a moment. Putting her hand into her pocket, +she pulled out Spilman’s and Madame Clarice’s two bills. + +“I owe a lot,” she said, looking with a rueful countenance at the sum +total. “Yes, I even fear the sealskin must go. I don’t want to part +with it. Dad gave it me just before I came here.” + +“It’s a lovely seal,” said Annie Day, “and it seems a sin to part with +it; it’s cut in the most stylish way too, with those high shoulders.” + +“Don’t praise it, please,” said Polly, lying back in her chair and +covering her eyes with her hand. “It cuts like a knife to part with +dad’s last present. Well, I’m rightly punished. What a fool I was to +get all those Japanese things from Spilman and that fancy ball-dress +for the theatricals. Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” + +“Perhaps you won’t want to part with your seal, dear,” said Lucy, who +was not so greedy as some of the other girls and really pitied Polly. +“You have so many beautiful things without that, that you will be sure +to realize a good bit of money.” + +“No, Lucy, I owe such a lot; the seal must go. Oh, what a worry it is!” + +“And at auctions of this kind,” said Rosalind in her low voice, “even +beautiful things don’t realize much. How can they?” + +“Rosalind is after that seal,” whispered Lucy to Annie Day. + +“The seal would swallow you up, Rosie,” said Annie in a loud voice. +“Don’t aspire to it; you’d never come out alive.” + +“The seal can be brought to know good manners,” retorted Rose angrily. +“His size can be diminished and his strength abated. But I have not +said that I want him at all. You do so jump to conclusions, Miss Day.” + +“I know what I want,” said a girl called Hetty Jones who had not yet +spoken. “I’m going in for some of Polly’s ornaments. You won’t put too +big a price upon your corals, will you, Poll?” + +“I shall bid for your American rocking-chair, Polly,” exclaimed Miss +Day. + +“I tell you what you must do, Miss Singleton,” shouted another girl, +“you must get those inventories ready as soon as possible, and send +them around the college for every one to read, for you have got such +nice things that there will be sure to be a great rush at your +auction.” + +“Don’t sell any of the college possessions by mistake, my dear,” said +Lucy Marsh. “You would get into trouble then. Indeed, as it is, I don’t +see how you are to keep out of it.” + +Polly pushed her hands impatiently through her bright red hair. + +“Who’s afraid?” she said, and laughed. + +“When are we to see your things, Polly?” asked Miss Jones. “If the +auction is on Monday, there must be a show day, when we can all go +round and inspect. I know that’s always done at auctions, for I’ve been +at several in the country. The show day is the best fun of all. The +farmers’ wives come and pinch the feather-beds between their thumbs and +forefingers and hold the blankets up to the light to see if the moths +have got in.” + +“Hetty, how vulgar!” interposed Miss Day. “What has Polly’s auction of +her _recherche’_ things to do with blankets and feather-beds? Now the +cocoa is ready. Who will help me to carry the cups round?” + +“I had some fun to-day?” said Rosalind, when each of the girls, +provided with their cups of cocoa, sat round and began to sip. “I took +Miss Propriety to town with me.” + +“Oh, did you, darling? Do tell us all about it!” said Annie Day, +running up to Rosalind and taking her hand. + +“There isn’t much to tell. She behaved as I expected; her manners are +not graceful, but she’s a deep one.” + +“Anybody can see that who looks at her,” remarked Lucy Marsh. + +“We went to the Elliot-Smiths’,” continued Rosalind. + +“Good gracious, Rosie!” interrupted Hetty Jones. “You don’t mean to say +you took Propriety to _that_ house?” + +“Yes; why not? It’s the jolliest house in Kingsdene.” + +“But fancy taking poor Propriety there. What did she say?” + +“Say? She scolded a good deal.” + +“Scolded! Poor little proper thing! How I should have liked to have +seen her. Did she open her purse and exhibit its emptiness to the +company at large? Did she stand on a chair and lecture the frivolous +people who assemble in that house on the emptiness of life? Oh, how I +wish I could have looked on at the fun!” + +“You’d have beheld an edifying sight then, my dear,” said Rosalind. +“Prissie’s whole behavior was one to be copied. No words can describe +her tact and grace.” + +“But what did she do, Rosie? I wish you would speak out and tell us. +You know you are keeping something back.” + +“Whenever she saw me she scolded me, and she tripped over my dress +several times.” + +“Oh, you dear, good, patient Rosalind, what a bore she must have been.” + +“No, she wasn’t, for I scarcely saw anything of her. She amused herself +capitally without me, I can tell you.” + +“Amused herself? Propriety amused herself? How diverting! Could she +stoop to it?” + +“She did. She stooped and— conquered. She secured for herself an +adorer.” + +“Rosalind, how absurd you are! Poor, Plain Propriety!” + +“As long as I live I shall hate the letter P,” suddenly interrupted +Annie Day, “for since that disagreeable girl has got into the house we +are always using it.” + +“Never mind, Rosalind; go on with your story,” said Miss Jones. “What +did Plain Propriety do?” + +Rosalind threw up her hands, rolled her eyes skyward and uttered the +terse remark: + +“She flirted!” + +“Oh, Rosie! who would flirt with her? I suppose she got hold of some +old rusty, musty don. But then I do not suppose you’d find that sort of +man at the Elliot-Smiths’.” + +This remark came from Lucy Marsh. Rosalind Merton, who was leaning her +fair head against a dark velvet cushion, looked as if she enjoyed the +situation immensely. + +“What do you say to a Senior Wrangler?” she asked in a gentle voice. + +“Rosalind, what— not _the_ Senior Wrangler?” + +Rosalind nodded. + +“Oh! oh! oh! what could he see— Geoffrey Hammond, of all people! He’s +so exclusive too.” + +“Well,” said Hetty Jones, standing up reluctantly, for she felt it was +time to return to her neglected studies, “wonders will never cease! I +could not have supposed that Mr. Hammond would condescend to go near +the Elliot-Smiths’, and most certainly I should never have guessed that +he would look at a girl like Priscilla Peel.” + +“Well, he flirted with her,” said Rosalind, “and she with him. They +were so delighted with one another that I could scarcely get Prissie +away when it was time to leave. They looked quite engrossed— you know +the kind of air— there was no mistaking it!” + +“Miss Peel must have thanked you for taking her.” + +“Thanked me? That’s not Miss Prissie’s style. I could see she was +awfully vexed at being disturbed.” + +“Well, it’s rather shabby,” said Polly Singleton, speaking for the +first time. “Every one at St. Benet’s know whom Mr. Hammond belongs.” + +“Yes, yes, of course, of course,” cried several voices. + +“And Maggie has been so kind to Miss Peel,” continued Polly. + +“Yes— shame!— how mean of little Propriety!” the voices echoed again. + +Rosalind gave a meaning glance at Annie Day. Annie raised her eyebrows, +looked interrogative, then her face subsided into a satisfied +expression. She asked no further questions, but she gave Rosalind an +affectionate pat on the shoulder. + +Soon the other girls came up one by one to say good night. Rosalind, +Annie and Lucy were alone. They drew their chairs together and began to +talk. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI +PRETTY LITTLE ROSALIND + + +“I have done it now,” said Rosalind; “the estrangement will come about +naturally. Propriety won’t head a party at this college, for she will +not have Miss Oliphant’s support. My dear girls, we need do nothing +further. The friendship we regretted is at an end.” + +“Did you take Priscilla Peel to the Elliot-Smiths’ on purpose, then?” +asked Miss Day. + +“I took her there for my own purposes,” replied Rosalind. “I wanted to +go. I could not go alone, as it is against our precious rules. It was +not convenient for any of my own special friends to come with me, so I +thought I’d play Prissie a nice little trick. Oh, wasn’t she angry! My +dear girls, it was as good as a play to watch her face.” + +Rosalind lay back in her chair and laughed heartily. Her laughter was +as melodious as the sound of silver bells. + +“Well,” said Miss Marsh after a pause, “I wish you would stop laughing +and go on with your story, Rose.” + +Rosalind resumed her grave deportment. + +“That’s all,” she said; “there’s nothing more to tell.” + +“Did you know, then, that Mr. Hammond would be there?” + +“No, I had not the least idea that piece of luck would fall in my way. +Meta managed that for me most delightfully. You know, girls, how +earnestly the poor dear Elliot-Smiths aspire, and how vain are their +efforts, to get into what we are pleased to call the ‘good set’ here. +It isn’t their fault, poor things, for, though they really have no +talent nor the smallest literary desires, they would give their eyes to +be ‘hail-fellows-well-met’ with some of our intellectual giants. Well, +Meta got to know Mr. Hammond at a tennis party in the summer, and when +she met him last week she asked him to come to her house to-day. She +told me she was dying to have him, of course, but when she asked him +she could see by his face and manner that he was searching his brains +for an excuse to get out of it. All of a sudden it flashed into her +head to say, ‘Some of our friends from St. Benet’s will be present.’ +The moment she said this he changed and got very polite and said he +would certainly look in for a little while. Poor Meta was so delighted! +You can fancy her chagrin when he devoted himself all the time to +Prissie.” + +“He thought he’d meet Maggie Oliphant,” said Annie Day; “it was a shame +to lure him on with a falsehood. I don’t wonder at people not +respecting the Elliot-Smiths.” + +“My dear,” responded Rosalind, “Meta did not tell a lie. I never could +have guessed that you were straight-laced, Annie.” + +“Nor am I,” responded Annie with a sigh, which she quickly suppressed. + +“The whole thing fitted in admirably with our wishes,” continued Rose, +“and now we need not do anything further in the matter. Rumor, in the +shape of Hetty Jones’ tongue and Polly Singleton’s hints, will do the +rest for us.” + +“Do you really think that Maggie Oliphant cares for Mr. Hammond?” asked +Lucy Marsh. + +“Cares for him!” said Rosalind. “Does a duck swim? Does a baby like +sweet things? Maggie is so much in love with Mr. Hammond that she’s +almost ill about it— there!” + +“Nonsense!” exclaimed the other two girls. + +“She is, I know she is. She treats him shamefully, because of some whim +of hers. I only wish she may never get him.” + +“He’d do nicely for you, wouldn’t he, Rose?” said Annie Day. + +A delicate pink came into Rosalind’s cheeks. She rose to leave the +room. + +“Mr. Hammond is not in my style,” she said. “Much too severe and too +learned. Good night, girls. I must look over the notes of that wretched +French lecture before I go to bed.” + +Rosalind sought her own room, which was in another corridor. It was +late now— past eleven o’clock. The electric light had been put out. She +was well supplied with candles, however, and lighting two on the +mantel-piece and two on her bureau, she proceeded to stir up her fire +and to make her room warm and cozy. + +Rosalind still wore the pretty light silk which had given her such an +elegant appearance at the Elliot-Smiths’ that afternoon. Securing the +bolt of her door, she pushed aside a heavy curtain, which concealed the +part of her room devoted to her wardrobe, washing apparatus, etc. +Rosalind’s wardrobe had a glass door, and she could see her _petite_ +figure in it from head to foot. It was a very small figure, but +exquisitely proportioned. Its owner admired it much. She turned herself +round, took up a hand-glass and surveyed herself in profile and many +other positions. Then, taking off her pretty dress, she arrayed herself +in a long white muslin dressing-robe, and letting down her golden hair, +combed out the glittering masses. They fell in showers below her waist. +Her face looked more babyish and innocent than ever as it smiled to its +own fair image in the glass. + +“How he did scowl at me!” said Rosalind, suddenly speaking aloud. “But +I had to say it. I was determined to find out for myself how much or +how little he cares for Maggie Oliphant, and, alas! there’s nothing of +the ‘little’ in his affection. Well, well! I did not do badly to-day. I +enjoyed myself and I took a nice rise out of that disagreeable Miss +Peel. Now _must_ I look through those horrid French notes? Need I?” She +pirouetted on one toe in front of the glass. The motion exhilarated +her, and, raising her white wrapper so as to get a peep at her small, +pretty feet, she waltzed slowly and gracefully in front of the mirror. + +“I can’t and won’t study to-night,” she said again. + +“I hate study, and I will not spoil my looks by burning the midnight +oil.” + +Suddenly she clasped her hands and the color rushed into her cheeks. + +“How fortunate that I remembered! I must write to mother this very +night. This is Thursday. The auction is on Monday. I have not a post to +lose.” + +Hastily seating herself in front of her bureau, Rosalind scribbled a +few lines: + +DEAREST, PRECIOUS MAMSIE: +Whatever happens, please send me a postal order for £10 by return. One +of the richest girls in the place is going to have an auction, and I +shall pick up some _treasures._ If you could spare £15, or even £20, +the money would be well spent, but ten at least I must have. There is a +sealskin jacket, which cost at least eighty pounds, and _such_ coral +ornaments— you know, that lovely pink shade. Send me all you can, +precious mamsie, and make your Baby happy. + + +“Your own little ROSE. + + +“P. S.— Oh, mamsie, _such_ a sealskin! and _such_ coral!” + + +This artless epistle was quickly enclosed in an envelope, addressed and +deposited in the post-box. Afterward pretty little Rosalind spent a +night of dreamless slumber and awoke in the morning as fresh and +innocent-looking as the fairest of the babies she compared herself to. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII +SEALSKIN AND PINK CORAL + + +Monday arrived. It wanted now less than three weeks to the end of the +term. A good many of the girls were talking about home and Christmas, +and already the hard-worked, the studious, the industrious were owning +to the first symptoms of that pleasant fatigue which would entitle them +to the full enjoyment of their merited holiday. + +Priscilla was now a happy girl. She had found her niche in the college; +her work was delightful. Under Maggie’s advice she became a member of +the Debating Society and rather reluctantly allowed her name to be +entered in the Dramatic Club. She felt very shy about this, but that +was because she did not know her own power. To her astonishment, +Priscilla found that she could act. If the part suited her she could +throw herself into it so that she ceased to be awkward, ungainly +Priscilla Peel. Out of herself she was no longer awkward, no longer +ungainly. She could only personate certain characters; light and airy +parts she could not attempt, but where much depended on passion and +emotion Priscilla could do splendidly. Every day her friends found +fresh points of interest in this queer girl. Nancy Banister was really +attached to her, Maggie was most faithful in her declared friendship +and Miss Heath took more notice of Priscilla than of any other girl in +the hall. The different lecturers spoke highly of Miss Peel’s +comprehension, knowledge and ability. In short, things were going well +with her, and she owned to her own heart that she had never felt +happier in her life. + +Prissie, too, was looking forward to the Christmas holidays. She was to +return home then, and her letters to her three little sisters, to Aunt +Raby and to Mr. Hayes were full of the delights of her college life. + +No one could have been more angry than poor Prissie during that +miserable time at the Elliot-Smiths’. Many complaints did she resolve +to make, and dire was the vengeance which she hoped would fall on +Rose’s devoted head. But, during her talk with Mr. Hammond, some of her +anger had cooled down. He had touched on great subjects, and Prissie’s +soul had responded like a musical instrument to the light and skilled +finger of the musician. All her intellectual powers were aroused to +their utmost, keenest life during this brief little talk. She found +that Hammond could say better and more comprehensive things than even +her dear old tutor, Mr. Hayes. Hammond was abreast of the present-day +aspect of those things in which Prissie delighted. Her short talk with +him made up for all the tedium of the rest of that wretched afternoon. + +On her walk home Priscilla made up her mind to have nothing further to +say to Rose, but also not to make a complaint about her. She would pass +the matter over in silence. If questioned, she would tell her own +friends where she had been; if not questioned, she would volunteer no +information. + +Maggie and Nancy did ask her casually what had kept her out so long. + +“I was at the Elliot-Smiths’ with Miss Merton,” replied Priscilla. + +They both started when she said this and looked at her hard. They were +too well-bred, however, to give utterance to the many comments which +crowded to their lips. Prissie read their thoughts like a book. + +“I did not like it at all,” she said; “but I’d rather say nothing about +it, please. After Mr. Hammond came I was happy.” + +“Mr. Hammond was there?” said Nancy in an eager voice. “Geoffrey +Hammond was at the Elliot-Smiths’? Impossible!” + +“He was there,” repeated Prissie. She glanced nervously at Maggie, who +had taken up a book and was pretending to read. “He came and he spoke +to me. He was very, very kind, and he made me so happy.” + +“Dear Prissie,” said Maggie suddenly. She got up, went over to the +young girl, tapped her affectionately on the shoulder and left the +room. + +Prissie sat, looking thoughtfully before her. After a time she bade +Nancy Banister “good night” and went off to her own room to study the +notes she had taken that morning at the French lecture. + +The next few days passed without anything special occurring. If a +little rumor were already beginning to swell in the air, it scarcely +reached the ears of those principally concerned. Maggie Oliphant +continued to make a special favorite of Miss Peel. She sat near her at +breakfast and at the meetings of the Dramatic Society was particularly +anxious to secure a good part for Prissie. The members of the society +intended to act _The Princess_ before the end of the term, and as there +was a great deal to work up and many rehearsals were necessary, they +met in the little theater on most evenings. + +Maggie Oliphant had been unanimously selected to take the part of the +Princess. She electrified every one by drawing Miss Peel toward her and +saying in an emphatic voice: + +“You must be the Prince, Priscilla.” + +A look of dismay crept over several faces. One or two made different +proposals. + +“Would not Nancy Banister take the part better, Maggie?” said Miss +Claydon, a tall, graceful girl, who was to be Psyche. + +“No; Nancy is to be Cyril. She sings well and can do the part +admirably. Miss Peel must be the Prince: I will have no other lover. +What do you say, Miss Peel?” + +“I cannot; it is impossible,” almost whispered Prissie. + +“‘Cannot’ is a word which must not be listened to in our Dramatic +Society,” responded Maggie. “I promise to turn you out a most +accomplished Prince, my friend; no one shall be disappointed in you. +Girls, do you leave this matter in my hands? Do you leave the Prince to +me?” + +“We cannot refuse you the privilege of choosing your own Prince, +Princess,” said Miss Claydon with a graceful curtsy. + +The others assented, but unwillingly. Miss Oliphant was known to be +more full of whims than any one else in the college. Her extraordinary +and sudden friendship for Prissie was regarded as her latest caprice. + +Rosalind Merton was not a particularly good actress, but her face was +too pretty not to be called into requisition. She was to take the part +of Melissa. + +The society had a grand meeting on the day of Polly Singleton’s +auction. Matters were still very much in a state of chaos, but the +rehearsal of some of the parts was got through with credit under the +directions of the clever stage-manager, one of the nicest and best +girls in the college, Constance Field. She had a knack of putting each +girl at her ease— of discovering the faintest sparks of genius and +fanning them into flame. + +Priscilla had learned her speeches accurately: her turn came; she stood +up trembling and began. Gradually the stony (or was it yearning?) look +in Maggie’s face moved her. She fancied herself Hammond, not the +Prince. When she spoke to Maggie she felt no longer like a feeble +schoolgirl acting a part. She thought she was pleading for Hammond, and +enthusiasm got into her voice, and a light filled her eyes. There was a +little cheer when Priscilla got through her first rehearsal. Nancy +Banister came up to Rosalind. + +“I do believe Maggie is right,” she said, “and that Miss Peel will take +the part capitally.” + +“Miss Oliphant is well known for her magnanimity,” retorted Rosalind, +an ugly look spoiling the expression of her face. + +“Her magnanimity? What do you mean, Rose?” + +“To choose _that_ girl for her Prince!” retorted Rosalind. “Ask Mr. +Hammond what I mean. Ask the Elliot-Smiths.” + +“I don’t know the Elliot-Smiths,” said Nancy in a cold voice. She +turned away; she felt displeased and annoyed. + +Rose glanced after her. Then she ran up to Maggie Oliphant, who was +preparing to leave the little theater. + +“Don’t you want to see the auction?” she said in a gay voice. “It’s +going to be the best fun we have had for many a long day.” + +Maggie turned and looked at her. + +“The auction? What auction do you mean?” she asked. + +“Why, Polly Singleton’s, of course. You’ve not heard of it? It’s _the_ +event of the term!” + +Maggie laughed. + +“You must be talking nonsense, Rose,” she said. “An auction at St. +Benet’s! A real auction? Impossible!” + +“No, it’s not impossible. It’s true. Polly owes for a lot of things, +and she’s going to pay for them in that way. Did you not get a notice? +Polly declared she would send one without fail to every girl in the +college.” + +“Now I remember,” said Miss Oliphant, laughing. “I got an extraordinary +type-written production. I regarded it as a hoax and consigned it to +the wastepaper basket.” + +“But it wasn’t a hoax; it was true. Come away, Miss Oliphant, do. Polly +has got some lovely things.” + +“I don’t think I even know who Polly is,” said Maggie. “She surely is +not an inmate of Heath Hall?” + +“No, no— of Katharine Hall. You must know her by sight, at least. A +great big, fat girl, with red hair and freckles.” + +“Yes, now I remember. I think she has rather a pleasant face.” + +“Oh, do you really? Isn’t she awfully common and vulgar-looking?” + +“Common and vulgar-looking people are often pleasant, nevertheless,” +retorted Maggie. + +“You’ll come to her auction?” insisted Rose. + +“I don’t know. She has no right to have an auction. Such a proceeding +would give great displeasure to our principals.” + +“How can you tell that? There never was an auction at the college +before.” + +“How can I tell, Rose? Instinct is my guide in a matter of this sort.” + +Maggie stepped back and looked haughty. + +“Well,” said Rose, “the principals won’t ever know; we are taking good +care of that.” + +“Oh! I hope you may be successful. Good night.” + +Maggie turned to walk away. She saw Priscilla standing not far off. + +“Come, Prissie,” she said affectionately, “you did admirably to-night, +but you must have another lesson. You missed two of the best points in +that last speech. Come back with me into the theater at once.” + +Rose bit her lips with vexation. She was wildly anxious to be at the +auction. The sealskin might be put up for sale, and she not present. +The corals might go to some other happy girl; but she had made a +resolve to bring some of the very best girls in the college to this +scene of rioting. Her reckless companions had dared her to do this, and +she felt what she called “her honor” at stake. Nancy Banister had +declined her invitation with decision; Constance Field had withered her +with a look. Now she _must_ secure Maggie. + +“I wish you’d come,” she said, following Maggie and Prissie to the door +of the theater. “It will be an awful disappointment if you don’t! We +all reckoned on having you.” + +“What _do_ you mean, Rose?” + +“We thought you wouldn’t be above a bit of fun. You never used to be, +you know. You never used to be strict and proper and over-righteous, +used you?” + +Priscilla was startled to see the queer change these few words made on +Maggie. Her cheeks lost their roses; her eyes grew big, pathetic, +miserable. Then a defiant expression filled them. + +“If you put it in that way,” she said, “I’ll go and peep at the thing. +It isn’t my taste nor my style, but goodness knows I’m no better than +the rest of you. Come, Prissie.” + +Maggie seized Priscilla’s hand; her clasp was so tight as to be almost +painful. She hurried Prissie along so fast that Rose could scarcely +keep up with them. + +They entered the hall. Maggie seized a hat for herself and another for +Prissie from the hat-stand; then the three girls crossed the garden to +Katharine Hall. A moment or two later they had reached the scene of the +evening’s amusement + +Loud voices and laughter greeted them; they entered a large room +crowded to overflowing. The atmosphere here was hot and stifling and +chaos reigned supreme. Pictures, ornaments of all kinds had been +removed roughly and hastily from the walls; clothes and even jewels +were piled on the tables, and a tall girl, standing on a chair, was +declaiming volubly for the benefit of her companions. + +When Maggie, Rose and Priscilla entered the room Polly was exhibiting +the charms of a yellow silk dress somewhat the worse for wear. Laughter +choked her voice; her bright blue eyes shone with excitement and +amusement. + +“Who’ll try this?” she began. “It has a double charm. Not only has it +reposed round this fair and lovely form, but the silk of which it is +made was given to me by my mother’s aunt, who had it from her mother +before her. When I part with this, I part with a relic. Those who +purchase it secure for themselves a piece of history. Who will buy, who +will buy, who will buy? An historical dress going— such a bargain! Who, +who will buy?” + +“I’ll give you five shillings, Polly,” screamed a darkeyed girl who +stood near. + +“Five shillings! This lovely dress going for five shillings!” proceeded +Polly. + +“And sixpence,” added another voice. + +“This beautiful, historical robe going for five-and-sixpence,” said +Miss Singleton in her gay voice. “Oh, it’s a bargain— it’s dirt cheap! +Who will buy? who will buy?” + +The bids went up, and finally the yellow dress was knocked down to a +rosy-faced country girl for the sum of thirteen shillings and +ninepence. + +Polly’s various other possessions were one by one brought to the +hammer, some of them fetching fairly large sums, for they were most of +them good and worth having, and there were wealthy girls at the college +who were not above securing a bargain when it came in their way. + +At last the prize on which all Rose’s hopes were set was put up for +sale. Polly’s magnificent sealskin jacket was held aloft and displayed +to the admiring and coveteous gaze of many. Rose’s face brightened; an +eager, greedy look filled her eyes. She actually trembled in her +anxiety to secure this prize of prizes. + +Maggie Oliphant, who was standing in a listless, indifferent attitude +near the door, not taking the smallest part in the active proceedings +which were going forward, was for the first time aroused to interest by +the expression on Rosalind’s face. She moved a step or two into the +crowd, and when one or two timid bids were heard for the coveted +treasure, she raised her own voice and for the first time appeared +eager to secure something for herself. + +Rose bid against her, an angry flush filling her blue eyes as she did +so. Maggie nonchalantly made her next bid a little higher— Rose raised +hers. Soon they were the only two in the field; other girls had come to +the limit of their purses and withdrew vanquished. + +Rosalind’s face grew very white. Could she have knock Maggie Oliphant +down with a blow she would have done so at that moment. Maggie calmly +and quietly continued her bids, raising them gradually higher and +higher. Five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten pounds: Rose had come to the +end of her resources. She stepped away with a bitter smile on her face. +The sealskin jacket was Maggie Oliphant’s property for ten guineas. + +Maggie laid it carelessly on a table near, and returning once more to +her position near the door, watched the sale proceed. One by one Polly +Singleton parted with her dresses, her pictures, her furniture. At +last, opening a case, she proceeded to dispose of some trinkets, none +of which, with the exception of the pink coral set, was of very high +value. This, which consisted of necklace, bracelets, and earrings, and +some pretty pins for the hair, was most eagerly coveted by many. +Several girls bid for the coral, and Maggie, who had not raised her +voice since she secured the sealskin jacket, once more noticed the +greedy glitter in Rosalind’s eyes. + +“I can’t help it,” she said, turning and speaking in a low voice to +Priscilla, who stood by her side— “I can’t help it, Prissie; I don’t +want that coral a bit— coral doesn’t suit me: I dislike it as an +ornament. But something inside of me says Rose Merton shall not wear +it. Stay here, Prissie, I’ll be back in a minute.” + +Miss Oliphant moved forward; she was so tall that her head could be +seen above those of most of the other girls. + +The bids for the coral had now risen to three pounds ten. Maggie at one +bound raised them ten shillings. Rose bid against her, and for a short +time one or two other girls raised their previous offers. The price for +the coral rose and rose. Soon a large sum was offered for it, and still +the bids kept rising. Rosalind and Maggie were once more alone in the +field, and now any onlooker could perceive that it was not the desire +to obtain the pretty ornaments, but the wish for victory which animated +both girls. + +When the bids rose above ten guineas Rosalind’s face assumed a ghastly +hue, but she was now far too angry with Maggie to pause or consider the +fact that she was offering more money for the pink coral than she +possessed in the world. The bids still went higher and higher. There +was intense excitement in the room; all the noisy babel ceased. No +sound was heard but the eager voices of the two who were cruelly +fighting each other and the astonished tones of the young auctioneer. +Twelve, thirteen, fourteen pounds were reached. Maggie’s bid was +fourteen pounds. + +“Guineas!” screamed Rose with a weak sort of gasp. + +Maggie turned and looked at her, then walked slowly back to her place +by Priscilla’s side. + +The coral belonged to Rose Merton, and she had four guineas too little +to pay for it. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII +A BLACK SELF AND A WHITE SELF + + +“It is quite true, Maggie,” said Nancy Banister. “It _is_ about the +auction. Yes, there is no doubt about that. What possessed you to go?” + +Maggie Oliphant was standing in the center of her own room with an open +letter in her hand. Nancy was reading it over her shoulder: + +KATHARINE HALL, +“_Dec_. 2. + + +“Miss Eccleston and Miss Heath request Miss Oliphant and Miss Peel to +present themselves in Miss Eccleston’s private sitting-room this +evening at seven o’clock.” + + +“That is all,” said Maggie. “It sounds as solemn and unfriendly as if +one were about to be tried for some capital offense.” + +“It’s the auction, of course,” repeated Nancy. “Those girls thought +they had kept it so quiet, but some one must have ‘peached,’ I suppose, +to curry favor. Whatever made you go, Maggie? You know you have never +mixed yourself up with that Day, and Merton, and Marsh set. As to that +poor Polly Singleton, there’s no harm in her, but she’s a perfect +madcap. What could have possessed you to go?” + +“My evil genius,” repeated Maggie in a gloomy tone. “You don’t suppose +I _wished_ to be there, Nancy; but that horrid little Merton girl said +something taunting, and then I forgot myself. Oh, dear, Nancy! what +shall I ever do with that other self of mine? It will ruin me in the +end. It gets stronger every day.” + +Maggie sat down on the sofa. Nancy suddenly knelt by her side. + +“Dear Meg,” she said caressingly, “you’re the noblest, and the +sweetest, and the most beautiful girl at St. Benet’s! Why can’t you +live up to your true self?” + +“There are two selfs in me,” replied Maggie. “And if one even +approaches the faintest semblance of angel-hood, the other is black as +pitch. There, it only wastes time to talk the thing over. I’m in for +the sort of scrape I hate most. See, Nancy, I bought this at the +auction.” + +She opened her wardrobe, and taking out Polly Singleton’s magnificent +eighty-guinea sealskin jacket, slipped it on. + +“Don’t I look superb?” said Maggie. She shut the wardrobe-door and +surveyed herself in its long glass. Brown was Maggie Oliphant’s color. +It harmonized with the soft tints of her delicately rounded face, with +the rich color in her hair, with the light in her eyes. It added to all +these charms, softening them, giving to them a more perfect luster. + +“Oh, Maggie!” said Nancy, clasping her hands, “you ought always to be +dressed as you are now.” + +Maggie dropped her arms suddenly to her sides. The jacket, a little too +large for her, slid off her shoulders and lay in a heap on the floor. + +“What?” she said suddenly. “Am I never to show my true and real self? +Am I always to be disguised in sham beauty and sham goodness? Oh, +Nancy, Nancy! if there is a creature I hate— I _hate—_ her name is +Maggie Oliphant!” + +Nancy picked up the sealskin jacket and put it back into the wardrobe. + +“I am sorry you went to the auction, Maggie,” she repeated, “and I’m +sorry still to find you bought poor Polly Singleton’s sealskin. Well, +it’s done now, and we have to consider how to get you out of this +scrape. + +There’s no time for you to indulge in that morbid talk of yours to-day, +Maggie, darling. Let us consider what’s best to be done.” + +“Nothing,” retorted Maggie. “I shall simply go to Miss Heath and Miss +Eccleston and tell them the truth. There’s nothing else to be done. No +hope whatever of getting out of the affair. I went to Polly Singleton’s +auction because Rosalind Merton raised the demon in me. I tried to +become the possessor of the sealskin jacket because her heart was set +on it. I won an eighty-guinea jacket for ten guineas. You see how +ignoble my motives were, also how unworthy the results. I did worse +even than that— for I will out with the truth to you, Nancy— I revenged +myself still further upon that spiteful little gnat, Rosalind, and +raised the price of her coveted coral to such an extent that I know by +her face she is pounds in debt for it. Now, my dear, what have you to +say to me? Nothing good, I know that. Let me read Aristotle for the +next hour just to calm my mind.” + +Maggie turned away, seated herself by her writing bureau and tried to +lose both the past and the present in her beloved Greek. + +“She will do it, too,” whispered Nancy as she left the room. “No one +ever was made quite like Maggie. She can feel tortures and yet the next +moment she can be in ecstasy. She is so tantalizing that at times you +are almost brought to believe her own stories about herself. You are +almost sure that she has got the black self as well as the white self. +But through it all, yes, through it all, you love her. Dear Maggie! +Whatever happens, I must always— always love her.” + +Nancy was walking slowly down the corridor when a room-door was gently +opened and the sweet, childish, innocent face of Rosalind peeped out. + +“Nancy, is that you? Do, for Heaven’s sake, come in and speak to me for +a moment.” + +“What about, Rosalind? I have only a minute or two to spare. My German +lecture is to begin immediately.” + +“Oh, what does that signify? You don’t know the awful trouble we’ve got +into.” + +“You mean about the auction?” + +“Yes— yes; so you have heard?” + +“Of course I’ve heard. If that is all, Rosalind, I cannot wait to +discuss the matter now. I am very sorry for you, of course, but as I +said to Maggie, why did you do it?” + +“Oh, you’ve been talking to Miss Oliphant? Thank goodness she’ll have +to answer for her sins as well as the rest of us.” + +“Maggie is my friend, so you need not abuse her, Rosalind.” + +“Lucky for her that she has got one true friend!” retorted Rosalind. + +“What do you mean?” + +“I mean what I say. Maggie is making such a fool of herself that we are +all laughing at her behind her back.” + +“Indeed? I fail to understand you.” + +“You are being made a fool of, too, Nancy. Oh, I did think you’d have +had more sense.” + +“How? Speak. Say at once what you want to say, Rosalind, and stop +talking riddles, for I must fly to my work.” + +“Fly then,” retorted Rosalind, “only think twice before you give your +confidence to a _certain person._ A person who makes a fine parade of +poverty and so-called honesty of purpose, but who can, and who does, +betray her kindest and best friend behind her back. It is my private +belief we have to thank this virtuous being for getting us into the +pleasant scrape we are in. I am convinced she has tried to curry favor +by telling Miss Heath all about poor Polly’s auction.” + +“You mean Priscilla Peel?” said Nancy in a firm voice. She forgot her +German lecture now. “You have no right to say words of that kind. You +have taken a dislike to Prissie, no one knows why. She is not as +interesting nor as beautiful as Maggie, but she is good, and you should +respect her.” + +Rosalind laughed bitterly. + +“Good? Is she? Ask Mr. Hammond. You say she is not beautiful nor +interesting. Perhaps he finds her both. Ask him.” + +“Rosalind, I shall tell Maggie what you say. This is not the first time +you have hinted unkind things about Priscilla. It is better to sift a +matter of this kind to the bottom than to hint it all over the college +as you are doing. Maggie shall take it in hand.” + +“Let her! I shall only be too delighted! What a jolly time the saintly +Priscilla will have.” + +“I can’t stay any longer, Rosalind.” + +“But, Nancy, just one moment. I want to put accounts right with Polly +before to-night. Mother sent me ten pounds to buy something at the +auction. The coral cost fourteen guineas. I have written to mother for +the balance, and it may come by any post. _Do_ lend it to me until it +comes! _Do,_ kind Nancy!” + +“I have not got so much in the world, I have not really, Rosalind. +Good-by; my lecture will have begun.” + +Nancy ran out of the room and Miss Merton turned to survey ruefully her +empty purse and to read again a letter which had already arrived from +her mother: + +MY DEAR ROSALIND: +I have not the additional money to spare you, my poor child. The ten +pounds which I weakly yielded at your first earnest request was, in +reality, taken from the money which is to buy your sisters their winter +dresses. I dare not encroach any further on it, or your father would +certainly ask me why the girls were dressed so shabbily. Fourteen +guineas for coral! You know, my dear child, we cannot afford this +extravagance. My advice is to return it to your friend and to ask her +to let you have the ten guineas back. You might return it to me in a +postal order, for I want it badly. It was one thing to struggle to let +you have it in the hopes that you would secure a really valuable +garment like a sealskin jacket and another to give it to you for some +rather useless ornaments. + + +Your affectionate mother, +“ALICE MERTON.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIX +IN MISS ECCLESTON’S SITTING-ROOM + + +Miss Eccleston was a dark, heavy-looking person; she was not as +attractive either in appearance or manner as Miss Heath. She was +estimable, and the college authorities thought most highly of her, but +her character possessed more hardness than softness, and she was not as +popular with the girls and young lecturers who lived in Katharine Hall +as was Miss Heath with her girls. + +When Maggie entered Miss Eccleston’s sitting-room that evening she +found the room about half-full of eager, excited-looking girls. Miss +Eccleston was standing up and speaking; Miss Heath was leaning against +the wall; a velvet curtain made a background which brought out her +massive and grand figure in full relief. + +Miss Eccleston looked excited and angry; Miss Heath’s expression was a +little perplexed, and a kind of sorrowful mirth brought smiles to her +lips now and then, which she was most careful to suppress instantly. + +As Maggie made her way to the front of the room she recognized several +of the girls. Rosalind Merton, Annie Day, Lucy Marsh were all present. +She saw them, although they were standing hidden behind many other +girls. Prissie, too, was there— she had squeezed herself into a corner. +She looked awkward, plain and wretched. She was clasping and unclasping +her hands and trying to subdue the nervous tremors which she could not +conceal. + +Maggie, as she walked across the room, singled Prissie out. She gave +her a swift glance, a brilliant and affectionate smile and then stood +in such a position that neither Miss Eccleston nor Miss Heath could +catch a glimpse of her. + +Miss Eccleston, who had been speaking when Maggie entered the room, was +now silent. She had a note-book in her hand and was rapidly writing +something in it with a pencil. Some one gave Maggie a rather severe +prod on her elbow. Polly Singleton, tall, flushed and heavy, stood +close to her side. + +“You’ll stand up for me, won’t you, Miss Oliphant?” whispered Polly. + +Maggie raised her eyes, looked at the girl, who was even taller than +herself, and began to reply in her usual voice. + +“Silence,” said Miss Eccleston. She put down her note-book. “I wish for +no conversation between you at the present moment, young ladies. Good +evening, Miss Oliphant; I am pleased to see you here. I shall have a +few questions to ask you in a minute. Now, Miss Singleton, if you +please, we will resume our conversation. You have confessed to the fact +of the auction. I wish now to ascertain what your motive was.” + +Poor Polly stammered and reddened, twisted her hands as badly as +Prissie herself could have done and looked to right and left of her in +the most bewildered and unhappy manner. + +“Don’t you hear me, Miss Singleton? I wish to know what your motive was +in having an auction in Katharine Hall,” repeated Miss Eccleston. + +“Tell her the truth,” whispered Maggie. + +Polly, who was in a condition to catch even at a straw for support, +said falteringly: + +“I had the auction in my room because of dad.” + +Miss Eccleston raised her brows. The amused smile of sorrow round Miss +Heath’s mouth became more marked. She came forward a few steps and +stood near Miss Eccleston. + +“You must explain yourself, Miss Singleton,” repeated the latter lady. + +“Do tell everything,” said Maggie again. + +“Dad is about the only person I hate vexing,” began Polly once more. +“He is awfully rich, but he hates me to get into debt, and— and— there +was no other way to raise money. I couldn’t tell dad— I— _couldn’t_ +keep out of debt, so I had to sell my things.” + +“You have made a very lame excuse, Miss Singleton,” said Miss Eccleston +after a pause. “You did something which was extremely irregular and +improper. Your reason for doing it was even worse than the thing +itself. You were in debt. The students of St. Benet’s are not expected +to be in debt.” + +“But there’s no rule against it,” suddenly interrupted Maggie. + +“Hush! your turn to speak will come presently. You know, Miss +Singleton— all the right-minded girls in this college know— that we +deal in principles, not rules. Now, please go on with your story.” + +Polly’s broken and confused narrative continued for the next five +minutes. There were some titters from the girls behind her— even Miss +Heath smiled faintly. Miss Eccleston alone remained grave and +displeased. + +“That will do,” she said at last. “You are a silly and rash girl, and +your only possible defense is your desire to keep the knowledge of your +extravagance from your father. Your love for him, however, has never +taught you true nobility. Had you that even in the most shadowy degree, +you would abstain from the things which he detests. He gives you an +ample allowance. Were you a schoolgirl and I your mistress, I should +punish you severely for your conduct.” + +Miss Eccleston paused. Polly put her handkerchief up to her eyes and +began to sob loudly. + +“Miss Oliphant,” said Miss Eccleston, “will you please account for the +fact that you, who are looked up to in this college, you who are one of +our senior students, and for whom Miss Heath has a high regard, took +part in the disgraceful scenes which occurred in Miss Singleton’s room +on Monday evening?” + +“I shall certainly tell you the truth,” retorted Maggie. She paused for +a moment. Then, the color flooding her cheeks, and her eyes looking +straight before her, she began: + +“I went to Miss Singleton’s room knowing that I was doing wrong. I +hated to go and did not take the smallest interest in the proceedings +which were being enacted there.” She paused again. Her voice, which had +been slightly faltering, grew a little firmer. Her eyes met Miss +Heath’s, which were gazing at her in sorrowful and amazed surprise. +Then she continued: “I did not go alone. I took another and perfectly +innocent girl with me. She is a newcomer, and this is her first term. +She would naturally be led by me, and I wish therefore to exonerate her +completely. Her name is Priscilla Peel. She did not buy anything, and +she hated being there even more than I did, but I took her hand and +absolutely forced her to come with me.” + +“Did you buy anything at the auction, Miss Oliphant?” + +“Yes, a sealskin jacket.” + +“Do you mind telling me what you paid for it?” + +“Ten guineas.” + +“Was that, in your opinion, a fair price for the jacket?” + +“The jacket was worth a great deal more. The price I paid for it was +much below its value.” + +Miss Eccleston made some further notes in her book. Then she looked up. + +“Have you anything more to say, Miss Oliphant?” + +“I could say more. I could make you think even worse of me than you now +think, but as any further disclosures of mine would bring another girl +into trouble I would rather not speak.” + +“You are certainly not forced to speak. I am obliged to you for the +candor with which you have treated me.” + +Miss Eccleston then turned to Miss Heath and said a few words to her in +a low voice. Her words were not heard by the anxiously listening girls, +but they seemed to displease Miss Heath, who shook her head; but Miss +Eccleston held very firmly to her own opinion. After a pause of a few +minutes, Miss Heath came forward and addressed the young girls who were +assembled before her. + +“The leading spirit of this college,” she said, “is almost perfect +immunity from the bondage of rules. The principals of these halls have +fully trusted the students who reside in them and relied on their +honor, their rectitude, their sense of sound principle. Hitherto we +have had no reason to complain that the spirit of absolute trust which +we have shown has been abused; but the circumstance which has just +occurred has given Miss Eccleston and myself some pain.” + +“It has surprised us; it has given us a blow,” interrupted Miss +Eccleston. + +“And Miss Eccleston feels,” proceeded Miss Heath, “and perhaps she is +right, that the matter ought to be laid before the college authorities, +who will decide what are the best steps to be taken.” + +“You do not agree with that view, do you, Miss Heath?” asked Maggie +Oliphant suddenly. + +“At first I did not. I leaned to the side of mercy. I thought you might +all have learned a lesson in the distress which you have caused us, and +that such an occurrence could not happen again.” + +“Won’t Miss Eccleston adopt your views?” questioned Maggie. She glanced +round at her fellow-students as she spoke. + +“No— no,” interrupted Miss Eccleston. “I cannot accept the +responsibility. The college authorities must decide the matter.” + +“Remember,” said Maggie, stepping forward a pace or two, “that we are +no children. If we were at school you ought to punish us, and, of +course, you would. I _hate_ what I have done, and I own it frankly. But +you cannot forget, Miss Eccleston, that no girl here has broken a rule +when she attended the auction and bought Miss Singleton’s things; and +that even Miss Singleton has broken no rule when she went in debt.” + +There was a buzz of applause and even a cheer from the girls in the +background. Miss Eccleston looked angry, but perplexed. Miss Heath +again turned and spoke to her. She replied in a low tone. Miss Heath +said something further. At last Miss Eccleston sat down and Miss Heath +came forward and addressed Maggie Oliphant. + +“Your words have been scarcely respectful, Miss Oliphant,” she said, +“but there is a certain justice in them which my friend, Miss +Eccleston, is the first to admit. She has consented, therefore, to +defer her final decision for twenty-four hours; at the end of that time +the students of Katharine Hall and Heath Hall will know what we finally +decide to do.” + +After the meeting in Miss Eccleston’s drawing-room the affair of the +auction assumed enormous proportions. There was no other topic of +conversation. The students took sides vigorously in the matter: the +gay, giddy and careless ones voting the auction a rare bit of fun and +upholding those who had taken part in it with all their might and main. +The more sober and high-minded girls, on the other hand, took Miss +Heath’s and Miss Eccleston’s views of the matter. The principles of the +college had been disregarded, the spirit of order had been broken; +debt, which was disgraceful, was made light of. These girls felt that +the tone of St. Benet’s was lowered. Even Maggie Oliphant sank in their +estimation. A few went to the length of saying that they could no +longer include her in their set. + +Katharine Hall, the scene of the auction itself, was, of course, now +the place of special interest. Heath Hall was also implicated in it, +but Seymour Hall, which stood a little apart from its sister halls, had +sent no student to the scene of dissipation. Seymour Hall was the +smallest of the three. It was completely isolated from the others, +standing in its own lovely grounds on the other side of the road. It +now held its head high, and the girls who belonged to the other halls, +but had taken no part in the auction, felt that their own beloved halls +were lowered, and their resentment was all the keener because the +Seymour Hall girls gave themselves airs. + +“I shall never live through it,” said Ida Mason, a Heath Hall girl to +her favorite chum, Constance Field. “Nothing can ever be the same +again. If my mother knew, Constance, I feel almost sure she would +remove me. The whole thing is so small and shabby and horrid, and then +to think of Maggie taking part in it! Aren’t you awfully shocked, +Constance? What is your true opinion?” + +“My true opinion,” said Constance, “is this: it is our duty to uphold +our own hall and our own chums. As to the best of us, if we are the +best, going away because a thing of this sort has occurred, it is not +to be thought of for a moment. Why, Ida,” Constance laughed as she +spoke, “you might as well expect one of the leading officers to desert +his regiment when going into battle. You know what Maggie Oliphant is, +Ida. As to deserting her because she has had one of her bad half hours, +which she frankly confessed to, like the brave girl she is, I would as +soon cut off my right hand. Now, Ida, my dear, don’t be a little goose. +Your part, instead of grumbling and growling and hinting at the place +not being fit for you, is to go round to every friend you have in Heath +Hall and get them to rally round Maggie and Miss Heath.” + +“There’s that poor Miss Peel, too,” said Ida, “Maggie’s new friend— +that queer, plain girl; she’s sure to be frightfully bullied. I suppose +I’d better stick up for her as well?” + +“Of course, dear, you certainly ought. But as to Miss Peel being plain, +Ida, I don’t think I quite agree with you. Her face is too clever for +that. Have you watched her when she acts?” + +“No, I don’t think I have. She seems to be very uninteresting.” + +“Look at her next time, and tell me if you think her uninteresting +afterward. Now I’m off to find Maggie. She is sure to be having one of +her bad times, poor darling.” + +Constance Field was a girl whose opinion was always received with +respect. Ida went off obediently to fulfil her behests; and Constance, +after searching in Maggie’s room and wandering in different parts of +the grounds, found the truant at last, comfortably established with a +pile of new books and magazines in the library. The library was the +most comfortable room in the house, and Maggie was leaning back +luxuriously in an easy-chair, reading some notes from a lecture on +Aristotle aloud to Prissie, who sat at her feet and took down notes of +her own from Maggie’s lips. + +The two looked up anything but gratefully when Constance approached. +Miss Field, however, was not a person to be dismissed with a light and +airy word, and Maggie sighed and closed her book when Constance sat +down in an armchair, which she pulled close to her. There were no other +girls in the library, and Prissie, seeing that Miss Field intended to +be confidential, looked at Maggie with a disconsolate air. + +“Perhaps I had better go up to my own room,” she said timidly. + +Maggie raised her brows and spoke in an impatient voice. + +“You are in no one’s way, Priscilla,” she said. “Here are my notes from +the lecture. I read to the end of this page; you can make out the rest +for yourself. Well, Constance, have you anything to say?” + +“Not unless you want to hear me,” said Miss Field in her dignified +manner. + +Maggie tried to stifle a yawn. + +“Oh, my dear Connie, I’m always charmed, you know that.” + +“Well, I thought I’d like to tell you that I admired the way you spoke +last night.” + +“Were you present?” + +“No, but some friends of mine were. They repeated the whole thing +verbatim.” + +“Oh, you heard it second-hand. Highly colored, no doubt, and not the +least like its poor original.” + +Maggie spoke with a kind of bitter, defiant sarcasm, and a delicate +color came into Miss Field’s cheeks. + +“At least, I heard enough to assure me that you spoke the truth and +concealed nothing,” she said. + +“It is the case that I spoke the truth, as far as it went; but it is +not the case that I concealed nothing.” + +“Well, Maggie, I have come to offer you my sincere sympathy.” + +“Thank you,” said Maggie. She leaned back in her chair, folded her +hands and a tired look came over her expressive face. “The fact is,” +she said suddenly, “I am sick of the whole thing. I am sorry I went; I +made a public confession of my sorrow last night; now I wish to forget +it.” + +“How can you possibly forget it until you know Miss Heath’s and Miss +Eccleston’s decision?” + +“Frankly, Constance, I don’t care what decision they come to.” + +“You don’t care? You don’t mind the college authorities knowing?” + +“I don’t care if every college authority in England knows. I have been +humbled in the eyes of Miss Heath, whom I love; nothing else matters.” + +When Maggie said these words Prissie rose to her feet, looked at her +with a queer, earnest glance, suddenly bent forward, kissed her +frantically and rushed out of the room. + +“And I love that dear, true-hearted child, too,” said Maggie. “Now, +Constance, do let us talk of something else.” + +“We’ll talk about Miss Peel. I don’t know her as you do, but I’m +interested in her.” + +“Oh, pray don’t; I want to keep her to myself.” + +“Why? Is she such a _rara avis?”_ + +“I don’t care what she is. She suits me because she loves me without +question. She is absolutely sincere; she could not say an untrue thing; +she is so clever that I could not talk frivolities when I am with her; +and so good, so really, simply good that she keeps at bay my bad +half-hours and my reckless moods.” + +Constance smiled. She believed part of Maggie’s speech; not the whole +of it, for she knew the enthusiasm of the speaker. + +“I am going to Kingsdene,” said Maggie suddenly. “Prissie is coming +with me. Will you come, too, Constance? I wish you would.” + +“Thank you,” said Constance. She hesitated for a moment. “It is the +best thing in the world for Heath Hall,” she thought, “that the girls +should see me walking with Maggie to-day.” Aloud she said, “All right, +Maggie, I’ll go upstairs and put on my hat and jacket and meet you and +Miss Peel in the porch.” + +“We are going to tea at the Marshalls’,” said Maggie. “You don’t mind +that, do you? You know them, too?” + +“Know them? I should think so. Isn’t old Mrs. Marshall a picture? And +Helen is one of my best friends.” + +“You shall make Helen happy this afternoon, dear Constance.” + +Maggie ran gaily out of the room as she spoke, and a few minutes later +the three girls, in excellent spirits, started for Kingsdene. + +As they entered the town they saw Rosalind Merton coming to meet them. +There was nothing in this, for Rosalind was a gay young person and had +many friends in Kingsdene. Few days passed that did not see her in the +old town on her way to visit this friend or that, or to perpetrate some +little piece of extravagance at Spilman’s or at her dressmaker’s. + +On this occasion, however, Rosalind was neither at Spilman’s or the +dressmaker’s. She was walking demurely down the High Street, daintily +dressed and charming to look at, in Hammond’s company. Rosalind was +talking eagerly and earnestly, and Hammond, who was very tall, was +bending down to catch her words, when the other three girls came +briskly round a corner and in full view of the pair. + +“Oh!” exclaimed Priscilla aloud in her abrupt, startled way. Her face +became suffused with a flood of the deepest crimson, and Maggie, who +felt a little annoyed at seeing Hammond in Rosalind’s company, could +not help noticing Priscilla’s almost uncontrollable agitation. + +Rosalind, too, blushed, but prettily, when she saw the other three +girls come up. + +“I will say good-by now, Mr. Hammond,” she said, “for I must get back +to St. Benet’s in good time tonight.” + +She held out her hand, which the young man took and shook cordially. + +“I am extremely obliged to you,” he said. + +Maggie was near enough to hear his words. Rosalind tripped past her +three fellow-students with an airy little nod and the faint beginning +of a mocking curtsy. + +Hammond came up to the three girls and joined them at once. + +“Are you going to the Marshalls’?” he said to Maggie. + +“Yes.” + +“So am I. What a lucky _rencontre.”_ + +He said another word or two and then the four turned to walk down the +High Street. Maggie walked on in front with Constance. Hammond fell to +Priscilla’s share. + +“I am delighted to see you again,” she said in her eager, agitated, +abrupt way. + +“Are you?” he replied in some astonishment. Then he hastened to say +something polite. “I forgot, we had not ended our discussion. You +almost convinced me with regard to the superior merits of the Odyssey, +but not quite. Shall we renew the subject now?” + +“No, please don’t. That’s not why I’m glad to see you. It’s for +something quite, quite different. I want to say something to you, and +it’s most important. Can’t we just keep back a little from the others? +I don’t want Maggie to hear.” + +Now why were Miss Oliphant’s ears so sharp that afternoon? Why, even in +the midst of her gay chatter to Constance, did she hear every word of +Priscilla’s queer, garbled speech? And why did astonishment and even +anger steal into her heart? + +What she did, however, was to gratify Prissie immensely by hurrying on +with her companion, so that she and Hammond were left comfortably in +the background. + +“I don’t quite know what you mean,” he said stiffly. “What can you +possibly have of importance to say to me?” + +“I don’t want Maggie to hear,” repeated Prissie in her earnest voice. +She knew far too little of the world to be in the least alarmed at +Hammond’s stately tones. + +“What I want to say is about Maggie, and yet it isn’t.” + +“About Miss Oliphant?” + +“Oh, yes, but she’s Maggie to me. She’s the dearest, the best— there’s +no one like her, no one. I didn’t understand her at first, but now I +know how noble she is. I had no idea until I knew Maggie that a person +could have faults and yet be noble. It’s a new sort of experience to +me.” + +Prissie’s eyes, in which even in her worst moments there always sat the +soul of a far-reaching sort of intelligence, were shining now through +tears. Hammond saw the tears, and the lovely expression in the eyes, +and said to himself: + +“Good heavens, could I ever have regarded that dear child as plain?” +Aloud he said in a softened voice, “I’m awfully obliged to you for +saying these sorts of things of Miss— Miss Oliphant, but you must know, +at least you must guess, that I— I have thought them for myself long, +long ago.” + +“Yes, of course, I know that. But have you much faith? Do you keep to +what you believe?” + +“This is a most extraordinary girl!” murmured Hammond. Then he said +aloud, “I fail to understand you.” + +They had now nearly reached the Marshalls’ door. The other two were +waiting for them. + +“It’s this,” said Prissie, clasping her hands hard and speaking in her +most emphatic and distressful way. “There are unkind things being said +of Maggie, and there’s one girl who is horrid to her— horrid! I want +you not to believe a word that girl says.” + +“What girl do you mean?” + +“You were walking with her just now.” + +“Really, Miss Peel, you are the most extraordinary—” + +But Maggie Oliphant’s clear, sweet voice interrupted them. + +“Had we not better come into the house?” she said. “The door has been +open for quite half a minute.” + +Poor Prissie rushed in first, covered with shame; Miss Field hastened +after, to bear her company; and Hammond and Maggie brought up the rear. + + + + +CHAPTER XX +A PAINTER + + +The Marshalls were always at home to their friend on Friday afternoons, +and there were already several guests in the beautiful, quaint old +drawing-room when the quartet entered. Mrs. Marshall, her white hair +looking lovely under her soft lace cap, came forward to meet her +visitors. Her kind eyes looked with appreciation and welcome at one and +all. Blushing and shame-faced Prissie received a pleasant word of +greeting, which seemed in some wonderful way to steady her nerves. +Hammond and Maggie were received as special and very dear friends, and +Helen Marshall, the old lady’s pretty grand-daughter, rushed forward to +embrace her particular friend, Constance Field. + +Maggie felt sore; she scarcely knew why. Her voice was bright, her eyes +shining, her cheeks radiant in their rich and lovely bloom. But there +was a quality in her voice which Hammond recognized— a certain ring +which meant defiance and which prophesied to those who knew her well +that one of her bad half-hours was not very far off. + +Maggie seated herself near a girl who was a comparative stranger and +began to talk. Hammond drew near and made a third in the conversation. +Maggie talked in the brilliant, somewhat reckless fashion which she +occasionally adopted. Hammond listened, now and then uttered a short +sentence, now and then was silent, with disapproval in his eyes. + +Maggie read their expression like a book. + +“He shall be angry with me,” she said to herself. Her words became a +little wilder. The sentiments she uttered were the reverse of those +Hammond held. + +Soon a few old friends came up. They were jolly, merry, good-humored +girls, who were all prepared to look up to Maggie Oliphant and to +worship her beauty and cleverness if she would allow them. Maggie +welcomed the girls with effusion, let them metaphorically sit at her +feet and proceeded to disenchant them as hard as she could. + +Some garbled accounts of the auction at St. Benet’s had reached them, +and they were anxious to get a full report from Miss Oliphant. Did she +not think it a scandalous sort of thing to have occurred? + +“Not at all,” answered Maggie in her sweetest tones; “it was capital +fun, I assure you.” + +“Were you really there?” asked Miss Duncan, the eldest of the girls. +“We heard it, of course, bur could scarcely believe it possible.” + +“Of course I was there,” replied Maggie. “Whenever there is something +really amusing going on, I am always in the thick of it.” + +“Well!” Emily Duncan looked at her sister Susan. Susan raised her +brows. Hammond took a photograph from a table which stood near and +pretended to examine it. + +“Shall I tell you about the auction?” asked Maggie. + +“Oh, please, if you would be so kind. I suppose, as you were present, +such a thing could not really lower the standard of the college?” These +words came from Susan Duncan, who looked at Hammond as she spoke. She +was his cousin and very fond of him. + +“Please tell us about the auction,” he said, looking full at Maggie. + +“I will,” she replied, answering his gaze with a flash of repressed +irritation. “The auction was splendid fun! One of our girls was in +debt, and she had to sell her things. Oh, it was capital! I wish you +could have seen her acting as her own auctioneer. Some of us were +greedy and wanted her best things. I was one of those. She sold a +sealskin jacket, an expensive one, quite new. There is a legend in the +college that eighty guineas were expended on it. Well, I bid for the +sealskin and it was knocked down to me for ten. It is a little too big +for me, of course, but when it is cut to my figure, it will make a +superb winter garment.” + +Maggie was clothed now in velvet and sable; nothing could be richer +than her attire; nothing more mocking than her words. + +“You were fortunate,” said Susan Duncan. “You got your sealskin at a +great bargain. Didn’t she, Geoffrey?” + +“I don’t think so,” replied Hammond. + +“Why not? Oh, do tell us why not,” cried the sisters eagerly. + +He bowed to them, laughed as lightly as Maggie would have done and said +in a careless tone: “My reasons are complex and too many to mention. I +will only say now that what is objectionable to possess can never be a +bargain to obtain. In my opinion, sealskin jackets are detestable.” + +With these words he strode across the room and seated himself with a +sigh of relief by Priscilla’s side. + +“What are you doing all by yourself?” he said cheerfully. “Is no one +attending to you? Are you always to be left like a poor little forsaken +mouse in the background?” + +“I am not at all lonely,” said Prissie. + +“I thought you hated to be alone.” + +“I did, the other day, in that drawing-room; but not in this. People +are all kind in this.” + +“You are right. Our hostess is most genial and sympathetic.” + +“And the guests are nice, too,” said Prissie; “at least, they look +nice.” + +“Ay, but you must not be taken in by appearances. Some of them only +look nice.” + +“Do you mean—” began Prissie in her abrupt, anxious voice. + +Hammond took alarm. He remembered her peculiar outspokenness. + +“I don’t mean anything,” he said hastily. “By the way, are you fond of +pictures?” + +“I have scarcely ever seen any.” + +“That does not matter. I know by your face that you can appreciate some +pictures.” + +“But, really, I know nothing of art.” + +“Never mind. If the painter who paints knows you——” + +“The painter knows me? I have never seen an artist in my life.” + +“Nevertheless, there are some artists in the world who have conceived +of characters like yours. There are some good pictures in this house. +Shall I show you one or two?” + +Prissie sprang to her feet. + +“You are most kind,” she said elusively. “I really don’t know how to +thank you.” + +“You need not thank me at all; or, at any rate, not in such a loud +voice, not so impressively. Our neighbors will think I have bestowed +half a kingdom upon you.” + +Prissie blushed and looked down. + +“Don’t be shocked, with me,” said Hammond. “I can read your grateful +heart. Come this way” + +They passed Maggie Oliphant and her two or three remaining satellites. +Prissie looked at her with longing and tripped awkwardly against her +chair. Hammond walked past Maggie as if she did not exist to him. +Maggie nodded affectionately to Priscilla and followed the back of +Hammond’s head and shoulders with a supercilious, amused smile. + +Hammond opened the outer drawing-room door. + +“Where are we going?” asked Priscilla. “Are not the pictures here?” + +“Some are here, but the best are in the picture gallery— here to the +left and down these steps. Now, I’m going to introduce you to a new +world.” + +He pushed aside a heavy curtain, and Prissie found herself in a rather +small room, lighted from the roof. It contained in all about six or +eight pictures, each the work of a master. + +Hammond walked straight across the gallery to a picture which occupied +a wall by itself at the further end. It represented a summer scene of +deep repose. There was water in the foreground, in the back tall forest +trees in the fresh, rich foliage of June. Overhead was a sunset sky, +its saffron and rosy tints reflected in the water below. The master who +painted the picture was Corot. + +Hammond motioned Priscilla to sit down opposite to it. + +“There is summer.” he said; “peace, absolute repose. You have not to go +to it; it comes to you.” + +He did not say any more, but walked away to look at another picture in +a different part of the gallery. + +Prissie clasped her hands; all the agitation and eagerness went out of +her face. She leaned back in her chair. Her attitude partook of the +quality of the picture and became restful. Hammond did not disturb her +for several moments. + +“I am going to show you something different now,” he said, coming up to +her almost with reluctance. “There is one sort of rest; I will now show +you a higher. Here stand so. The light falls well from this angle. Now, +what do you see?” + +“I don’t understand it,” said Prissie after a long, deep gaze. + +“Never mind, you see something. Tell me what you see.” + +Priscilla looked again at the picture. + +“I see a woman,” she said at last in a slow, pained kind of voice. “I +can’t see her face very well, but I know by the way she lies back in +that chair that she is old and dreadfully tired. Oh, yes, I know well +that she is tired— see her hand stretched out there— her hand and her +arm— how thin they are— how worn— and——” + +“Hard worked,” interrupted Hammond. “Any one can see by the attitude of +that hand, by the starting veins and the wrinkles that the woman has +gone through a life of labor. Well, she does not occupy the whole of +the picture. You see before you a tired-out worker. Don’t be so unhappy +about her. Look up a little higher in the picture. Observe for yourself +that her toils are ended.” + +“Who is that other figure?” said Priscilla. “A woman too, but young and +strong. How glad she looks and how kind. She is carrying a little child +in her arms. Who is she? What does she mean?” + +“That woman, so grand and strong, represents Death, but not under the +old metaphor. She comes with renewed life— the child is the type of +that— she comes as a deliverer. See, she is touching that poor worn-out +creature, who is so tired that she can scarcely hold her head up again. +Death, with a new aspect and a new, grand strength in her face is +saying to this woman, ‘Come with me now to your rest. It is all over,’ +Death says: all the trouble and perplexity and strife. Come away with +me and rest. The name of that picture is ‘The Deliverer.’ It is the +work of a painter who can preach a sermon, write a book, deliver an +oration and sing a song all through the medium of his brush. I won’t +trouble you with his name just now. You will hear plenty of him and his +wonderful, great pictures by and by, if you love art as I do.” + +“Thank you,” said Prissie simply. Some tears stole down her cheeks. She +did not know she was crying; she did not attempt to wipe them away. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI +“I DETEST IT” + + +Shortly after the girls got home that evening they received letters in +their rooms to inform them that Miss Heath and Miss Eccleston had come +to the resolution not to report the affair of the auction to the +college authorities. They would trust to the honor of the students at +St. Benet’s not to allow such a proceeding to occur again and would say +nothing further on the matter. Prissie’s eyes again filled with tears +as she read the carefully worded note. Holding it open in her hand she +rushed to Maggie’s room and knocked. To her surprise, instead of the +usual cheerful “Come in,” with which Miss Oliphant always assured her +young friend of a welcome, Maggie said from the other side of the +locked door: + +“I am very busy just now— I cannot see any one.” + +Priscilla felt a curious sense of being chilled; her whole afternoon +had been one of elation, and Maggie’s words came as a kind of cold +_douche._ She went back to her room, tried not to mind and occupied +herself looking over her beloved Greek until the dinner-gong sounded. + +After dinner Priscilla again looked with anxious, loving eyes at +Maggie. Maggie did not stop, as was her custom, to say a kind word or +two as she passed. She was talking to another girl and laughing gaily. +Her dress was as picturesque as her face and figure were beautiful. But +was Priscilla mistaken, or was her anxious observation too close? She +felt sure as Miss Oliphant brushed past her that her eyelids were +slightly reddened, as if she had been weeping. + +Prissie put out a timid hand and touched Maggie on the arm. She turned +abruptly. + +“I forgot,” she said to her companion. “Please wait for me outside, +Hester; I’ll join you in a moment. I have just a word to say to Miss +Peel. What is it, Prissie” said Maggie then, when the other girl had +walked out of hearing. “Why did you touch me?” + +“Oh, for nothing much,” replied Prissie, half frightened at her manner, +which was sweet enough but had an intangible hardness about it, which +Priscilla felt, but could not fathom. “I thought you’d be so glad about +the decision Miss Heath and Miss Eccleston have come to.” + +“No, I am not particularly glad. I can’t stay now to talk it over, +however; Hester Stuart wants me to practise a duet with her.” + +“May I come to your room later on, Maggie?” + +“Not to-night, I think; I shall be very busy.” + +Miss Oliphant nodded brightly and disappeared out of the dining-hall. + +Two girls were standing not far off. They had watched this little +scene, and they now observed that Prissie clasped her hands and that a +woe-begone expression crossed her face. + +“The spell is beginning to work,” whispered one to the other. “When the +knight proves unfaithful the most gracious lady must suffer +resentment.” + +Priscilla did not hear these words. She went slowly upstairs and back +to her own room, where she wrote letters home, and made copious notes +from her last lectures, and tried not to think of the little cloud +which seemed to have come between her and Maggie. + +Late, on that same evening, Polly Singleton, who had just been +entertaining a chosen bevy of friends in her own room, after the last +had bidden her an affectionate “good night,” was startled at hearing a +low knock at her door. She opened it at once. Miss Oliphant stood +without. + +“May I come in?” she asked. + +“Why, of course. I’m delighted to see you. How kind of you to come. +Where will you sit? I’m afraid you won’t find things very comfortable, +for most of my furniture is gone. But there’s the bed; do you mind +sitting on the bed?” + +“If I want to sit at all the bed is as snug a place as any,” replied +Maggie. “But I’m not going to stay a moment, for it is very late. See, +I have brought you this back.” + +Polly looked, and for the first time observed that her own sealskin +jacket hung on Maggie’s arm. + +“What do you mean?” she said. “My sealskin jacket! Oh, my beauty! But +it isn’t mine, it’s yours now. Why do you worry me— showing it to me +again?” + +“I don’t want to worry you, Miss Singleton. I mean what I say. I have +brought your jacket back.” + +“But it is yours— you bought it.” + +“I gave a nominal price for it, but that doesn’t make it mine. Anyhow, +I have no use for it. Please take it back again.” + +Poor Polly blushed very red all over her face. + +“I wish I could,” she said. “If there has been anything I regretted in +the auction, besides getting all you girls into a mess, it has been my +sealskin jacket. Dad is almost certain to ask me about it, for he never +made me such a handsome present before. Poor dad! he was so proud the +night he brought it home. He said, ‘Look here, Poll, I paid a whole +sheaf of fivers for this, and although it cost me a good round eighty +guineas, I’m told it’s cheap at the price. Put it on and let me see how +you look in it,’ he said. And when I had it on he twisted me round, and +chucked me under the chin, and said I was a ‘bouncer.’ Poor old dad! He +was as proud as Punch of me in that jacket. I never saw anything like +it.” + +“Well, he can be as proud as Punch of you again. Here is the jacket for +your very own once more. Good night.” + +She walked to the door, but Miss Singleton ran after her. + +“I can’t take it back,” she said. “I’m not as mean as all that comes +to. It’s yours now; you got it as fair as possible.” + +“Listen, Miss Singleton,” said Maggie. “If I keep that jacket I shall +never wear it. I detest sealskin jackets. It won’t be the least scrap +of use to me.” + +“You detest sealskin jackets? How can you? Oh, the lovely things they +are. Let me stroke the beauty down.” + +“Stroke your beauty and pet it as much as you like, only let me say +‘Good night’ now.” + +“But, please, Miss Oliphant, please, I’d do anything in the world to +get the jacket back, of course. But I’ve ten guineas of yours, and +honestly I can’t pay them back.” + +“Allow me to lend them to you until next term. You can return me the +money then, can you not?” + +Polly’s face became on the instant a show of shining eyes, gleaming +white teeth and glowing cheeks. + +“Of course I could pay you back, you— _darling,”_ she said with +enthusiasm. “Oh, what a relief this is to me; I’d have done anything in +all the world to have my jacket back again.” + +“It’s a bargain, then. Good night, Miss Singleton.” + +Maggie tossed the jacket on Polly’s bed, touched her hand lightly with +one of her own and left the room. She went quickly back to her own +pretty sitting-room, locked her door, threw herself on her knees by her +bureau and sobbed long and passionately. + +During the few days which now remained before the end of the term no +one quite knew what was wrong with Miss Oliphant. She worked hard in +preparation for her lectures and when seen in public was always very +merry. But there was a certain hardness about her mirth which her best +friends detected and which caused Nancy Banister a good deal of puzzled +pain. + +Priscilla was treated very kindly by Maggie; she still helped her +willingly with her Greek and even invited her into her room once or +twice. But all the little half-beginnings of confidence which, now and +then, used to burst from Maggie’s lips, the allusions to old times, the +sentences which revealed deep thoughts and high aspirations, all these, +which made the essence of true friendship, vanished out of her +conversation. + +Priscilla said to herself over and over that there was really no +difference— that Miss Oliphant was still as kind to her, as valued a +friend as ever— but in her heart she knew that this was not the case. + +Maggie startled all her friends by making one request. Might they +postpone the acting of _The Princess_ until the middle of the following +term?” + +“I cannot do it justice now,” she said. “I cannot throw my heart and +soul into my part. If you act the play now you must allow me to +withdraw.” + +The other girls, Constance Field in particular, were astonished. They +even felt resentful. All arrangements had been made for this special +play. Maggie was to be the Princess herself; no one could possibly take +her place. It was most unreasonable of her to withdraw now. + +But it was one of the facts well known at St. Benet’s that, fascinating +as Miss Oliphant was, she was also unreasonable. On certain occasions +she could even be disobliging. In short, when Maggie “took the bit +between her teeth,” to employ an old metaphor, she could neither be led +nor driven. After a great deal of heated discussion and indignant +words, she had her will. The play was deferred till the following term, +and one or two slight comedies, which had been acted before, were +revived in a hurry to take its place. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII +A BLACK SATIN JACKET + + +Very active preparations were being made in a certain rather humble +little cottage in the country for the heroine’s return. Three small +girls were making themselves busy with holly and ivy, with badly cut +paper flowers, with enormous texts coarsely illustrated, to render the +home gay and festive in its greeting. A little worn old woman lay on a +sofa and superintended these active measures. + +“How soon will she be here now?” said Hattie the vigorous. + +“Do stay still, Hattie, and don’t fidget. Don’t you see how tired Aunt +Raby looks?” exclaimed Rose. “Prissie can’t be here yet, and you are +such a worry when you jump up and down like that, Hattie.” + +Rose’s words were quite severe, and Hattie planted herself on the edge +of a chair, folded her plump hands, managed to get a demure look into +her laughing eyes and dimpled mouth and sat motionless for about half a +minute. At the end of that time she tumbled on the floor with a loud +crash and Aunt Raby sprang to her feet with some alarm. + +“Good gracious, child! are you hurt? What’s the matter?” + +Hattie was sitting on the floor in convulsions of mirth. + +“I’m not hurt,” she exclaimed. “I slipped off the chair. I didn’t mean +to; I couldn’t help it, really. I’m sorry I woke you, Aunt Raby.” + +“I wasn’t asleep, child.” Miss Peel walked across the room and vanished +into the kitchen, from which very savory smells issued. + +Hattie and Rose began to quarrel and argue, and Katie, who was more or +less of a little peacemaker, suggested that they should draw up the +blind and all three get into the window to watch for Prissie. + +“I wonder how she will look?” said Rose when they were all comfortably +established. + +“I hope she won’t talk in Latin,” exclaimed Hattie. + +“Oh, it is nice to think of seeing Prissie so soon,” murmured Katie in +an ecstasy. + +“I wonder,” began Rose in her practical voice, “how soon Prissie will +begin to earn money. We want money even more than when she went away. +Aunt Raby isn’t as well as she was then, and since the cows were +sold——” + +“Hush!” said Hattie. “You know we promised we wouldn’t tell Prissie +about the cows.” + +Just then a distant sound of wheels was heard. The little girls began +to jump and shout; a moment later and Priscilla stood in the midst of +her family. A great excitement followed her arrival. There were kisses +and hugs and wild, rapturous words from the affectionate little +sisters. Aunt Raby put her arms round Priscilla and gave her a solemn +sort of kiss, and then the whole party adjourned into the supper-room. + +The feast which was spread was so dainty and abundant that Katie asked +in a puzzled sort of way if Aunt Raby considered Prissie like the +Prodigal Son. + +“What fancies you have, child!” said Aunt Raby. “The Prodigal Son, +indeed! Thank Heaven, I’ve never had to do with that sort! As to +Priscilla here, she’s as steady as Old Time. Well, child, and are you +getting up your learning very fast?” + +“Pretty well, Aunt Raby.” + +“And you like your grand college and all those fine young-lady friends +of yours?” + +“I haven’t any fine young-lady friends.” + +“H’m! I dare say they are like other girls; a little bit of learning +and a great deal of dress, eh?” + +Priscilla colored. + +“There are all sorts of girls at St. Benet’s,” she said after a pause. +“Some are real students, earnest, devoted to their work.” + +“Have you earned any money yet, Prissie?” exclaimed Hattie. “For if you +have, I do want— look——” She thrust a small foot, encased in a broken +shoe, prominently into view. + +“Hattie, go to bed this minute!” exclaimed Aunt Raby. “Go up to your +room all three of you little girls. No more words— off at once, all of +you. Prissie, you and I will go into the drawing-room, and I’ll lie on +the sofa while you tell me a little of your college life.” + +“Aunt Raby always lies on the sofa in the evenings now,” burst from +Hattie the irrepressible. + +Miss Peel rushed after the plump little girl and pushed her out of the +room. + +“To bed, all of you!” she exclaimed. “To bed and to sleep! Now, +Prissie, you are not to mind a word that child says. Come into the +drawing-room and let us have a few words quietly. Oh, yes, I’ll lie on +the sofa, my dear, if you wish it. But Hattie is wrong; I don’t do it +every night. I suffer no pain either, Prissie. Many a woman of my age +is racked with rheumatics.” + +The last words were said with a little gasp. The elder woman lay back +on the sofa with a sigh of relief. She turned her face so that the +light from the lamp should not reveal the deathly tired lines round it. + +Aunt Raby was dressed in a rough homespun garment. Her feet were clad +in unbleached cotton stockings, also made at home; her little, +iron-gray curls lay flat at each side of her hollow cheeks. She wore +list slippers, very coarse and common in texture. Her whole appearance +was the essence of the homely, the old-fashioned, even the ungainly. + +Priscilla had seen elegance and beauty since she went away; she had +entered into the life of the cultivated, the intellectually great. In +spite of her deep affection for Aunt Raby, she came back to the +ugliness and the sordid surroundings of home with a pang which she +hated herself for feeling. She forgot Aunt Raby’s sufferings for a +moment in her uncouthness. She longed to shower riches, refinement, +beauty upon her. + +“How has your dress worn, Prissie?” said the elder woman after a pause. +“My sakes, child, you have got your best brown cashmere on! A beautiful +fine bit of cashmere it was, too. I bought it out of the money I got +for the lambs’ wool.” + +Aunt Raby stretched out her hand, and, taking up a fold of the +cashmere, she rubbed it softly between her finger and thumb. + +“It’s as fine as velvet,” she said, “and I put strong work into it, +too. It isn’t a bit worn, is it, Prissie?” + +“No, Aunt Raby, except just round the tail. I got it very wet one day +and the color went a trifle, but nothing to signify.” + +A vivid picture rose up before Priscilla’s eyes as she spoke of Mrs. +Elliot-Smith’s drawing-room, and the dainty, disdainful ladies in their +gay attire, and her own poor, little forlorn figure in her muddy +cashmere dress— the same dress Aunt Raby considered soft and beautiful +as velvet. + +“Oh, Aunt Raby,” she said with sudden impulse, “a great many things +have happened to me since I went away. On the whole I have had a very +good time.” + +Aunt Raby opened her mouth to emit a prodigious yawn. + +“I don’t know how it is,” she said, “but I’m a bit drowsy to-night. I +suppose it’s the weather. The day was quite a muggy one. I’ll hear your +news another time, Priscilla; but don’t you be turned with the vanities +of the world, Priscilla. Life’s but a passing day: you mind that when +you’re young, and it won’t come on you as a shock when you are old. I’m +glad the cashmere has worn well— aye, that I am, Prissie. But don’t put +it on in the morning, my love, for it’s a sin to wear through beautiful +fine stuff like that. And, even if the color is gone a bit round the +hem, the stuff itself isn’t worn, and looks don’t signify. You’ll have +to make up your mind to wear the cashmere for best again next term, +Prissie, for, though I’m not pinched in any way, I’m not overflush +either, my love.” + +Priscilla, who had been sitting in a low chair near her aunt, now rose +to her feet. + +“Ought we not to come to bed?” she said. “If you don’t feel tired, you +look it, Aunt Raby. Come upstairs, do, and let me help you to take your +things off and put you into bed. Come, Aunt Raby, it will be like old +times to help you, you know.” + +The girl knelt by the old woman, took one of her withered hands, raised +it suddenly to her lips and kissed it. Aunt Raby’s face was still +turned from the light. + +“Don’t you keep kneeling on your cashmere,” she said. “You’ll crease it +awfully, and I don’t see my way to another best dress this term.” + +“You needn’t, Aunt Raby,” said Priscilla in a steady voice. “The +cashmere is quite neat still. I can manage well with it.” + +Aunt Raby rose slowly and feebly from the sofa. + +“You may help me to get into bed if you like,” she said. “The muggy day +has made me wonderfully drowsy, and I’ll be glad to lie down. It’s only +that. I’ll be as pert as a cricket in the morning.” + +The old woman leaned on the girl’s strong, young arm and stumbled a bit +as she went up the narrow stairs. + +When they entered the tiny bedroom Aunt Raby spoke again: + +“Your dress will do, but I have been fretting about your winter jacket, +Prissie. There’s my best one, though— you know, the quilted satin which +my mother left me; it’s loose and full, and you shall have it.” + +“But you want it to go to church in yourself, Aunt Raby.” + +“I don’t often go to church lately, child. I take a power of comfort +lying on the sofa, reading my Bible, and Mr. Hayes doesn’t see anything +contrary to Scripture in it, for I asked him. Yes, you shall have my +quilted satin jacket to take back to college with you, Prissie, and +then you’ll be set up fine.” + +Priscilla bent forward and kissed Aunt Raby. She made no other +response, but that night before she went to sleep she saw distinctly a +vision of herself. Prissie was as little vain as a girl could be, but +the vision of her own figure in Aunt Raby’s black satin quilted jacket +was not a particularly inspiriting one. The jacket, full in the skirts, +long in the shoulders, wide in the sleeves and enormous round the neck, +would scarcely bear comparison with the neat, tight-fitting garments +which the other girl graduates of St. Benet’s were wont to patronize. +Prissie felt glad she was not attired in it that unfortunate day when +she sat in Mrs. Elliot-Smith’s drawing-room; and yet— and yet— she knew +that the poor, quaint, old-world jacket meant love and +self-renunciation. + +“Dear Aunt Raby!” whispered the girl. + +Tears lay heavily on her eyelashes as she dropped asleep, with one arm +thrown protectingly round her little sister Katie. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII +THE FASHION OF THE DAY + + +A thick mist lay over everything. Christmas had come and gone, and +Priscilla’s trunk was packed once more— Aunt Raby’s old-world jacket +between folds of tissue-paper, lying on the top of other homely +garments. + +The little sisters were in bed and asleep and Aunt Raby lay on the +sofa. Prissie was accustomed to her face now, so she did not turn it +away from the light. The white lips, the chalky gray tint under the +eyes, the deep furrows round the sunken temples were all familiar to +the younger “Miss Peel.” She had fitted once more into the old sordid +life. She saw Hattie in her slipshod feet and Katie and Rose in their +thin winter jackets, which did not half keep out the cold. She saw and +partook of the scanty meals and tried to keep warm by the wretched +fires. Once more she was part and parcel of the household. The children +were so accustomed to her that they forgot she was going away again. + +To-night, however, the fact was brought back to her. Katie cried when +she saw the packed trunk. Hattie pouted and flopped herself about and +became unmanageable. Rose put on her most discontented manner and +voice, and finding that Prissie had earned no money during the past +term, gave utterance to skeptical thoughts. + +“Prissie just went away to have a good time, and she never meant to +earn money, and she forgot all about them,” grumbled the naughty little +girl. + +Hattie came up and pummeled Rose for her bad words. Katie cried afresh, +and altogether the scene was most dismal. + +Now, however, it was over. The children were in the land of happy +dreams. They were eating their Christmas dinner over again and looking +with ecstasy at their tiny, tiny Christmas gifts and listening once +more to Prissie, who had a low, sweet voice and who was singing to them +the old and beloved words: + +“Peace and goodwill to men.” + + +The children were happy in their dreams, and Prissie was standing by +Aunt Raby’s side. + +“Why don’t you sit down, child? You have done nothing but fidget, +fidget for the last half-hour.” + +“I want to go out, Aunt Raby.” + +“To go out? Sakes! what for? And on such a night, too!” + +“I want to see Mr. Hayes.” + +“Prissie, I think you have got a bee in your bonnet. You’ll be lost in +this mist.” + +“No, I won’t. I missed Mr. Hayes to-day when he called, and I must see +him before I go back to St. Benet’s. I have a question or two to ask +him, and I know every step of the way. Let me go, auntie, please, do!” + +“You always were a wilful girl, Priscilla, and I think that college has +made you more obstinate than ever. I suppose the half-mannish ways of +all those girls tell upon you. There, if you must go— do. I’m in no +mood for arguing. I’ll have a bit of a sleep while you are out: the +muggy weather always makes me so drowsy.” + +Aunt Raby uttered a very weary yawn and turned her face from the light. +Priscilla stepped into the hall, put on her waterproof and oldest hat +and went out. She knew her way well to the little vicarage, built of +gray stone and lying something like a small, daring fly against the +brow of the hill. The little house looked as if any storm must detach +it from its resting-place, but to-night there was no wind, only +clinging mist and damp and thick fog. + +Priscilla mounted the rough road which led to the vicarage, opened the +white gate, walked up the gravel path and entered the little porch. Her +knock was answered by the vicar himself. He drew her into the house +with an affectionate word of welcome, and soon she was sitting by his +study fire, with hat and jacket removed. + +In the vicar’s eyes Priscilla was not at all a plain girl. He liked the +rugged power which her face displayed; he admired the sensible lines of +her mouth, and he prophesied great things from that brow, so calm, so +broad, so full. Mr. Hayes had but a small respect for the roses and +lilies of mere beauty. Mind was always more to him than matter. Some of +the girls at St. Benet’s, who thought very little of poor Priscilla, +would have felt no small surprise had they known the high regard and +even admiration this good man felt for her. + +“I am glad you have called, Prissie,” he said. “I was disappointed in +not seeing you to-day. Well, my dear, do as well in the coming term as +you did in the past. You have my best wishes.” + +“Thank you,” said Prissie. + +“You are happy in your new life, are you not, my dear child?” + +“I am interested,” said Priscilla in a low voice. Her eyes rested on +her shabby dress as she spoke. She laid one hand over the other. She +seemed to be weighing her words. “I am interested; sometimes I am +absorbed. My new life fills my heart; it crowds into all my thoughts. I +have no room for Aunt Raby— no room for my little sisters. Everything +is new to me— everything fresh and broad. There are some trials, of +course, and some unpleasantness; but, oh, the difference between here +and there! Here it is so narrow, there one cannot help getting +enlightenment, daily and hourly.” + +“Yes,” said Mr. Hayes when Priscilla paused, “I expected you to say +something of this kind. I knew you could not but feel the immense, the +immeasurable change. But why do you speak in that complaining voice, +Priscilla?” + +Prissies’ eyes were raised to his. + +“Because Aunt Raby is ill, and it is wicked of me to forget her. It is +mean and cowardly. I hate myself for it.” + +Mr. Hayes looked puzzled for a moment. Then his face cleared. + +“My dear Prissie,” he said, “I always knew there were depths of +morbidness in you, but I did not suppose that you would sound them so +quickly. If you are to grow up to be a wise and useful and helpful +woman by and by, you must check this intense self-examination. Your +feelings are the natural feelings of a girl who has entered upon a very +charming life. You are meant to lead that life for the present; you are +meant to do your duty in it. Don’t worry, my dear. Go back to St. +Benet’s, and study well, and learn much, and gather plenty of +experience for the future. If you fret about what cannot be helped, you +will weaken your intellect and tire your heart. After all, Prissie, +though you give much thought to St. Benet’s, and though its ways are +delightful to you, your love is still with the old friends, is it not?” + +“Even there I have failed,” said Priscilla sadly. “There is a girl at +St. Benet’s who has a strange power over me. I love her. I have a very +great love for her. She is not a happy girl, she is not a perfect girl, +but I would do anything— anything in the wide world for her.” + +“And you would do anything for us, too?” + +“Oh, yes, yes.” + +“And, though you don’t think it, your love for us is stronger than your +love for her. There is a freshness about the new love which fascinates +you, but the old is the stronger. Keep both loves, my dear: both are of +value. Now I must go out to visit poor Peters, who is ill, so I can see +you home. Is there anything more you want to say to me?” + +“Oh, yes, Mr. Hayes, Aunt Raby is very ill.” + +“She is, Prissie.” + +“Does she know it?” + +“Yes.” + +“Ought I to be away from her now— is it right” + +“My dear, do you want to break her heart? She worked so hard to get +this time at college for you. No, Prissie, don’t get that idea into +your head. Aunt Raby is most anxious that you should have every +advantage. She knows— she and I both know— that she cannot live more +than a year or two longer, and her greatest hope is that you may be +able to support your little sisters when she is gone. No, Prissie, +whatever happens, you must on no account give up your life at St. +Benet’s.” + +“Then please let me say something else. I must not go on with my +classics.” + +“My dear child, you are managing to crush me with all kinds of queer, +disappointing sayings to-night.” + +“Am I? But I mean what I say now. I love Greek better than anything +almost in the world. But I know enough of it already for the mere +purposes of rudimentary teaching. My German is faulty— my French not +what it might he.” + +“Come, come, my dear; Peters is waiting to settle for the night. Can we +not talk on our way down to the cottage?” + +Aunt Raby was fast asleep when Priscilla re-entered the little +sitting-room. The girl knelt down by the slight, old figure, and, +stooping, pressed a light kiss on the forehead. Light as it was it +awoke the sleeper. + +“You are there still, child?” said Aunt Raby. “I dreamt you were away.” + +“Would you like me to stay with you, auntie?” + +“No, my dear; you help me upstairs and I’ll get into bed. You ought to +be in your own bed, too, Prissie. Young creatures ought never to sit up +late, and you have a journey before you to-morrow.” + +“Yes, but would you like me not to take the journey? I am strong, and +could do all the work, and you might rest not only at night, but in the +day. You might rest always, if I stayed here.” + +Aunt Raby was wide awake now, and her eyes were very bright. + +“Do you mean what you say, Priscilla?” she asked. + +“Yes, I do. You have the first right to me. If you want me, I’ll stay.” + +“You’ll give up that outlandish Greek, and all that babel of foreign +tongues, and your fine friends, and your grand college, and you hopes +of being a famous woman by and by? Do you mean this, Prissie, +seriously?” + +“Yes, if you want me.” + +“And you say I have the first claim on you?” + +“I do.” + +“Then you’re wrong; I haven’t the first claim on you.” Aunt Raby +tumbled off the sofa and managed to stand on her trembling old legs. + +“Give me your arm, child,” she said; “and— and give me a kiss, Prissie. +You’re a good girl and worthy of your poor father. He was a bookworm, +and you are another. But he was an excellent man, and you resemble him. +I’m glad I took you home and did my best for you. I’ll tell him about +you when I get to heaven. He’ll be right pleased, I know. My sakes, +child! I don’t want the little bit of earth’s rest. I’m going to have a +better sort than that. And you think I’ve the first claim on you? A +poor old body like me. There, help me up to bed, my dear.” + +Aunt Raby did not say any more as the two scrambled up the narrow +stairs in silence. When they got into the little bedroom, however, she +put her arms round Priscilla’s neck and gave her quite a hug. + +“Thank you for offering yourself to me, my love,” she said, “but I +wouldn’t have you on any terms whatever. Go and learn all you can at +your fine college, Prissie. It’s the fashion of the day for the young +folk to learn a lot, and there’s no going against the times. In my +young life sewing was the great thing. Now it’s Latin and Greek. Don’t +you forget that I taught you to sew, Prissie, and always put a back +stitch when you’re running a seam; it keeps the stuff together +wonderfully. Now go to bed.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV +TWO EXTREMES + + +“Have you heard the news?” said Rosalind Merton. She skipped into Miss +Day’s room as she spoke. + +“No; what?” asked that untidy person, turning round and dropping a lot +of ribbon which she was converting into bows. “What’s your news, Rose? +Out with it. I expect it’s a case of ‘great cry and little wool.’ +However, if you want a plain opinion from me——” + +“I don’t ask for your opinion, Annie. I’m quite accustomed to the +scornful way in which you have received all my words lately. I need not +tell _you_ what I have heard at all, unless you wish to hear it.” + +“But, of course, I wish to hear it, Rosie; you know that as well as I +do. Now sit down and make yourself at home; there’s a dear.” + +Rose allowed herself to be mollified. + +“Well,” she said, sinking back into Miss Day’s most comfortable chair, +“the feud between a certain small person and a certain great person +grows apace.” + +Miss Day’s small eyes began to dance. + +“You know I am interested in that subject,” she said. She flopped down +on the floor by Rosalind Merton’s side. “Go on, my love,” she murmured; +“describe the development of the enmity.” + +“Little things show the way the wind is blowing,” pursued Rose. “I was +coming along the corridor just now, and I met the angelic and unworldly +Priscilla. Her eyelids were red as if she had been crying. She passed +me without a word.” + +“Well?” + +“That’s all.” + +“Rose, you really are too provoking. I thought you had something very +fine to tell.” + +“The feud grows,” pursued Rose. “I know it by many signs. Prissie is +not half so often with Maggie as she used to be. Maggie means to get +out of this friendship, but she is too proud not to do it gradually. +There is not a more jealous girl in this college than Maggie, but +neither is there a prouder. Do you suppose that anything under the sun +would allow her to show her feelings because that little upstart dared +to raise her eyes to Maggie’s adorable beau, Mr. Hammond? But oh, she +feels it; she feels it down in her secret soul. She hates Prissie; she +hates this beautiful, handsome lover of hers for being civil to so +commonplace a person. She is only waiting for a decent pretext to drop +Prissie altogether. I wish with all my heart I could give her one.” + +As she spoke Rosalind shaded her eyes with her hand; her face looked +full of sweet and thoughtful contemplation. + +“Get your charming Prissie to flirt a little bit more,” said Miss Day +with her harsh laugh. + +“I don’t know that I can. I must not carry that brilliant idea to +extremities, or I shall be found out.” + +“Well, what are you going to do?” + +“I don’t know. Bide my time.” + +Miss Day gave a listless sort of yawn. + +“Let’s talk of something else,” she said impatiently. “What are you +going to wear at the Elliot-Smith’s party next week, Rose?” + +“I have got a new white dress,” said Rose in that voice of strong +animation and interest which the mere mention of dress always arouses +in certain people. + +“Have you? What a lot of dresses you get!” + +“Indeed, you are mistaken, Annie. I have the greatest difficulty in +managing my wardrobe at all.” + +“Why is that? I thought your people not only belonged to the county, +but were as rich as Jews.” + +“We are county people, of course,” said Rose in her most affected +manner, “but county people need not invariably be rich. The fact is my +father has had some losses lately, and mother says she must be careful. +I wanted a great many things, and she said she simply could not give +them. Oh, if only that spiteful Miss Oliphant had not prevented my +getting the sealskin jacket, and if she had not raised the price of +Polly’s pink coral!” + +“Don’t begin that old story again, Rose. When all is said and done, you +have got the lovely coral. By the way, it will come in beautifully for +the Elliot-Smith’s party. You’ll wear it, of course?” + +“Oh, I don’t know.” + +“What do you mean? Of course you’ll wear it.” + +“I don’t know. The fact is I have not paid the whole price for it yet.” + +“Haven’t you really? You said you’d bring the money when you returned +this term.” + +“Of course I thought I could, but I was absolutely afraid to tell +mother what a lot the coral cost; and as she was so woefully short of +funds, I had just to come away without the money. I never for a moment +supposed I should have such ill luck.” + +“It is awkward. What are you going to say to Polly Singleton?’ + +“I don’t know. I suppose you could not help me, Annie?” + +“I certainly couldn’t. I never have a penny to bless myself with. I +don’t know how I scrape along.” + +Rosalind sighed. Her pretty face looked absolutely careworn. + +“Don’t fret, Rose,” said Miss Day after a pause; “whether you have paid +for the coral or not, you can wear it at the Elliot-Smith’s.” + +“No, alas! that’s just what I can’t do. The fact is Polly is turning +out awfully mean. She has come back this time with apparently an +unlimited supply of pocket money, and she has been doing her best to +induce me to sell her the coral back again.” + +“Well, why don’t you? I’m sure I would, rather than be worried about +it.” + +Miss Merton’s face flushed angrily. + +“Nothing will induce me to give up the coral,” she said. “I bought my +new white dress to wear with it. I have looked forward all during the +holidays to showing it to Meta Elliot-Smith. It’s the sort of thing to +subdue Meta, and I want to subdue her. No, nothing will induce me to +part with my lovely coral now.” + +“Well, my dear, keep it, of course, and pay for it how you can. It’s +your own affair. You have not yet explained to me, however, why, when +it is in your possession, you can’t wear it with your new dress at the +Elliot-Smiths’ next week.” + +“Because that wretched Polly has been invited also; and she is quite +mean enough and underbred enough to walk up to me before every one and +ask me to give her back her property.” + +“What fun if she did!” laughed Miss Day. + +“Annie, you are unkind!” + +“My dear, of course I don’t mean what I say, but I can’t help seeing +the whole picture: you, so fine and so self-conscious and so— so +_perfect_ in all your appointments— and looking— for all you are a +little thing, Rose— a good inch above every one else— and then our +poor, good-natured, downright Polly catching sight of her unpaid-for +ornaments round your sweet baby throat— all the John Bull in her +instantly coming to the fore, and she demanding her rights in no +measured terms. Oh, your face, Rosie! your face! and Meta +Elliot-Smith’s enjoyment— oh, how delicious the picture is! Dear +Rosalind, do wear the coral, and please— please get me an invitation to +the Elliot-Smiths’. I’ll love you all my life if you give me leave to +witness so lovely a spectacle!” + +Miss Merton’s face changed color several times while Annie Day was +speaking. She clenched her small hands and tried hard to keep back such +a torrent of angry words as would have severed this so-called +friendship once and for all, but Rose’s sense of prudence was greater +even now than her angry passions. Miss Day was a useful ally— a +dangerous foe. + +With a forced laugh, which concealed none of her real feelings, she +stood up and prepared to leave the room. + +“You are very witty at my expense, Annie,” she said. Her lips trembled. +She found herself the next moment alone in the brightly lighted +corridor. + +It was over a week now since the beginning of the term. Lectures were +once more in full swing, and all the inmates of St. Benet’s were +trying, each after her kind, for the several prizes which the life they +were leading held out to them. Girls of all kinds were living under +these roofs— the idle as well as the busy. Both the clever and the +stupid were here, both the good and the bad. Rosalind Merton was a +fairly clever girl. She had that smart sort of cleverness which often +passes for wide knowledge. She was liked by many of her girl friends; +she had the character of being rather good-natured; her pretty face and +innocent manner, too, helped to win her golden opinions among the +lecturers and dons. + +Those who knew her well soon detected her want of sincerity, but then +it was Rose’s endeavor to prevent many people becoming intimately +acquainted with her. She had all the caution which accompanies a +deceitful character and had little doubt that she could pursue those +pettinesses in which her soul delighted and yet retain a position as a +good, innocent and fairly clever girl before the heads of the college. + +Rose generally kept her angry passions in check, but, although she had +managed not to betray herself while in Miss Day’s room, now as she +stood alone in the brilliantly lighted corridor, she simply danced with +rage. Her small hands were clenched until the nails pierced the flesh +and her delicately colored face became livid with passion. + +At that moment she hated Annie Day— she hated Polly Singleton— she +hated, perhaps, most of all Maggie Oliphant. + +She walked down the corridor, her heart beating fast. Her own room was +on another floor; to reach it she had to pass Miss Peel’s and Miss +Oliphant’s rooms. As Rose was walking slowly down the corridor she saw +a girl come out of Miss Oliphant’s room, turn quickly in the opposite +direction to the one from which she was coming, and, quickening her +pace to a run, disappear from view. Rose recognized this girl: she was +Priscilla Peel. Rose hastened her own steps and peeped into Maggie’s +room. To her surprise, it was empty; the door had swung wide open and +the excited, perturbed girl could see into every corner. Scarcely +knowing why she did it, she entered the room. Maggie’s room was +acknowledged to be one of the most beautiful in the college, and Rose +said to herself that she was glad to have an opportunity to examine it +unobserved. + +She went and stood on the hearthrug and gazed around her; then she +walked over to the bureau. Some Greek books were lying open here— also +a pile of manuscript, several note-books, a few envelopes and sheets of +letter-paper. Still, scarcely knowing why, Rose lifted the note-paper +and looked under it. The heap of paper concealed a purse. + +A sealskin purse with gold clasps. Rose snatched her hands away, flung +down the note-paper as if she had been stung and walked back again to +the hearthrug. Once more the color rushed into her cheeks, once more it +retreated, leaving her small, young, pretty face white as marble. + +She was assailed by a frightful temptation and she was scarcely the +girl to resist it long. In cold blood she might have shrunk from the +siren voice which bade her release herself from all her present +troubles by theft, but at this moment she was excited, worried, +scarcely capable of calm thought. Here was her unexpected opportunity. +It lay in her power now to revenge herself on Miss Oliphant, on +Prissie, on Polly Singleton and also to get out of her own +difficulties. + +How tempting was Maggie’s purse! how rich its contents were likely to +prove! Maggie was so rich and so careless that it was quite possible +she might never miss the small sum which Rose meant to take. If she +did, it would be absolutely impossible for her to trace the theft to +innocent baby Rose Merton. No; if Maggie missed her money and suspected +any one, she would be almost forced to lay the crime to the door of the +girl she no longer, in her heart, cared about— Priscilla Peel. + +A very rich flood of crimson covered Rose’s cheeks as this consequence +of her sin flashed before her vision. Less even than before was she +capable of seeing right from wrong. The opportunity was far too good to +lose; by one small act she would not only free herself, but accomplish +the object on which she had set her mean little heart: she would +effectually destroy the friendship of Maggie and Priscilla. + +Stealthily, with her cheeks burning and her eyes bright with agitation, +she once more approached the bureau, took from under the pile of papers +the little sealskin purse, opened it, removed a five-pound note, +clasped the purse again and restored it to its hiding-place, then flew +on the wings of the wind from the room. + +A moment or two later Priscilla came back, sat calmly down in one of +Maggie’s comfortable chairs, and, taking up her Greek edition of +Euripides, began to read and translate with eagerness. + +As Prissie read she made notes with a pencil in a small book which lay +in her lap. The splendid thoughts appealed to her powerfully; her face +glowed with pleasure. She lived in the noble past; she was a Greek with +the old Greeks; she forgot the nineteenth century, with its smallness, +its money worries— above all, she forgot her own cares. + +At last in her reading she came to a difficult sentence, which, try as +she would, she could not render into English to her own satisfaction. +She was a very careful student and always disliked shirking +difficulties; the pleasure of her reading would be lost if she did not +do full justice to the lines which puzzled her. She resolved to read no +further until Maggie appeared. Maggie Oliphant, with her superior +information, would soon cut the knot for her. She closed the copy of +Euripides with reluctance, and, putting her hand into her pocket, took +out a note she had just received, to mark the place. + +A moment or two later Maggie came in. + +“Still here, Prissie!” she exclaimed in her somewhat indifferent but +good-natured voice. “What a bookworm you are turning into!” + +“I have been waiting for you to help me, if you will, Maggie,” said +Priscilla. “I have lost the right clew to the full sense of this +passage— see! Can you give it to me?” + +Maggie sat down at once, took up the book, glanced her eyes over the +difficult words and translated them with ease. + +“How lovely!” said Prissie, clasping her hands and giving herself up to +a feeling of enjoyment. “Don’t stop, Maggie, please; do read some +more!” + +Miss Oliphant smiled. + +“Enthusiast!” she murmured. + +She translated with brilliancy to the end of the page; then, throwing +the book on her knee, repeated the whole passage aloud in Greek. + +The note that Prissie put in as a mark fell on the floor. She was so +lost in delighted listening that she did not notice it, but, when +Maggie at last stopped for want of breath, Priscilla saw the little +note, stooped forward to pick it up, glanced at the handwriting, and a +shadow swept over her expressive face. + +“Oh! thank you, Maggie, thank you,” she exclaimed; “it is beautiful, +entrancing! It made me forget everything for a short time, but I must +not listen to any more; it is, indeed, most beautiful, but not for me.” + +“What do you mean, you little goose? You will soon read Euripides as +well as I do. What is more, you will surpass me, Priscilla; your talent +is greater than mine.” + +“Don’t say that, Maggie; I can scarcely bear it when you do.” + +“Why do you say you can scarcely bear it? Do you love me so well that +you hate to excel me? Silly child, as if I cared!” + +“Maggie, I know you are really too great to be possessed by petty +weaknesses. If I ever did excel you, which is most unlikely, I know you +would be glad both for me and for yourself. No, it is not that; I am +unhappy because of no fancy.” + +“What worries you then?” + +“Maggie, do you see this note?” + +“Yes; it is from Miss Heath, is it not?” + +“It is. I am to see her to-night.” + +“Well, Prissie, you must be quick with your revelation, for I have some +notes to look over.” + +“I won’t keep you a moment. I am to see Miss Heath to tell her—— +Prissie paused. Her face grew deadly white. “I am to see Miss Heath to +tell her— to tell her— that I— oh, Maggie! I must give up my classics. +I must; it’s all settled. Don’t say anything. Don’t tempt me to +reconsider the question. It can’t be reconsidered, and my mind is made +up. That’s it; it’s a trouble, but I must go through with it. Good +night, Maggie.” + +Prissie held out her long, unformed hand; Miss Oliphant clasped it +between both her own. + +“You are trembling,” she said, standing up and drawing the girl toward +her. “I don’t want to argue the point if you so firmly forbid me. I +think you quite mad, of course. It is absolutely impossible for me to +sympathize with such wild folly. Still, if your mind is made up, I +won’t interfere. But, seeing that at one time we were very firm +friends, you might give me your reasons, Priscilla.” + +Priscilla slowly and stiffly withdrew her hands; her lips moved. She +was repeating Miss Oliphant’s words under her breath: + +“At one time we were friends.” + +“Won’t you speak?” said Maggie impatiently. + +“Oh, yes, I’ll speak, I’ll tell you the reason. You won’t understand, +but you had better know—” Prissie paused again; she seemed to swallow +something; her next words came out slowly with great difficulty: “When +I went home for the Christmas recess I found Aunt Raby worse. You don’t +know what my home is like, Miss Oliphant; it is small and poor. At home +we are often cold and often hungry. I have three little sisters, and +they want clothes and education; they want training, they want love, +they want care. Aunt Raby is too weak to do much for them now; she is +very, very ill. You have not an idea— not an idea— Miss Oliphant, in +your wealth and your luxury, what the poverty of Penywern Cottage is +like. What does such poverty mean? How shall I describe it to you? We +are sometimes glad of a piece of bread; butter is a luxury; meat we +scarcely taste.” Prissie again broke off to think and consider her next +words. Maggie, whose sympathies were always keenly aroused by any real +emotion, tried once again to take her hands; Prissie put them behind +her. “Aunt Raby is a good woman,” continued Priscilla; “she is brave, +she is a heroine. Although she is just a commonplace old woman, no one +has ever led a grander life in its way. She wears poor clothes— oh, the +poorest; she has an uncouth appearance, worse even than I have, but I +am quite sure that God— _God_ respects her— God thinks her worthy. When +my father and mother died (I was fourteen when my dear mother died) +Aunt Raby came and took me home and my three little sisters. She gave +us bread to eat. Oh, yes, we never quite wanted food, but before we +came Aunt Raby had enough money to feed herself and no more. She took +us all in and supported us, because she worked so very, very hard. Ever +since I was fourteen— I am eighteen now— Aunt Raby has done this. +Well,” continued Priscilla, slow tears coming to her eyes and making +themselves felt in her voice, “this hard work is killing her; Aunt Raby +is dying because she has worked so hard for us. Before my three years +have come to an end here, she will be far, far away: she will be at +rest forever— God will be making up to her for all she has done here. +Her hard life which God will have thought beautiful will be having its +reward. Afterward I have to support and educate the three little girls. +I spoke to Mr. Hayes— my dear clergyman, about whom I have told you, +and who taught me all I know— and he agrees with me that I know enough +of Greek and Latin now for rudimentary teaching, and that I shall be +better qualified to take a good paying situation if I devote the whole +of my time while at St. Benet’s to learning and perfecting myself in +modern languages. It’s the end of a lovely dream, of course, but there +is no doubt— no doubt whatever— what is right for me to do.” + +Prissie stopped speaking. Maggie went up again and tried to take her +hand; she drew back a step or two, pretending not to see. + +“It has been very kind of you to listen,” she said; “I am very grateful +to you, for now, whatever we may be to each other in future, you will +understand that I don’t give up what I love lightly. Thank you, you +have helped me much. Now I must go and tell Miss Heath what I have said +to you. I have had a happy reading of Euripides and have enjoyed +listening to you. I meant to give myself that one last treat— now it is +over. Good night.” + +Priscilla left the room— she did not even kiss Maggie as she generally +did at parting for the night. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV +A MYSTERIOUS EPISODE + + +When she was alone, Maggie Oliphant sat down in her favorite chair and +covered her face with her hands. “It is horrible to listen to stories +like that,” she murmured under her breath. “Such stories get on the +nerves. I shall not sleep to-night. Fancy any people calling themselves +ladies wanting meat, wanting clothes, wanting warmth. Oh, my God! this +is horrible. Poor Prissie! Poor, brave Prissie!” Maggie started from +her chair and paced the length of her room once or twice. “I must help +these people,” she said; “I must help this Aunt Raby and those three +little sisters. Penywern Cottage shall no longer be without coal, and +food, and warmth. How shall I do this? One thing is quite evident— +Prissie must not know. Prissie is as proud as I am. How shall I manage +this?” She clasped her hands, her brow was contracted with the fulness +of her thought. After a long while she left her room, and, going to the +other end of the long corridor, knocked at Nancy Banister’s door. Nancy +was within. It did not take Maggie long to tell the tale which she had +just heard from Priscilla’s lips. Prissie had told her simple story +with force, but it lost nothing in Maggie’s hands. She had a fine +command of language, and she drew a picture of such pathos that Nancy’s +honest blue eyes filled with tears. + +“That dear little Prissie!” she exclaimed. + +“I don’t know that she is dear,” said Maggie. “I don’t profess quite to +understand her; however, that is not the point. The poverty at Penywern +Cottage is an undoubted fact. It is also a fact that Prissie is forced +to give up her classical education. She shall not! she has a genius for +the old tongues. Now, Nancy, help me; use your common sense on my +behalf. How am I to send money to Penywern Cottage?” + +Nancy thought for several minutes. + +“I have an idea,” she exclaimed at last. + +“What is that?” + +“I believe Mr. Hammond could help us.” + +Maggie colored. + +“How?” she asked. “Why should Geoffrey Hammond be dragged into +Priscilla’s affairs? What can he possibly know about Penywern Cottage +and the people who live in it?” + +“Only this,” said Nancy: “I remember his once talking about that part +of Devonshire where Prissie’s home is and saying that his uncle has a +parish there. Mr. Hammond’s uncle is the man to help us.” + +Miss Oliphant was silent for a moment. + +“Very well,” she said; “will you write to Mr. Hammond and ask him for +his uncle’s address?” + +“Why should I do this, Maggie? Geoffrey Hammond is your friend; he +would think it strange for me to write.” + +Maggie’s tone grew as cold as her expressive face had suddenly become. +“I can write if you think it best,” she said; “but you are mistaken in +supposing that Mr. Hammond is any longer a person of special interest +to me.” + +“Oh, Maggie, Maggie, if you only would—” + +“Good night, Nancy,” interrupted Maggie. She kissed her friend and went +back to her room. There she sat down before her bureau and prepared to +write a letter. “I must not lose any time,” she said to herself; “I +must help these people substantially; I must do something to rescue +poor Prissie from a life of drudgery. Fancy Prissie, with her genius, +living the life of an ordinary underpaid teacher: it is not to be +thought of for a moment! Something must be done to put the whole family +on a different footing, but that, of course, is for the future. From +Priscilla’s account they want immediate aid. I have two five-pound +notes in my purse: Geoffrey shall have them and enclose them to the +clergyman who is his relation and who lives near Priscilla’s home.” + +Maggie wrote her letter rapidly. She thought it cold; she meant it to +be a purely business note; she did not intend Hammond to see even the +glimpse of her warm heart under the carefully studied words. “I am sick +of money,” she said to him, “but to some people it is as the bread of +life. Ask your friend to provide food and warmth without a moment’s +delay for these poor people out of the trifle I enclose. Ask him also +to write directly to me, for the ten pounds I now send is only the +beginning of what I mean really to do to help them.” + +When her letter was finished, Maggie put her hand in her pocket to take +out her purse. It was not there. She searched on the table, looked +under piles of books and papers and presently found it. She unclasped +the purse and opened an inner pocket for the purpose of taking out two +five-pound notes which she had placed there this morning. To her +astonishment and perplexity, this portion of the purse now contained +only one of the notes. Maggie felt her face turning crimson. Quick as a +flash of lightning a horrible thought assailed her— Priscilla had been +alone in her room for nearly an hour— Priscilla’s people were starving: +had Priscilla taken the note? + +“Oh, hateful!” said Maggie to herself; “what am I coming to, to suspect +the brave, the noble— I won’t, I can’t. Oh, how shall I look her in the +face and feel that I ever, even for a second, thought of her so +dreadfully.” Maggie searched through her purse again. “Perhaps I dreamt +that I put two notes here this morning,” she said to herself. “But no, +it is no dream; I put two notes into this division of my purse, I put +four sovereigns here; the sovereigns are safe— one of the notes is +gone.” + +She thought deeply for a few moments longer, then added a postscript to +her letter: + +“I am very sorry, but I can only send you one note for five pounds +to-night. Even this, however, is better than nothing. I will give +further help as soon as I hear from your friend.” Maggie then folded +her letter, addressed, stamped it and took it downstairs. + +Miss Oliphant was an heiress; she was also an orphan; her father and +mother were mere memories to her; she had neither brothers nor sisters; +she did not particularly like her guardian, who was old and worldly +wise, as different as possible from the bright, enthusiastic, impulsive +girl. Mr. Oliphant thought money the aim and object of life: when he +spoke to Maggie about it, she professed to hate it. In reality she was +indifferent to it; money was valueless to her because she had never +felt its want. + +She lay awake for a long time that night, thinking of Penywern Cottage, +of tired Aunt Raby, of the little girls who wanted food, and education, +and care, and love. After a time she fell asleep. In her sleep she +ceased to think of Priscilla’s relations: all her thoughts were with +Priscilla herself. She dreamt that she saw Priscilla move stealthily in +her room, take up her purse with wary fingers, open it, remove a note +for five pounds and hide the purse once more under books and papers. + +When Maggie awoke she professed not to believe in her dream; but, +nevertheless, she had a headache, and her heart was heavy within her. + +At breakfast that morning Miss Oliphant made a rather startling +announcement. “I wish to say something,” she remarked in her full, rich +voice. “A strange thing happened to me last night. I am not accounting +for it; I am casting no aspersions on any one; I don’t even intend to +investigate the matter; still, I wish publicly to state a fact— a +five-pound note has been taken out of my purse!” + +There were no dons or lecturers present when Miss Oliphant made this +startling announcement, but Nancy Banister, Rosalind Merton, Priscilla +Peel, Miss Day, Miss Marsh and several other girls were all in the +room; they, each of them, looked at the speaker with startled and +anxious inquiry. + +Maggie herself did not return the glances; she was lazily helping +herself to some marmalade. + +“How perfectly shameful!” burst at last from the lips of Miss Day. “You +have lost five pounds, Miss Oliphant; you are positively certain that +five pounds have been taken out of your purse. Where was your purse?” +Maggie was spreading the marmalade on her bread and butter; her eyes +were still fixed on her plate. “I don’t wish a fuss made,” she said. + +“Oh, that’s all very fine!” continued Miss Day, “but if five pounds are +lost out of your purse, some one has taken them! Some one, therefore, +whether servant or student, is a thief. I am not narrow-minded or +prudish, but I confess I draw the line at thieves.” + +“So do I,” said Maggie in an icy tone; “still, I don’t mean to make a +fuss.” + +“But where was your purse, Maggie, dear?” asked Nancy Banister; “was it +in your pocket?” + +“No. I found it last night in my bureau, under some books and papers.” +Maggie rose from the table as she spoke. With a swift flash her brown +eyes sought Priscilla’s face; she had not meant to look at her, she did +not want to; but a fascination she could not control obliged her to +dart this one glance of inquiry. + +Prissie’s eyes met hers. Their expression was anxious, puzzled, but +there was not a trace of guilt or confusion in them. “I don’t know how +that money could have been taken, Maggie,” she said, “for I was in your +room. studying my Greek.” Prissie sighed when she mentioned her Greek. +“I was in your room studying Greek all the evening; no one could have +come to take the money.” + +“It is gone, however,” said Maggie. She spoke with new cheerfulness. +The look on Prissie’s face, the tone in her voice made Maggie blush at +ever having suspected her. “It is gone,” she said in quite a light and +cheerful way, “but I am really sorry I mentioned it. As I said just +now, I don’t intend to investigate the matter. I may have fallen asleep +and taken the five-pound note out in a dream and torn it up or put it +on the fire. Anyhow, it has vanished, and that is all I have to say. +Come, Prissie, I want to hear what Miss Heath said to you last night.” + +“No,” suddenly exclaimed Annie Day, “Miss Peel, you must not leave the +room just now. You have made a statement, Miss Oliphant, which I for +one do not intend to pass over without at least asking a few questions. +You did not tear up that note in a dream. If it is lost, some one took +it. We are St. Benet’s girls, and we don’t choose to have this kind of +thing said to us. The thief must confess and the note must be +returned.” + +“All right,” said Maggie, “I sha’n’t object to recovering my property. +Priscilla, I shall be walking in the grounds; you can come to me when +your council of war is over.” + +The moment Maggie left the room Rosalind Merton made a remark. “Miss +Peel is the only person who can explain the mystery,” she said. + +“What do you mean?” asked Priscilla. + +“Why, you confess yourself that you were in Miss Oliphant’s room the +greater part of the evening.” + +“I confess it?” remarked Priscilla; “that is a curious phrase to apply +to a statement. I confess nothing. I was in Maggie’s room, but what of +that? When people confess things,” she added with a naivete which +touched one or two of the girls, “they generally have done something +wrong. Now, what was there wrong in my sitting in my friend’s room?” + +“Oh, Miss Oliphant is your friend’?” said Rosalind. + +“Of course, of course.” But here a memory came over Priscilla; she +remembered Maggie’s words the night before— “You _were_ my friend.” For +the first time her voice faltered and the crimson flush of distress +covered her face. Rosalind’s cruel eyes were fixed on her. + +“Let me speak now,” interrupted Miss Day. She gave Rosalind a piercing +glance which caused her, in her turn, to color violently. “It is just +this, Miss Peel,” said Annie Day: “you will excuse my speaking bluntly, +but you are placed in a very unpleasant position.” + +“I? How?” asked Prissie. + +“Oh, you great baby!” burst from Rosalind again. + +“Please don’t speak to me in that tone, Miss Merton,” said Priscilla +with a new dignity which became her well. “Now, Miss Day, what have you +to say?” + +To Prissie’s surprise, at this juncture, Nancy Banister suddenly left +her seat and came and stood at the back of her chair. + +“I am on your side whatever happens,” she remarked. + +“Thank you,” said Prissie. + +“Now, please, Miss Day.” + +“You must know who took the note,” said Annie Day. + +“I assure you I don’t; I can’t imagine how it has disappeared. Not a +soul came into the room while I was there. I did go away once for about +three minutes to fetch my Lexicon; but I don’t suppose any one came +into Miss Oliphant’s room during those few minutes— there was no one +about to come.” + +“Oh, you left the room for about three minutes?” + +“Perhaps three— perhaps not so many. I had left my Lexicon in the +library; I went to fetch it.” + +“Oh,” said Rosalind, suddenly taking the words out of Miss Day’s mouth, +“when did you invent this little fiction?” + +Prissie’s eyes seemed suddenly to blaze fire. For the first time she +perceived the drift of the cruel suspicion which her fellow-students +were seeking to cast upon her. “How wicked you are!” she said to +Rosalind. “Why do you look at me like that? Miss Day, why do you smile? +Why do you all smile? Oh, Nancy,” added poor Prissie, springing to her +feet and looking full into Nancy’s troubled eyes, “what is the matter?— +am I in a dream?” + +“It is all very fine to be theatrical,” said Miss Day, “but the fact +is, Miss Peel, you are not at all popular enough at St. Benet’s to +induce any of us to consent to live under a ban for your sake. Miss +Oliphant has lost her money. You say that you spent some time in her +room; the purse was on her bureau. Miss Oliphant is rich, she is also +generous; she says openly that she does not intend to investigate the +matter. No doubt, if you confess your weakness and return the money, +she will forgive you and not report this disgraceful proceeding to the +college authorities.” + +While Miss Day was speaking some heavy panting breaths came two or +three times from Priscilla’s lips. Her face had turned cold and white, +but her eyes blazed like living coals. + +“Now I understand,” she said slowly, “you think— you think that I— I +stole a five-pound note from my friend; you think that I went into her +room and opened her purse and took away her money; you think that of +me— you! I scorn you all, I defy you, I dare you to prove your dreadful +words! I am going to Miss Heath this moment; she shall protect me from +this dishonor.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI +IN THE ANTE-CHAPEL OF ST. HILDA’S + + +Priscilla ran blindly down the corridor which opened into the wide +entrance-hall. Groups of girls were standing about. They stared as the +wild-looking apparition rushed past them: Prissie was blind to their +puzzled and curious glances. She wanted to see Miss Heath. She had a +queer kind of instinct, rather than any distinct impression, that in +Miss Heath’s presence she would be protected, that Miss Heath would +know what to say, would know how to dispel the cloud of disgrace which +had suddenly been cast over her like a cloak. + +“Is there anything wrong, Miss Peel?” said gentle little Ada Hardy, +coming up and speaking to her affectionately. Miss Hardy stood right in +Prissie’s path, barring her way for a moment and causing her, in spite +of herself, to stop her headlong rush to the vice-principal’s room. +Priscilla put up her hand to her brow. She looked in a dazed sort of +way at the kindhearted girl. + +“What is the matter— can I help you?” repeated Ada Hardy. + +“You can’t help me,” said Prissie. “I want to see Miss Heath; let me +pass.” She ran forward again, and some other girls, coming out of the +dining-hall, now came up to Ada and distracted her attention. + +Miss Heath’s private sitting-room was on the ground floor. This lovely +room has been described before. It was open now, and Prissie went in +without knocking; she thought she would see Miss Heath sitting as she +usually was at this hour, either reading or answering letters. She was +not in the room. Priscilla felt too wild and impetuous to consider any +action carefully just then. She ran up at once to the electric bell and +pressed the button for quite a quarter of a minute. A maid servant came +quickly to answer the summons. She thought Miss Heath had sent for her +and stared at the excited girl. + +“I want to see Miss Heath,” said Priscilla. “Please ask her to come to +me here. Say Miss Peel wants to see her— Priscilla Peel wants to see +her, very, _very_ badly, in her own sitting-room at once. Ask her to +come to me at once.” + +The presence of real tragedy always inspires respect. There was no +question with regard to the genuineness of Priscilla’s sorrow just +then. + +“I will try and find Miss Heath, miss, and ask her to come to you +without delay,” answered the maid. She softly withdrew, closing the +door after her. Priscilla went and stood on the hearthrug. Raising her +eyes for a moment, they rested on a large and beautiful platinotype of +G. F. Watts’ picture of “Hope.” The last time she had visited Miss +Heath in that room Prissie had been taken by the kind vice-principal to +look at the picture, and some of its symbolism was explained to her. +“That globe on which the figure of Hope sits,” Miss Heath had said, “is +meant to represent the world. Hope is blindfolded in order more +effectually to shut out the sights which might distract her. See the +harp in her hand, observe her rapt attitude— she is listening to +melody— she hears, she rejoices, and yet the harp out of which she +makes music only possesses one string— all the rest are broken.” Miss +Heath said nothing further, and Prissie scarcely took in the full +meaning of the picture that evening. Now she looked again, and a +passionate agony swept over her. “Hope has one string still left to her +harp with which she can play music,” murmured the young girl; “but oh! +there are times when all the strings of the harp are broken. Then Hope +dies.” + +The room door was opened and the servant reappeared. + +“I am very sorry, miss,” she said, “but Miss Heath has gone out for the +morning. Would you like to see any one else?” + +Priscilla gazed at the messenger in a dull sort of way. “I can’t see +Miss Heath?” she murmured. + +“No, miss, she is out.” + +“Very well.” + +“Can I do anything for you, miss?” + +“No, thank you.” + +The servant went away with a puzzled expression on her face. + +“That plain young lady, who is so awful poor— Miss Peel, I mean— seems +in a sad taking,” she said by and by to her fellow-servants. + +Priscilla, left alone in Miss Heath’s sitting-room, stood still for a +moment, then running usptairs to her room, she put on her hat and +jacket and went out. She was expected to attend two lectures that +morning and the hour for the first had almost arrived. Maggie Oliphant +was coming into the house when Prissie ran past her. + +“My dear!” she exclaimed, shocked at the look on Priscilla’s face, +“come here; I want to speak to you.” + +“I can’t— don’t stop me.” + +“But where are you going? Mr. Kenyon has just arrived. I am on my way +to the lecture-hall now.” + +“It doesn’t matter.” + +“Aren’t you coming?” + +“No.” + +This last word reached Miss Oliphant from a distance. Prissie had +already almost reached the gates. + +Maggie stood still for a moment, half inclined to follow the excited, +frantic-looking girl, but that queer inertia, which was part of her +complex character, came over her. She shrugged her shoulders, the +interest died out of her face; she walked slowly through the +entrance-hall and down one of the side corridors to the lecture-room. + +When the Greek lecture had come to an end Nancy Banister came up and +slipped her hand through Maggie’s arm. + +“What is the matter, Maggie?” she asked, “you look very white and +tired.” + +“I have a headache,” answered Maggie. “If it does not get better, I +shall send for a carriage and take a drive.” + +“May I come with you?” + +“No, dear Nancy, when I have these bad headaches it is almost necessary +to me to be alone.” + +“Would it not be better for you to go and lie down in your room?” + +“I to lie down in my room with a headache like this? No, thank you.” +Maggie shuddered as she spoke. Nancy felt her friend’s arm shiver as +she leaned on it. + +“You are really ill, darling!” she said in a tone of sympathy and +fondness. + +“I have not felt right for a week and am worse today, but I dare say a +drive in this nice frosty air will set me up.” + +“I am going to Kingsdene. Shall I order a carriage for you?” + +“I wish you would.” + +“Maggie, did you notice that Priscilla was not at her lecture?” + +“She was not. I met her rushing away, I think, to Kingsdene; she seemed +put out about something.” + +“Poor little thing. No wonder— those horrid girls!” + +“Oh, Nancy, if there’s anything unpleasant, don’t tell me just now; my +head aches so dreadfully, I could scarcely hear bad news.” + +“You are working too hard, Maggie.” + +“I am not; it is the only thing left to me.” + +“Do you know that we are to have a rehearsal of _The Princess_ +to-night? If you are as ill as you look now, you can’t be present.” + +“I will be present. Do you think I can’t force myself to do what is +necessary?” + +“Oh, I am well acquainted with the owner of your will,” answered Nancy +with a laugh. “Well, good-by, dear, I am off. You may expect the +carriage to arrive in half an hour.” + +Meanwhile Priscilla, still blind, deaf and dumb with misery, ran, +rather than walked, along the road which leads to Kingsdene. The day +was lovely, with little faint wafts of spring in the air; the sky was +pale blue and cloudless; there was a slight hoar frost on the grass. +Priscilla chose to walk on it, rather than on the dusty road; it felt +crisp under her tread. + +She had not the least idea why she was going to Kingsdene. Her wish was +to walk, and walk, and walk until sheer fatigue, caused by +long-continued motion, brought to her temporary ease and forgetfulness. + +Prissie was a very strong girl, and she knew she must walk for a long +time; her feet must traverse many miles before she effected her object. +Just as she was passing St. Hilda’s College she came face to face with +Hammond. He was in his college cap and gown and was on his way to +morning prayers in the chapel. Hammond had received Maggie’s letter +that morning, and this fact caused him to look at Priscilla with new +interest. On another occasion he would have passed her with a hurried +bow. Now he stopped to speak. The moment he caught sight of her face, +he forgot everything else in his distress at the expression of misery +which it wore. + +“Where are you going, Miss Peel?” he asked; “you appear to be flying +from something, or, perhaps, it is _to_ something. Must you run? See, +you have almost knocked me down.” He chose light words on purpose, +hoping to make Prissie smile. + +“I am going for a walk,” she said. “Please let me pass.” + +“I am afraid you are in trouble,” he replied then, seeing that +Priscilla’s mood must be taken seriously. + +His sympathy gave the poor girl a momentary thrill of comfort. She +raised her eyes to his face and spoke huskily. + +“A dreadful thing has happened to me,” she said. + +The chapel bell stopped as she spoke. Groups of men, all in their caps +and gowns, hurried by. Several of them looked from Hammond to Priscilla +and smiled. + +“I must go to chapel now,” he said; “but I should like to speak to you. +Can I not see you after morning prayers? Would you not come to the +service. You might sit in the ante-chapel, if you did not want to come +into the chapel itself. You had much better do that. Whatever your +trouble is, the service at St. Hilda’s ought to sustain you. Please +wait for me in the ante-chapel. I shall look for you there after +prayers.” + +He ran off just in time to take his own place in the chapel before the +doors were shut and curtains drawn. + +Without a moment’s hesitation, Priscilla followed him. She entered the +ante-chapel, sat down on a bench not far from the entrance door, and +when the service began she dropped on her knees and covered her face +with her hands. + +The music came to her in soft waves of far-off harmony. The doors which +divided the inner chapel from the outer gave it a faint sound, as if it +were miles away; each note, however, was distinct; no sound was lost. +The boys’ voices rose high in the air; they were angelic in their +sweetness. Prissie was incapable, at that moment, of taking in the +meaning of the words she heard, but the lovely sounds comforted her. +The dreadful weight was lifted, or, at least, partially lifted, from +her brain; she felt as if a hand had been laid on her hot, angry heart; +as if a gentle, a very gentle, touch was soothing the sorrow there. + +“I am ready now,” said Hammond when the service was over. “Will you +come?” + +She rose without a word and went out with him into the quadrangle. They +walked down the High Street. + +“Are you going back to St. Benet’s?” he asked. + +“Oh, no— oh, no!” + +“‘Yes,’ you mean. I will walk with you as far as the gates.” + +“I am not going back.” + +“Pardon me,” said Hammond, “you _must_ go back. So young a girl cannot +take long walks alone. If one of your fellow-students were with you, it +would be different.” + +“I would not walk with one of them now for the world.” + +“Not with Miss Oliphant?” + +“With her least of all.” + +“That is a pity,” said Hammond gravely, “for no one can feel more +kindly toward you.” + +Prissie made no response. + +They walked to the end of the High Street. + +“This is your way,” said Hammond, “down this quiet lane. We shall get +to St. Benet’s in ten minutes.” + +“I am not going there. Good-by, Mr. Hammond.” + +“Miss Peel, you must forgive my appearing to interfere with you, but it +is absolutely wrong for a young girl, such as you are, to wander about +alone in the vicinity of a large university town. Let me treat you as +my sister for once and insist on accompanying you to the gates of the +college.” + +Prissie looked up at him. “It is very good of you to take any notice of +me,” she said after a pause. “You won’t ever again after— after you +know what I have been accused of. If you wish me to go back to St. +Benet’s, I will; after all, it does not matter, for I can go out by and +by somewhere else.” + +Hammond smiled to himself at Prissie’s very qualified submission. Just +then a carriage came up and drove slowly past them. Miss Oliphant, in +her velvet and sables, was seated in it. Hammond sprang forward with +heightened color and an eager exclamation on his lips. She did not +motion to the coachman to stop, however, but gave the young man a +careless, cold bow. She did not notice Priscilla at all. The carriage +quickly drove out of sight, and Hammond, after a pause, said gravely; + +“You must tell me your troubles, Miss Peel.” + +“I will,” said Prissie. “Some one has stolen a five pound note out of +Maggie Oliphant’s purse. She missed it late at night and spoke about it +at breakfast this morning. I said that I did not know how it could have +been taken, for I had been studying my Greek in her room during the +whole afternoon. Maggie spoke about her loss in the dining-hall, and +after she left the room Miss Day and Miss Merton accused me of having +stolen the money.” Priscilla stopped speaking abruptly; she turned her +head away; a dull red suffused her face and neck. + +“Well?” said Hammond. + +“That is all. The girls at St. Benet’s think I am a thief. They think I +took my kindest friend’s money. I have nothing more to say: nothing +possibly could be more dreadful to me. I shall speak to Miss Heath and +ask leave to go away from the college at once.” + +“You certainly ought not to do that.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“If you went from St. Benet’s now, people might be induced to think +that you really were guilty.” + +“But they think that now.” + +“I am quite certain that those students whose friendship is worth +retaining think nothing of the sort.” + +“Why are you certain?” asked Prissie, turning swiftly round and a +sudden ray of sunshine illuminating her whole face. “Do _you_ think +that I am not a thief?” + +“I am as certain of that fact as I am of my own identity.” + +“Oh!” said the girl with a gasp. She made a sudden dart forward, and +seizing Hammond’s hand, squeezed it passionately between both her own. + +“And Miss Oliphant does not think of you as a thief,” continued +Hammond. + +“I don’t know— I can’t say.” + +“You have no right to be so unjust to her,” he replied with fervor. + +“I don’t care so much for the opinion of the others now,” said Prissie; +“_you_ believe in me.” She walked erect again; her footsteps were light +as if she trod on air. “You are a very good man,” she said. “I would do +anything for you— anything.” + +Hammond smiled. Her innocence, her enthusiasm, her childishness were +too apparent for him to take her words for more than they were worth. + +“Do you know,” he said after a pause, “that I am in a certain measure +entitled to help you? In the first place, Miss Oliphant takes a great +interest in you.” + +“You are mistaken, she does not— not now.” + +“I am not mistaken; she takes a great interest in you. Priscilla, you +must have guessed— you _have_ guessed— what Maggie Oliphant is to me; I +should like, therefore, to help her friend. That is one tie between us, +but there is another— Mr. Hayes, your parish clergyman——” + +“Oh!” said Prissie, “do you know Mr. Hayes?” + +“I not only know him,” replied Hammond, smiling, “but he is my uncle. I +am going to see him this evening.” + +“Oh!” + +“Of course, I shall tell him nothing of this, but I shall probably talk +of you. Have you a message for him?” + +“I can send him no message to-day.” + +They had now reached the college gates. Hammond took Priscilla’s hand. +“Good-by,” he said; “I believe in you and so does Miss Oliphant. If her +money was stolen, the thief was certainly not the most upright, the +most sincere girl in the college. My advice to you, Miss Peel, is to +hold your head up bravely, to confront this charge by that sense of +absolute innocence which you possess. In the meanwhile I have not the +least doubt that the real thief will be found. Don’t make a fuss; don’t +go about in wild despair— have faith in God.” He pressed her hand and +turned away. + +Priscilla took her usual place that day at the luncheon table. The +girls who had witnessed her wild behavior in the morning watched her in +perplexity and astonishment. She ate her food with appetite; her face +looked serene— all the passion and agony had left it. + +Rosalind Merton ventured on a sly allusion to the scene of the morning. +Priscilla did not make the smallest comment. Her face remained pale, +her eyes untroubled. There was a new dignity about her. + +“What’s up now?” said Rosalind to her friend, Miss Day. “Is the little +Puritan going to defy us all?” + +“Oh, don’t worry any more about her,” said Annie, who, for some reason, +was in a particularly bad humor. “I only wish, for my part, Miss Peel +had never come to St. Benet’s; I don’t like anything about her, Her +heroics are as unpleasant to me as her stoicisms. But I may as well say +frankly, Rosalind, before I drop this detestable subject, that I am +quite sure she never stole that five-pound note: she was as little +likely to do it as you, so there!” + +There came a knock at the door. Rosalind flew to open it. By so doing +she hoped that Miss Day would not notice the sudden color which filled +her cheeks. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII +BEAUTIFUL ANNABEL LEE + + +Circumstances seem to combine to spoil some people. Maggie Oliphant was +one of the victims of fortune, which, while appearing to favor her, +gave her in reality the worst training which was possible for a nature +such as hers. She was impulsive, generous, affectionate, but she was +also perverse, and, so to speak, uncertain. She was a creature of moods +and she was almost absolutely without self-control; and yet nature had +been kind to Maggie, giving her great beauty of form and face and a +character which a right training would have rendered noble. + +Up to the present, however, this training had scarcely come to Miss +Oliphant. She was almost without relations and she was possessed of +more money than she knew what to do with. She had great abilities and +loved learning for the sake of learning, but till she came to St. +Benet’s, her education had been as desultory as her life. She had never +been to school; her governess only taught her what she chose to learn. +As a child she was very fickle in this respect, working hard from +morning till night one day but idling the whole of the next. When she +was fifteen her guardian took her to Rome. The next two years were +spent in traveling, and Maggie, who knew nothing properly, picked up +that kind of superficial miscellaneous knowledge which made her +conversation brilliant and added to her many charms. + +“You shall be brought out early,” her guardian had said to her. “You +are not educated in the stereotyped fashion, but you know enough. After +you are seventeen I will get you a suitable chaperon and you shall live +in London.” + +This scheme, however, was not carried out. For, shortly after her +seventeenth birthday, Maggie Oliphant met a girl whose beauty and +brilliance were equal to her own, whose nature was stronger and who had +been carefully trained in heart and mind while Maggie had been +neglected. Miss Lee was going through a course of training at St. +Benet’s College for Women at Kingsdene. She was an uncommon girl in +every sense of the word. The expression of her lovely face was as +piquant as its features were beautiful; her eyes were dark as night; +they also possessed the depth of the tenderest, sweetest summer night, +subjugating all those who came in contact with her. Annabel Lee won +Maggie’s warmest affections at once; she determined to join her friend +at St. Benet’s. She spoke with ineffable scorn of her London season and +resolved, with that enthusiasm which was the strongest part of her +nature, to become a student in reality. Under Annabel’s guidance she +took up the course of study which was necessary to enable her to pass +her entrance examination. She acquitted herself well, for her abilities +were of the highest order, and entered the college with _éclat._ Miss +Lee was a student in Heath Hall, and Maggie thought herself supremely +happy when she was given a room next to her friend. + +Those were brilliant days at the hall. Some girls resided there at this +time whose names were destined to be known in the world by and by. The +workers were earnest; the tone which pervaded the life at Heath Hall +was distinctly high. Shallow girls there must always be where any +number are to be found together, but, during Maggie Oliphant’s first +year, these girls had little chance of coming to the front. Maggie, who +was as easily influenced as a wave is tossed by the wind, rose quickly +to the heights with her companions. Her splendid intellect developed +each day. She was merry with the merry, glad with the glad, studious +with the studious. She was also generous, kind and unselfish in company +with those girls who observed the precepts of the higher life. Next to +Miss Lee, Maggie was one of the most popular girls in the college. +Annabel Lee had the kindest of hearts, as well as the most fascinating +of ways. She was an extraordinary girl; there was a great deal of the +exotic about her; in many ways she was old for her years. No one ever +thought or spoke of her as a prig, but all her influence was brought to +bear in the right direction. The girl who could do or think meanly +avoided the expression of Annabel’s beautiful eyes. It was impossible +for her to think badly of her fellow-creatures, but meanness and sin +made her sorrowful. There was not a girl in Heath Hall who would +willingly give Annabel Lee sorrow. + +In the days that followed people knew that she was one of those rare +and brilliant creatures who, like a lovely but too ethereal flower, +must quickly bloom into perfection and then pass away. Annabel was +destined to a short life, and after her death the high tone of Heath +Hall deteriorated considerably. + +This girl was a born leader. When she died no other girl in the college +could take her place, and for many a long day those who had loved her +were conscious of a sense which meant a loss of headship. In short, +they were without their leader. + +If Annabel in her gaiety and brightness could influence girls who were +scarcely more than acquaintances, the effect of her strong personality +on Maggie was supreme. Maggie often said that she never knew what love +meant until she met Annabel. The two girls were inseparable; their love +for each other was compared to that of Jonathan and David of Bible +story and of Orestes and Pylades of Greek legend. The society of each +gave the other the warmest pleasure. + +Annabel and Maggie were both so beautiful in appearance, so far above +the average girl in their pose, their walk, their manner that people +noticed these friends wherever they went. A young and rising artist, +who saw them once at St. Hilda’s, begged permission to make a picture +of the pair. It was done during the summer recess before Annabel died +and made a sensation in the next year’s Academy. Many of the visitors +who went there stopped and looked at the two faces, both in the +perfection of their youthful bloom and beauty. Few guessed that one +even now had gone to the Home best fitted for so ardent and high a +spirit. + +Annabel Lee died a year before Priscilla came to the college. Whatever +Maggie inwardly felt, she had got over her first grief; her smile was +again as brilliant as when Annabel Lee was by her side, her laugh was +as merry; but the very few who could look a little way into Maggie’s +perverse and passionate heart knew well that something had died in her +which could never live again, that her laugh was often hollow and her +brilliant smile had only a foundation in bitterness. + +Maggie did not only grieve for her friend when she mourned for Annabel. +She had loved her most deeply, and love alone would have caused her +agony in such a loss; but Maggie’s keenest and most terrible feelings +were caused by an unavailing regret. + +This regret was connected with Geoffrey Hammond. + +He had known Annabel from her childhood. He was an old friend of some +of her friends, and during those last, long summer holidays, which the +two girls spent together under the roof of Maggie’s guardian, Hammond, +who was staying with relations not far away, came to see them almost +daily. He was the kind of man who could win both respect and +admiration; he was grave in his nature and his aspirations, aims and +ambitions were high. In their conversations during this lovely summer +weather these young people dreamt happy dreams together and planned a +future which meant good to all mankind. Maggie, to all appearance, was +heart and soul with Annabel and Geoffrey in what they thought and said. + +Nothing could have been simpler or more unconventional than the +intercourse between these young people. Miss Lee had known Hammond all +her life; Maggie always spoke and thought of herself as second to +Annabel in Geoffrey Hammond’s regard. One brilliant autumn day, +however, he surprised Maggie by asking her to take a long walk alone +with him. No words were said during this ramble to open Maggie +Oliphant’s eyes to the true state of Hammond’s feelings for her, but +when she returned from her walk she could not help noticing Annabel +Lee’s unaccountable depression. It was not until later, however, that +Maggie attributed a certain pathetic, almost heart-broken, look in her +friend’s lovely eyes to its true cause. + +Hammond was a graduate of St. Hilda’s College at Kingsdene, and the +three friends often talked of the happy meetings they would have during +the coming winter. He was a man of large property, and the favorite +amusement of these young people was in talking over the brilliant life +which lay before Hammond when he took possession of his estates. He +would be the ideal landlord of his age; the people who lived on his +property would, when he attained his majority, enter into a millennium +of bliss. + +Maggie returned to St. Benet’s, imagining herself quite heart-whole, +but happiness shone out of her eyes, and there was a new, tender ring +in her voice for which she could not account to herself and which added +a new fascination to her beauty. + +Shortly after the commencement of the term Hammond met Miss Oliphant by +accident just outside Kingsdene. + +“I was going to post a letter to you,” he said. His face was unusually +pale, his eyes full of joy and yet of solicitude. + +“You can tell me what you have written,” replied Maggie in her gayest +voice. + +“No, I would rather you read my letter.” + +He thrust it into her hand and immediately, to her astonishment, left +her. + +As she walked home through the frosty air she opened Hammond’s letter +and read its contents. It contained an earnest appeal for her love and +an assurance that all the happiness of the writer’s future life +depended on her consenting to marry him. Would she be his wife when her +three years’ term at St. Benet’s came to an end? + +No letter could be more manly, more simple. Its contents went straight +to the depths of a heart easily swayed and full of strong affection. + +“Yes, I love him,” whispered the girl; “I did not know it until I read +this letter, but I am sure of myself now. Yes, I love him better than +any one else in the world.” + +A joyous light filled Maggie’s brown eyes; her heart was gay. She +rushed to Annabel’s room to tell her news and to claim the sympathy +which had never hitherto been denied her and which was essential to the +completion of her happiness. + +When Maggie entered her friend’s room she saw, to her surprise, that +Annabel was lying on her bed with flushed cheeks. Two hours before she +had been, to all appearance, in brilliant health; now her face burned +with fever and her beautiful dark eyes were glazed with pain. + +Maggie rushed up and kissed her. “What is it; darling,” she asked; +“what is wrong? You look ill; your eyes have a strange expression.” + +Annabel’s reply was scarcely audible. The pain and torpor of her last +short illness were already overmastering her. Maggie was alarmed at the +burning touch of her hand, but she had no experience to guide her and +her own great joy to make her selfish. + +“Annabel, look at me for a moment. I have wonderful news to give you.” + +Annabel’s eyes were closed, She opened them wide at this appeal for +sympathy, stretched out her hand and pushed back a tangle of bright +hair from Maggie’s brow. + +“I love you, Maggie,” she said in that voice which had always power to +thrill its listeners. + +Maggie kissed her friend’s hand and pressed it to her own beating +heart. “I met Geoffrey Hammond today,” she said. “He gave me a letter; +I have read it. Oh, Annabel, Annabel! I can be good now. No more bad +half-hours, no more struggles with myself. I can be very good now.” + +With some slight difficulty Annabel Lee drew her hot hand away from +Maggie’s fervent clasp; her eyes, slightly distended, were fixed on her +friend’s face; the flush of fever left her cheeks; a hot flood of +emotion seemed to press against her beating heart; she looked at Maggie +with passionate longing. + +“What is it?” she asked in a husky whisper. “Why are you so glad, +Maggie? Why can you be good now?” + +“Because I love Geoffrey Hammond,” answered Maggie; “I love him with +all my heart, all my life, all my strength, and he loves me. He has +asked me to be his wife.” + +Maggie paused. She expected to feel Annabel’s arms round her neck; she +waited impatiently for this last crowning moment of bliss. Her own +happiness caused her to lower her eyes; her joy was so dazzling that +for a moment she felt she must shade their brilliance even from +Annabel’s gaze. + +Instead of the pressure of loving arms, however, and the warm kiss of +sympathy, there came a low cry from the lips of the sick girl. She made +an effort to say something, but words failed her: the next moment she +was unconscious. Maggie rushed to the bell and gave an alarm, which +brought Miss Heath and one or two servants to the room. + +A doctor was speedily sent for, and Maggie Oliphant was banished from +the room. She never saw Annabel Lee again. That night the sick girl was +removed to the hospital, which was in a building apart from the halls, +and two days afterward she was dead. + +Typhus fever was raging at Kingsdene at this time, and Annabel Lee had +taken it in its most virulent form. The doctors (and two or three were +summoned) gave up all hope of saving her life from the first. Maggie +also gave up hope. She accused herself of having caused her friend’s +death. She believed that the shock of her tidings had killed Annabel, +who, already suffering from fever, had not strength to bear the agony +of knowing that Hammond’s love was given to Maggie. + +On the night of Annabel’s death Maggie wrote to Hammond refusing his +offer of marriage, but giving no reason for doing so. After posting her +letter she lay down on her own sick bed and nearly died of the fever +which had taken Annabel away. + +All these things happened a year ago. The agitation caused by the death +of one so young, beautiful and beloved had subsided. People could talk +calmly of Annabel, and although for a long time her room had remained +vacant, it was now occupied by a girl in all respects her opposite. + +Nothing would induce Maggie to enter this room, and no words would +persuade her to speak of Annabel. She was merry and bright once more, +and few gave her credit for secret hours of misery, which were +seriously undermining her health and ruining what was best of her +character. + +On this particular day, as she lay back in her carriage, wrapped in +costly furs, a great wave of misery and bitterness was sweeping over +her heart. In the first agony caused by Annabel’s death Maggie had +vowed a vow to her own heart never, under any circumstances, to consent +to be Hammond’s wife. In the first misery of regret and compunction it +had been easy to Maggie Oliphant to make such a vow; but she knew well, +as the days and months went by, that its weight was crushing her life, +was destroying her chance of ever becoming a really strong and good +woman. If she had loved Hammond a year ago her sufferings made her love +him fifty times better now. With all her outward coldness and apparent +indifference, his presence gave her the keenest pain. Her heart beat +fast when she caught sight of his face; if he spoke to another, she was +conscious of being overcome by a spirit of jealousy. The thought of him +mingled with her waking and sleeping hours; but the sacrifice she owed +to the memory of her dead friend must be made at all hazards. Maggie +consulted no one on this subject. Annabel’s unhappy story lay buried +with her in her early grave; Maggie would have died rather than reveal +it. Now, as she lay back in her carriage, the tears filled her eyes. + +“I am too weak for this to go on any longer,” she said to herself. “I +shall leave St. Benet’s at the end of the present term. What is the +winning of a tripos to me? What do I want with honors and distinctions? +Everything is barren to me. My life has no flavor in it. I loved +Annabel, and she is gone. Without meaning it, I broke Annabel’s heart. +Without meaning it, I caused my darling’s death, and now my own heart +is broken, for I love Geoffrey— I love him, and I can never, under any +circumstances, be his wife. He misunderstands me— he thinks me cold, +wicked, heartless— and I can never, never set myself right with him. +Soon he will grow tired of me and give his heart to some one else, and +perhaps marry some one else. When he does, I too shall die. Yes, +whatever happens, I must go away from St. Benet’s.” + +Maggie’s tears always came slowly; she put up her handkerchief to wipe +them away. It was little wonder that when she returned from her drive +her head was no better. + +“We must put off the rehearsal,” said Nancy Banister, She came into +Maggie’s room and spoke vehemently. “I saw you at lunch, Maggie: you +ate nothing— you spoke with an effort. I know your head is worse. You +must lie down, and, unless you are better soon, I will ask Miss Heath +to send for a doctor.” + +“No doctor will cure me,” said Maggie. “Give me a kiss, Nance; let me +rest my head against yours for a moment. Oh, how earnestly I wish I was +like you.” + +“Why so? What have I got? I have no beauty; I am not clever; I am +neither romantically poor, like Prissie, nor romantically rich, like +you. In short, the fairies were not invited to my christening.” + +“One of two fairies came, however,” replied Maggie, “and they gave you +an honest soul, and a warm heart, and— and happiness, Nancy. My dear, I +need only look into your eyes to know that you are happy.” + +Nancy’s blue eyes glowed with pleasure. “Yes,” she said, “I don’t know +anything about dumps and low spirits.” + +“And you are unselfish, Nancy; you are never seeking your own +pleasure.” + +“I am not obliged to: I have all I want. And now to turn to a more +important subject. I will see the members of our Dramatic Society and +put off the rehearsal.” + +“You must not; the excitement will do me good.” + +“For the time, perhaps,” replied Nancy, shaking her wise head, “but you +will be worse afterward.” + +“No. Now, Nancy, don’t let us argue the point. If you are _truly_ my +friend, you will sit by me for an hour and read aloud the dullest book +you can find, then perhaps I shall go to sleep.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII +“COME AND KILL THE BOGIE” + + +Notwithstanding Nancy’s dismal prognostications, Maggie Oliphant played +her part brilliantly that night. Her low spirits were succeeded by gay +ones; the Princess had never looked more truly regal, nor had the +Prince ever more passionately wooed her. Girls who did not belong to +the society always flocked into the theater to see the rehearsals. +Maggie’s mood scarcely puzzled them. She was so erratic that no one +expected anything from her but the unexpected: if she looked like a +drooping flower one moment, her head was erect the next, her eyes +sparkling, her voice gay. The flower no longer drooped, but blossomed +with renewed vigor. After reading for an hour Nancy had left her friend +asleep. She went downstairs, and, in reply to several anxious +inquiries, pronounced it as her opinion that Maggie, with all the good +will in the world, could scarcely take part in the rehearsals that +night. + +“I know Maggie is going to be ill,” said Nancy with tears in her eyes. +Miss Banister was so sensible and so little given to undue alarms that +her words had effect, and a little rumor spread in the college that +Miss Oliphant could not take her part in the important rehearsals which +were to take place that evening. Her appearance, therefore, in more +than her usual beauty, with more vigor in her voice, more energy and +brightness in her eyes, gave at once a pleasing sense of satisfaction. +She was cheered when she entered the little theater, but, if there was +a brief surprise, it was quickly succeeded by the comment which +generally followed all her doings: “This is just like Maggie; no one +can depend on how she will act for a moment.” + +At that rehearsal, however, people were taken by surprise. If the +Princess did well, the young Prince did better. Priscilla had +completely dropped her _role_ of the awkward and _gauche_ girl. From +the first there had been vigor and promise in her acting. To-night +there was not only vigor, but tenderness— there was a passion in her +voice which arose now and then to power. She was so completely in +sympathy with her part that she ceased to be Priscilla: she was the +Prince who must win this wayward Princess or die. + +Maggie came up to her when the rehearsals were over. + +“I congratulate you,” she said. “Prissie, you might do well on the +stage.” + +Priscilla smiled. “No,” she said, “for I need inspiration to forget +myself.” + +“Well, genius would supply that.” + +“No, Maggie, no. The motive that seems to turn me into the Prince +himself cannot come again. Oh, Maggie, if I succeed! If I succeed!” + +“What do you mean, you strange child?” + +“I cannot tell you with my voice: don’t you guess?” + +“I cannot say. You move me strangely; you remind me of— I quite forget +that you are Priscilla Peel.” + +Priscilla laughed joyously. + +“How gay you look to-night, Prissie, and yet I am told you were +miserable this morning. Have you forgotten your woes?” + +“Completely.” + +“Why is this?” + +“I suppose because I am happy and hopeful.” + +“Nancy tells me that you were quite in despair to-day. She said that +some of those cruel girls insulted you.” + +“Yes, I was very silly; I got a shock.” + +“And you have got over it?” + +“Yes; I know you don’t believe badly of me. You know that I am honest +and— and true.” + +“Yes, my dear,” said Maggie with fervor, “I believe in you as I believe +in myself. Now, have you quite disrobed? Shall we go into the library +for a little?” + +The moment they entered this cheerful room, which was bright with two +blazing fires and numerous electric lights, Miss Day and Miss Marsh +came up eagerly to Maggie. + +“Well,” they said, “have you made up your mind?” + +“About what?” she asked, raising her eyes in a puzzled way. + +“You will come with us to the Elliot-Smiths’? You know how anxious Meta +is to have you.” + +“Thank you, but am I anxious to go to Meta?” + +“Oh! you are, you must be; you cannot be so cruel as to refuse.” + +After the emotion she had gone through in the morning, Maggie’s heart +was in that softened, half-tired state when it could be most easily +influenced. She was in no mood for arguing or for defiance of any sort. +“Peace at all hazards” was her motto just now. She was also in so +reckless a mood as to be indifferent to what any one thought of her. +The Elliot-Smiths were not in her “set.” She disliked them and their +ways, but she had met Meta at a friend’s house a week ago. Meta had +been introduced to Miss Oliphant and had pressed her invitation +vigorously. It would be a triumph of triumphs to Meta Elliot-Smith to +introduce the beautiful heiress to her own set. Maggie’s refusal was +not listened to. She was begged to reconsider the question; implored to +be merciful, to be kind; assured of undying gratitude if she would +consent to come even for one short hour. + +Miss Day and Miss Marsh were commissioned by Meta to secure Maggie at +all costs. + +“You will come?” said Miss Day; “you must come.” Then coming up close +to Maggie, she whispered in an eager voice: “Would not you like to find +out who has taken your five-pound note? Miss Peel is your friend. Would +it not gratify you to clear her?” + +“Why should I clear one who can never possibly be suspected?” replied +Miss Oliphant in a voice of anger. Her words were spoken aloud and so +vehemently that Annie Day drew back a step or two in alarm. + +“Well, but you would _like_ to know who really took your money?” she +reiterated, again speaking in a whisper. + +Maggie was standing by one of the bookcases; she stretched up her hand +to take down a volume. As she did so her eyes rested for a moment on +Priscilla. + +“I would as soon suspect myself as her,” she thought, “and yet last +night, for a moment, even I was guilty of an unworthy thought of you, +Prissie, and if I could doubt, why should I blame others? If going to +the Elliot-Smiths’ will establish your innocence, I will go.” + +“Well,” said Miss Day, who was watching her face, “I am to see Meta +to-morrow morning; am I to tell her to expect you?” + +“Yes,” replied Maggie, “but I wish to say at once, with regard to that +five-pound note, that I am not interested in it. I am so careless about +my money matters, that it is quite possible l may have been mistaken +when I thought I put it into my purse.” + +“Oh! oh! but you spoke _so_ confidently this morning.” + +“One of my impulses. I wish I had not done it.” + +“Having done it, however,” retorted Miss Day, “it is your duty to take +any steps which may be necessary to clear the college of so unpleasant +and disgraceful a charge.” + +“You think I can do this by going to the Elliot-Smiths’?” + +“Hush! you will spoil all by speaking so loud. Yes, I fully believe we +shall make a discovery on Friday night.” + +“You don’t suppose I would go to act the spy?” + +“No, no, nothing of the sort; only come— only come!” + +Maggie opened her book and glanced at some of its contents before +replying. + +“Only come,” repeated Annie in an imploring voice. + +“I said I would come,” answered Maggie. “Must I reiterate my assurance? +Tell Miss Elliot-Smith to expect me.” + +Maggie read for a little in the library; then, feeling tired, she rose +from her seat and crossed the large room, intending to go up at once to +her own chamber. In the hall, however, she was attracted by seeing Miss +Heath’s door slightly open. Her heart was full of compunction for +having, even for a moment, suspected Priscilla of theft. She thought +she would go and speak to Miss Heath about her. + +She knocked at the vice-principal’s door. + +“Come in,” answered the kind voice, and Maggie found herself a moment +later seated by the fire: the door of Miss Heath’s room shut, and Miss +Heath herself standing over her, using words of commiseration. + +“My dear,” she said, “you look very ill.” + +Maggie raised her eyes. Miss Heath had seen many moods on that charming +face; now the expression in the wide-open, brown eyes caused her own to +fill with sudden tears. + +“I would do anything to help you, my love,” she said tenderly, and, +stooping down, she kissed Maggie on her forehead. + +“Perhaps, another time,” answered Miss Oliphant. + +“You are all that is good, Miss Heath, and I may as well own frankly +that I am neither well nor happy, but I have not come to speak of +myself just now. I want to say something about Priscilla Peel.” + +“Yes, what about her?” + +“She came to you last night. I know what she came about.” + +“She told me she had confided in you,” answered the vice-principal +gravely. + +“Yes. Well, I have come to say that she must not be allowed to give up +her Greek and Latin.” + +“Why not?” + +“Miss Heath, how can you say, why not’? Prissie is a genius; her +inclination lies in that direction. It is in her power to become one of +the most brilliant classical scholars of her day.” + +Miss Heath smiled. “Well, Maggie,” she said slowly, “even suppose that +is the case— and you must own that, clever as Priscilla is, you make an +extreme statement when you say such words— she may do well, very well, +and yet turn her attention to other subjects for the present.” + +“It is cruel!” said Maggie, rising and stamping her foot impatiently. +“Priscilla has it in her to shed honor on our college. She will take a +first-class when she goes for her tripos, if her present studies are +not interfered with.” + +Miss Heath smiled at Maggie in a pitying sort of way. “I admit,” she +said, “that first-class honors would be a very graceful crown of bay to +encircle that young head; and yet, Maggie, yet— surely Priscilla can do +better?” + +“What do you mean? How can she possibly do better?” + +“She can wear a nobler crown. You know, Maggie, there are crowns to be +worn which cannot fade.” + +“Oh!” Maggie’s lips trembled. She looked down. + +After a pause, she said, “Priscilla told me something of her home and +her family. I suppose she has also confided in you, Miss Heath?” + +“Yes, my dear.” + +“Well, I have come to-night to say that it is in my power to use some +of that money which I detest in helping Prissie— in helping her family. +I mean to help them; I mean to put them all in such a position that +Priscilla shall not need to spend her youth in uncongenial drudgery. I +have come to say this to you, Miss Heath, and I beg of you— yes, I beg +of you— to induce my dear Prissie to go on with her classical studies. +It will now be in your power to assure her that the necessity which +made her obliged to give them up no longer exists.” + +“In short,” said Miss Heath, “you will give Miss Peel of your charity +and take her independence away?” + +“What do you mean?” + +“Put yourself in her place, Maggie. Would you take money for yourself +and those dear to you from a comparative stranger?” + +Maggie’s face grew very red. “I think I would oblige my friend, my dear +friend,” she said. + +“Is Prissie really your dear friend?” + +“Why do you doubt me? I love her very much. Since— since Annabel died, +no one has come so close to me.” + +“I am glad of that,” replied Miss Heath. She went up to Maggie and +kissed her. + +“You will do what I wish?” asked the girl eagerly. + +“No, my dear: that matter lies in your hands alone. It is a case in +which it is absolutely impossible for me to interfere. If you can +induce Priscilla to accept money from you, I shall not say a word; and, +for the sake of our college, I shall, perhaps, be glad, for there is +not the least doubt that Prissie has it in her to win distinction for +St. Benet’s. But, on the other hand, if she comes to me for advice, it +will be impossible for me not to say to her: ‘My dear, character ranks +higher than intellect. You may win the greatest prizes and yet keep a +poor and servile soul. You may never get this great earthly +distinction, and yet you may be crowned with honor— the honor which +comes of uprightness, of independence, of integrity.’ Prissie may never +consult me, of course, Maggie; but, if she does, I must say words +something like these. To tell the truth, my dear, I never admired +Priscilla more than I did last night. I encouraged her to give up her +classics for the present and to devote herself to modern languages and +to those accomplishments which are considered more essentially +feminine. As I did so I had a picture before me, in which I saw +Priscilla crowned with love, the support and blessing of her three +little sisters. The picture was a very bright one, Maggie, and your +crown of bay looks quite tawdry beside the other crown which I hope to +see on Prissie’s brow.” + +Maggie rose from her chair. “Good night,” she said. + +“I am sorry to disappoint you, my love.” + +“I have no doubt you are right,” said Maggie, “but,” she added, “I have +not made up my mind, and I still long for Priscilla to wear the crown +of bay.” + +“You will win that crown yourself, my dear.” + +“Oh, no, it is not for me.” + +“I am very anxious about you, Maggie. Why do you speak in that reckless +tone? Your position and Prissie’s are not the least alike: it is your +duty to do your very utmost with those talents which have been bestowed +upon you.” + +“Perhaps,” answered Maggie, shrugging her shoulders, “but I am tired of +stretching out my hand like a baby to catch soap-bubbles. I cannot +speak of myself at all to-night, Miss Heath. Thank you for what you +have said, and again good night.” + +Maggie had scarcely left the room before Priscilla appeared. + +“Are you too tired to see me to-night, Miss Heath?” + +“No, my love; come in and sit down. I was sorry to miss you this +morning.” + +“But I am glad as it turned out,” replied Priscilla. + +“You were in great trouble, Prissie. The servant told me how terribly +upset you were.” + +“I was. I felt nearly mad.” + +“But you look very happy now.” + +“I am; my trouble has all vanished away. It was a great bogie. As soon +as I came boldly up to it, it vanished into smoke.” + +“Am I to hear the name of the bogie?” + +“I think I would rather not tell you— at least not now. If Maggie +thinks it right, she will speak to you about it; but, as far as I am +concerned, it cannot touch me again.” + +“Why have you come to see me then to-night, Priscilla?” + +“I want to speak about Maggie.” + +“What about her? She has just been here to speak of you.” + +“Has she?” + +“It is possible that she may make you a proposition which will affect +your whole future, but I am not at liberty to say any more. Have you a +proposition to make about her?” + +“I have, and it will affect all Maggie’s life. It will make her so +good— so very, very happy. Oh, Miss Heath! you ought to do it: you +ought to make her marry Mr. Hammond at once.” + +“My dear Priscilla!” Miss Heath’s face turned crimson. “Are you +alluding to Geoffrey Hammond? I know great friends of his; he is one of +the cleverest men at St. Hilda’s.” + +“Yes, and one of the best,” pursued Prissie, clasping her hands and +speaking in that excited way which she always did when quite carried +out of herself. “You don’t know how good he is, Miss Heath. I think he +is one of the best of men. I would do anything in the world for him— +anything.” + +“Where have you met him, Priscilla?” + +“At the Marshalls’, and once at the Elliot-Smiths’, and to-day, when I +was so miserable, when the bogie ran after me, you know, at St. +Hilda’s, just outside the chapel. Mr. Hammond asked me to come to the +service, and I went, and afterward he chased the bogie away. Oh, he is +good, he is kind and he loves Maggie with all his heart. He has loved +her for a long time, I am sure, but she is never nice to him.” + +“Then, of course,” said Miss Heath, “if Miss Oliphant does not care for +Mr. Hammond, there is an end of the matter. You are a very innocent and +very young girl, Priscilla; but this is a subject in which you have no +right to interfere. Far from me to say that I disapprove of marriage +for our students, but, while at St. Benet’s, it is certainly best for +them to give their attention to other matters.” + +“For most of us,” replied Prissie, “but not for Maggie. No one in the +college thinks Maggie happy.” + +“That is true,” replied Miss Heath thoughtfully. + +“And every one knows,” pursued Prissie, “that Mr. Hammond loves her.” + +“Do they? I was not aware that such reports had got abroad.” + +“Oh, yes: all Maggie’s friends know that, but they are so dreadfully +stupid they cannot guess the other thing.” + +“What other thing?” + +“That dear Maggie is breaking her heart on account of Mr. Hammond.” + +“Then you think she loves him?” + +“I do— I know it. Oh, won’t you do something to get them to marry each +other?” + +“My dear child, these are subjects in which neither you nor I can +interefere.” + +“Oh!” Prissie’s eyes filled with sudden tears. “If you won’t do +anything, I must.” + +“I don’t see what you can do, Priscilla; I don’t know what you have a +right to do. We do not care that our students should think of love and +courtship while here, but we have never limited their freedom in the +matter. If Miss Oliphant cares for Mr. Hammond, and he cares for her, +they know perfectly that they can become engaged. Miss Oliphant will be +leaving St. Benet’s at the end of the summer term. She is completely, +in every sense of the word, her own mistress.” + +“Oh, no, she is not her own mistress, she is oppressed by a bogie. I +don’t know the name of the bogie, or anything about it; but it is +shadowing all Maggie’s life; it is taking the sunshine away from her, +and it is making it impossible for her to marry Mr. Hammond. They are +both so fond of each other; they have both noble hearts, but the +dreadful bogie spoils everything— it keeps them apart. Dear Miss Heath, +I want you to come and kill the bogie.” + +“I must find out its name first,” said Miss Heath. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX +AT THE ELLIOT-SMITHS PARTY + + +Rosalind Merton had been in the wildest spirits all day; she had +laughed with the gayest, joined in all the games, thrown herself heart +and soul into every project which promised fun, which gave a +possibility for enjoyment. Rosalind’s mood might have been described as +reckless. This was not her invariable condition. She was a girl who, +with all her gay spirits, took life with coolness. She was not given to +over-excitement; her nerves were too well balanced for anything of this +kind. + +To-day, however, something seemed wrong with these equable nerves of +hers: she could not keep still; her voice was never quiet; her laugh +was constant. Once or twice she saw Annie Day’s eyes fixed upon her; +she turned from their glance; a more brilliant red than usual dyed her +cheeks; her laugh grew louder and more insolent. + +On this evening the Elliot-Smiths would give their long-promised party. +The wish of Annie Day’s heart was gratified; she had angled for an +invitation to this merry-making and obtained it. Lucy Marsh was also +going, and several other St. Benet’s girls would be present. + +Early in the evening Rosalind retired to her own room, locked her door, +and, taking out her new white dress, laid it across the bed. It was a +very pretty dress, made of soft silk, which did not rustle, but lay in +graceful puffs and folds on body and skirt. It was just the dress to +make this young, slight figure of Rosalind’s look absolutely charming. +She stood over it now and regarded it lovingly. The dress had been +obtained, like most of Rosalind’s possessions, by manoeuvres. She had +made up a piteous story, and her adoring mother had listened and +contrived to deny herself and some of Rosalind’s younger sisters to +purchase the white robe on which the young girl’s heart was set. + +Deliberately and slowly Rosalind made her toilet, her golden, curling +hair was brushed out and then carefully coiled round her head. Rosalind +had no trouble with her hair: a touch or two, a pin stuck here, a curl +arranged there, and the arrangement became perfect— the glistening mass +lay in natural waves over the small, graceful head. + +Rosalind’s hair arranged to her satisfaction, she put on her lovely +white dress. She stood before her long glass, a white-robed little +figure, smiles round her lips, a sweet, bright color in her cheeks, a +dewy look in her baby-blue eyes. Rosalind’s toilet was all but +finished; she stood before her glass now and hesitated. Should she go +to the Elliot-Smiths’ as she was or should she give the last finishing +touch to render herself perfect? Should she wear her beautiful coral +ornaments? + +The coral was now her own, paid for to the uttermost farthing; Polly +Singleton could not come up to Rosalind now and disgrace her in public +by demanding her coral back again. The coral was no longer Polly’s; it +was Rosalind’s. The debt was cleared off; the exquisite ornaments were +her own. Unlocking a drawer in her bureau, she took out a case, which +contained her treasures; she touched the spring of the case, opened it +and looked at them lovingly. The necklace, the bracelets, the earings +and pins for the hair looked beautiful on their velvet pillow. For the +sake of the pink coral, Rosalind had manoeuvred for her white dress; +for its sake she had knowingly stinted her mother and sisters; for its +sake she had also stolen a five-pound note from Maggie Oliphant. She +dreamt many times of the triumphs which would be hers when she appeared +at the Elliot-Smiths’ in her white silk dress, just tipped with the +slight color which the pink coral ornaments would bestow. Rosalind had +likened herself to all kinds of lovely things in this beautiful yet +simple toilet— to a daisy in the field, to a briar rose: in short, to +every flower which denoted the perfection of baby innocence. + +Yet, as she held the coral necklace in her hand tonight, she hesitated +deeply whether it would be wise to appear at the Elliot-Smiths’ in her +treasured ornaments. + +Rose had not felt comfortable all day. She had banished thought with +the usual device of extra hilarity: she had crushed the little voice in +her heart which would persistently cry, “Shame! shame!” which would go +on telling her, “You are the meanest, the most wicked girl in St. +Benet’s; you have done something for which you could be put in prison.” +The voice had little opportunity of making itself heard that day, and, +as Maggie Oliphant evidently did not intend to investigate the matter, +Rosalind had every hope that her sin would never be found out. +Nevertheless, she could not help feeling uneasy; for why did Annie Day, +her own chosen and particular friend, so persistently avoid her? Why +had Lucy Marsh refused to walk with her yesterday? and why did Annie so +often look at her with meaning and inquiry in her eyes? These glances +of Annie’s caused Rosalind’s heart to beat too quickly; they gave her +an undefined sense of uneasiness. + +She felt as she stood now before her glass that, after all, she was +doing a rash thing in wearing her coral. Annie Day knew of her money +difficulties; Annie knew how badly Rosalind had wanted four guineas to +pay the debt she still owed for the ornaments. If Rosalind wore them +to-night, Annie would ask numerous questions. Oh, yes, there was a +risk— there was a decided risk— but Rosalind’s vanity was greater than +her fears. + +There came a knock at her room door. To Rosalind’s surprise, Annie +Day’s voice, with an extremely friendly tone in it, was heard outside. + +“Are you ready, Rosie?” she cried; “for, if you are, there is just room +for you in the fly with Lucy Marsh and Miss Singleton and myself.” + +“Oh, thank you!” cried Rosalind from the other side of the door; “just +wait one moment, Annie, and I will be with you.” + +Both fear and hesitation vanished at the friendly tones of Annie’s +voice. She hastily fastened on her necklace and earrings, slipped on +her bracelets and stuck the coral pins in her hair. She saw a dazzling +little image in the glass and turned away with a glad, proud smile. + +“We can’t be kept waiting. Are you ready?” called Miss Day’s voice in +the passage. + +“Yes, yes; in one moment, Annie, dear,” replied Rosalind. She wrapped +herself from head to foot in a long white opera cloak, pulled the hood +over her head, seized her gloves and fan and opened the door. The coral +could not be seen now, and Annie, who was also in white, took her hand +and ran with her down the corridor. + +A few moments later the four girls arrived at the Elliot-Smiths’ and +were shown into a dressing-room on the ground floor to divest +themselves of their wraps. They were among the earliest of the +arrivals, and Annie Day had both space and opportunity to rush up to +Rosalind and exclaim at the perfect combination of white silk and pink +coral. + +“Lucy, Lucy!” she said, “do come and look at Rosalind’s coral! Oh, poor +Polly! you must miss your ornaments; but I am obliged frankly to +confess, my dear, that they are more becoming to this little cherub +than they ever were to you.” + +Polly was loudly dressed in blue silk. She came up and turned Rosalind +round, and, putting her hand on her neck, lifted the necklace and +looked at it affectionately. + +“I did love those ornaments,” she said; “but, of course, I can’t grudge +them to you, Rose. You paid a good sum for them— didn’t you, dear?— +although nothing like what they were worth, so, of course, they are +yours by every right.” + +“You have paid off the debt? I congratulate you, Rose,” said Annie Day. + +“Yes,” said Rosalind, blushing. + +“I am glad you were able to get the money, my dear.” + +“And I wish she hadn’t got it,” retorted Polly. “Money is of no moment +to me now. Dad is just rolling in wealth, and I have, in consequence, +more money than I know what to do with. I confess I never felt crosser +in my life than when you brought me that five-pounds note last Monday +night, Miss Merton.” + +Rosalind colored, then grew very pale; she saw Annie Day’s eyes blaze +and darken. She felt that her friend was putting two and two together +and drawing a conclusion in her own mind. Annie turned abruptly from +Rosalind, and, touching Lucy Marsh on the arm, walked with her out of +the dressing-room. The unsuspecting Polly brought up the rear with +Rosalind. + +The four girls entered the drawing-room, and Rosalind tried to forget +the sick fear which was creeping round her heart in the excitement of +the moment. + +Nearly an hour later Maggie Oliphant arrived. She was also in white, +but without any ornament, except a solitary diamond star which blazed +in the rich coils of her hair. The beautiful Miss Oliphant was received +with enthusiasm. Until her arrival Rose had been the undoubted _belle_ +of the evening, but beside Maggie the _petite_ charms which Rose +possessed sank out of sight. Maggie herself never felt less conscious +of beauty; the heaviness of her heart made her cheeks look pale and +gave her brown eyes a languid expression; she was indifferent to the +admiration which greeted her. The admiration which greeted her gave her +a momentary feeling of surprise— almost of displeasure. + +Meta Elliot-Smith and her mother buzzed round Maggie and expressed +their gratitude to her for coming. + +“We expect a friend of yours to arrive presently,” said Meta— “Mr. +Hammond. You know Mr. Hammond, don’t you? I have had a note from him. +He says he will look in as soon after ten as possible. I am so glad; I +was dreadfully afraid he couldn’t come, for he had to go suddenly into +the country at the beginning of this week. You know Mr. Hammond very +well, don’t you, Miss Oliphant?” + +“Yes,” replied Maggie in her careless voice; “he is quite an old friend +of mine.” + +“You will be glad to see him?” + +“Very glad.” + +Meta looked at her in a puzzled way. Reports of Hammond’s love affair +had reached her ears. She had expected to see emotion and confusion on +Maggie’s face; it looked bright and pleased. Her “very glad” had a +genuine ring about it. + +“I am so delighted he is coming!” repeated Meta. “I do trust he will be +here in good time.” + +She led Miss Oliphant to a prominent seat at the top of the room as she +spoke. + +“I shall have to leave soon after ten,” replied Maggie, “so, if Mr. +Hammond cannot arrive until after that hour, I shall not have the +pleasure of seeing him.” + +“Oh, but you must really stay later than that; it would be too cruel to +leave us so early.” + +“I am afraid I cannot. The gates are closed at St. Benet’s at eleven +o’clock, and I do not care to remain out until the last moment.” + +Meta was obliged, with great reluctance, to leave her guest, and a +moment later Annie Day came up eagerly to Maggie’s side. + +“It’s all right,” she said, drawing Miss Oliphant into the shelter of a +window; “I have found out all I want to know.” + +“What is that?” asked Maggie. + +“Rosalind Merton is the thief.” + +“Miss Day, how can you say such dreadful things?” + +“How can Rosalind do them? I am awfully sorry— indeed, I am disgusted— +but the facts are too plain.” Miss Day then in a few eager whispers, +which Maggie in vain endeavored to suppress, gave her chain of +evidence. Rosalind’s distress; her passionate desire to keep the coral; +her entreaties that Miss Day would lend her four guineas; her +assurances that she had not a penny in the world to pay her debt; her +fears that it was utterly useless for her to expect the money from her +mother. Then the curious fact that, on the very same evening, Polly +Singleton should have been given a five-pound note by her. “There is +not the least doubt,” concluded Miss Day, “that Rosalind must have gone +into your room, Miss Oliphant, and stolen the note while Priscilla was +absent. You know Miss Peel said that she did leave your room for a +moment or two to fetch her Lexicon. Rosalind must have seized the +opportunity; there cannot be a doubt of it.” + +Maggie’s face turned white; her eyes were full of indignation and +horror. + +“Something must be done,” continued Annie. “I am no prude, but I draw +the line at thieves. Miss Merton ought to be expelled; she is not fit +to speak to one of us.” + +“The affair is mine,” said Maggie after a pause. “You must let me deal +with it.” + +“Will you?” + +“I certainly will.” + +“To-night?” + +“I cannot say. I must think. The whole thing is terrible, it upsets +me.” + +“I thought you would feel it. I am a good bit upset myself and so is +Lucy Marsh.” + +“Does Miss Marsh know, too? In that case, Miss Day, it will, I fear, be +my duty to consult Miss Heath. Oh, I must think; I can do nothing +hastily. Please, Miss Day, keep your own counsel for the present, and +ask Miss Marsh to do the same.” + +Annie Day ran off, and Maggie stood by the open window looking out at +the starry night. Her head ached; her pulses beat; she felt sick and +tired. The noise and laughter which filled the gaily thronged rooms +were all discordant to her— she wished she had not come. A voice close +by made her start— a hand not only clasped hers, but held it firmly for +a moment. She looked up and said with a sudden impulse, “Oh, Geoffrey! +I am glad you are here.” Then, with a burning blush, she withdrew her +hand from Hammond’s. + +“Can I help you?” he asked. His heart was beating fast; her words were +tingling in his ears, but his tone was quiet. “Can I help you?” he +repeated. “Here is a seat.” He pulled a chair from behind a curtain, +and Maggie dropped into it. + +“Something is wrong,” she said; “something dreadful has happened.” + +“May I know what it is?” + +“I don’t think I have any right to tell you. It is connected with the +college; but it has given me a blow, and I was tired beforehand. I came +here against my will, and now I don’t want to talk to any one.” + +“That can be easily managed. I will stand here and keep off all +intruders.” + +“Thank you.” Maggie put her hand to her forehead. + +The headache, which had scarcely left her for a fortnight, was now so +acute that all her thoughts were confused; she felt as if she were +walking in a dream. It seemed perfectly right and natural that Hammond +should stand by her side and protect her from the crowd; it seemed +natural to her at that moment, natural and even right to appeal to him. + +After a long pause he said: + +“I am afraid I also have bad news!” + +“How?” + +“I went to see my uncle, Mr. Hayes.” + +“Yes; it was good of you— I remember.” + +“I failed in my mission. Mr. Hayes says that Miss Peel, our Prissie’s +aunt, would rather die than accept help from any one.” + +“Oh, how obstinate some people are!” replied Maggie wearily. +“Happiness, help and succor come to their very door and they turn these +good things away.” + +“That is true,” replied Hammond. “I am firmly convinced,” he added, +“that the good angel of happiness is within the reach of most of us +once at least in our lives, but for a whim— often for a mere whim— we +tell him to go.” + +Maggie’s face grew very white. “I must say ‘good-by’: I am going home,” +she said, rising. Then she added, looking full at Hammond, “Sometimes +it is necessary to reject happiness; and necessity ought not to be +spoken of as a whim.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXX +“IF I HAD KNOWN YOU SOONER” + + +As Maggie was leaving the crowded drawing-room she came face to face +with Rosalind. One of those impulses which always guided her, more or +less, made her stop suddenly and put her hand on the young girl’s +shoulder. + +“Will you come home with me?” she asked. + +Rosalind was talking gaily at the moment to a very young undergraduate. + +“I am obliged to you,” she began; “you are kind, but I have arranged to +return to St. Benet’s with Miss Day and Miss Marsh.” + +“I should like you to come now with me,” persisted Maggie in a grave +voice. + +Something in her tone caused Rosalind to turn pale. The sick fear, +which had never been absent from her heart during the evening, became +on the instant intolerable. She turned to the young lad with whom she +had been flirting, bade him a hasty and indifferent “good night” and +followed Maggie out of the room. + +Hammond accompanied the two girls downstairs, got their cab for them +and helped them in. + +After Rosalind consented to come home Miss Oliphant did not address +another word to her. Rosalind sat huddled up in a corner of the cab; +Maggie kept the window open and looked out. The clear moonlight shone +on her white face and glistened on her dress. Rosalind kept glancing at +her. The guilty girl’s terror of the silent figure by her side grew +greater each moment. + +The girls reached Heath Hall and Maggie again touched Rosalind on her +arm. + +“Come to my room,” she said; “I want to say something to you.” + +Without waiting for a reply she went on herself in front. Rosalind +followed abjectly; she was shaking in every limb. + +The moment Maggie closed her room door Rosalind flung her cloak off her +shoulders, and, falling on her knees, caught the hem of Maggie’s dress +and covered her face with it. + +“Don’t, Rosalind; get up,” said Miss Oliphant in a tone of disgust. + +“Oh, Maggie, Maggie, do be merciful! Do forgive me! Don’t send me to +prison, Maggie— don’t!” + +“Get off your knees at once, or I don’t know what I shall do,” replied +Maggie. + +Rosalind sprang to her feet; she crouched up against the door; her eyes +were wide open. Maggie came and, faced her. + +“Oh, don’t!” said Miss Merton with a little shriek, “don’t look at me +like that!” She put up her hand to her neck and began to unfasten her +coral necklace. She took it off, slipped her bracelets from her arms, +took her earrings out and removed her pins. + +“You can have them all,” she said, holding out the coral; “they are +worth a great deal more— a great deal more than the money I— _took!”_ + +“Lay them down,” said Maggie. “Do you think I could touch that coral? +Oh, Rosalind,” she added, a sudden rush of intense feeling coming into +her voice, “I pity you! I pity any girl who has so base a soul.” + +Rosalind began to sob freely. “You don’t know how I was tempted,” she +said. “I went through a dreadful time, and you were the cause— you know +you were, Maggie. You raised the price of that coral so wickedly, you +excited my feelings. I felt as if there was a fiend in me. You did not +want the sealskin jacket, but you bid against me and won it. Then I +felt mad, and, whatever you had offered for the coral, I should have +bidden higher. It was all your fault; it was you who got me into debt. +I would not be in the awful, awful plight I am in to-night but for you, +Maggie.” + +“Hush!” said Maggie. The pupils of her eyes dilated curiously; she put +her hand before them. + +“The fruits of my bad half-hours,” she murmured under her breath. After +a long pause, she said: + +“There is some truth in your words, Rosalind; I did help you to get +into this false position. I am sorry; and when I tell Miss Heath the +whole circumstance— as I must to-morrow— you may be sure I shall not +exonerate myself.” + +“Oh, Maggie, Maggie, you won’t tell Miss Heath! If you do, I am certain +to be expelled, and my mother— my mother will die; she is not over +strong just now, and this will kill her. You cannot be so cruel as to +kill my mother, Maggie Oliphant, particularly when you yourself got me +into this.” + +“I did not get you into this,” retorted Maggie. “I know I am not +blameless in the matter; but could I imagine for a moment that any +girl, any girl who belonged to this college, could debase herself to +steal and then throw the blame on another. Nancy Banister has told me, +Rose, how cruelly you spoke to Priscilla— what agony your cruel words +cost her. I did wrong, I own, but no act of mine would have tempted +another girl to do what you have done. Now, stop crying; I have not +brought you here to discuss your wickedness with you. I shall tell the +whole circumstance to Miss Heath in the morning. It is my plain duty to +do so, and no words of yours can prevent me.” + +With a stifled cry Rosalind Merton again fell on her knees. + +“Get up,” said Maggie, “get up at once, or I shall bring Miss Heath +here now. Your crime, Rosalind, is known to Miss Day and to Miss Marsh. +Even without consulting Miss Heath, I think I can take it upon me to +say that you had better leave St. Benet’s by the first train in the +morning.” + +“Oh, yes— yes! that would be much the best thing to do.” + +“You are to go home, remember.” + +“Yes, I will certainly go home. But, Maggie, I have no money— I have +literally no money.” + +“I will ask Priscilla Peel to go with you to the railway station, and I +will give her sufficient money to pay your fare to London— you live in +London, don’t you?” + +“Yes, at Bayswater.” + +“What is your address” + +“19 Queen Street, Bayswater.” + +“Priscilla shall telegraph to your mother, when you start, and ask her +to meet you at King’s Cross.” + +Rosalind’s face grew paler and paler. “What excuse am I to give to +mother?” she asked. + +“That is your own affair; I have no doubt you will find something to +say. I should advise you, Rosalind, to tell your poor mother the truth, +for she is certain to hear all about it from Miss Heath the following +morning.” + +“Oh, what a miserable, miserable girl I am, Maggie!” + +“You are a very miserable and sinful girl; It was a wretched day for +St. Benet’s when a girl such as you are came to live here. But I don’t +want to speak of that now, Rosalind; there is something you must do +before you leave.” + +“What is that?” + +“You must go to Priscilla Peel and humbly beg her pardon.” + +“Oh, I cannot, I cannot! You have no idea how I hate Priscilla.” + +“I am not surprised; the children of darkness generally hate those who +walk in the light.” + +“Maggie, I _can’t_ beg her pardon.” + +“You can please yourself about that: I certainly shall not force you; +but, unless you beg Priscilla’s pardon and confess to her the wicked +deed you have done, I shall lend you no money to go home. You can go to +your room now, Rosalind; I am tired and wish to go to bed. You will be +able to let me know your decision in the morning.” + +Rosalind turned slowly away. She reached her room before the other +girls had arrived home, and tossing the coral ornaments on her +dressing-table, she flung herself across her bed and gave way to the +most passionate, heart-broken sobs that had ever rent her baby frame. + +She was still sobbing, but more quietly, for the force of her passion +had exhausted her, when a very light touch on her shoulder caused her +to raise herself and look up wildly. Prissie was bending over her. + +“I knocked several times,” she said, “but you did not hear me, so I +came in. You will be sick if you cry like this, Rose. Let me help you +go to bed.” + +“No, no; please don’t touch me. I don’t want you, of all people, to do +anything for me.” + +“I wish you would let me undress you. I have often helped Aunt Raby to +go to bed when she was very tired. Come, Rose, don’t turn away from me. +Why should you?” + +“Priscilla, you are the last person in the world who ought to be kind +to me just now; you don’t know, you can never, never guess, what I did +to you.” + +“Yes, I can partly guess, but I don’t want to think of it.” + +“Listen, Prissie: when I stole that money, I hoped people would accuse +you of the theft.” + +Prissie’s eyes filled with tears. “It was a dreadful thing to do,” she +said faintly. + +“Oh, I knew you could never forgive me.” + +“I do forgive you.” + +“What! aren’t you angry? Aren’t you frantic with rage and passion?” + +“I don’t wish to think of myself at all: I want to think of you. You +are the one to be pitied.” + +“I? Who could pity me?” + +“Well, Rosalind, I do,” answered Priscilla in a slow voice; “you have +sunk so low, you have done such a dreadful thing, the kind of thing +that the angels in heaven would grieve over.” + +“Oh, please don’t talk to me of them.” + +“And then, Rosalind,” continued Prissie, “you look so unlike a girl who +would do this sort of thing. I have a little sister at home— a dear, +little innocent sister, and her eyes are blue like yours, and she is +fair, too, as you are fair. I love her, and I think all good things of +her. Rosalind, I fancy that your mother thinks good things of you. I +imagine that she is proud of you, and that she loves to look at your +pretty face.” + +“Oh, don’t— don’t!” sobbed Rosalind. “Oh, poor mother, poor mother!” +she burst into softened and sorrowful weeping. The hardness of her +heart had melted for the time under the influence of Priscilla’s tender +words. + +“I wish I had known you sooner,” whispered Rose when Prissie bent down +and kissed her before leaving her for the night. “Perhaps I might have +been a good girl if I had really known you sooner, Priscilla Peel.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI +A MESSAGE + + +Early the next morning Rosalind Merton left St. Benet’s College never +to come back. She took all her possessions with her, even the pink +coral, which, to their credit be it spoken, not a girl in the college +would have accepted at her hands. Annie Day and Lucy Marsh were not the +sort of people to keep their secret long, and before the day of her +departure had expired nearly everyone at Heath Hall knew of Rosalind’s +crime. Miss Heath was made acquainted with the whole story at an early +hour that morning. + +“I may have done very wrong to let her go without obtaining your +permission, Miss Heath,” said Maggie, when the story was finished. “If +so, please forgive me, and also allow me to say that, were the same +thing to occur again, I fear I should act in the same way. I think my +primary object in giving Rosalind money to go home this morning was to +save the college from any open slur being cast upon it.” + +Miss Heath’s face had grown very pale while Maggie was speaking. She +was quite silent for a moment or two after the story was finished; +then, going up to Miss Oliphant, she took her hand and kissed her. + +“On the whole, my dear,” she said, “I am obliged to you. Had this story +been told me while Miss Merton, was in the house I should have been +obliged to detain her until all the facts of this disgraceful case were +laid before the college authorities, and then, of course, there would +have been no course open but to publicly expel her. This, at least, you +have spared St. Benet’s, and I am relieved from the terrible +responsibility. I’ll say nothing now about the rule you have broken, +for, of course, you had no _right_ to assist Rosalind to go home +without permission. It lies within my discretion to forgive you, +Maggie, however, so take my kiss, dear.” + +The vice-principal and Miss Oliphant talked for some little time longer +over Rosalind’s terrible fall, and, as Miss Heath felt confident that +the story would get abroad in the college, she said she would be forced +to mention the circumstances to their principal, Miss Vincent, and also +to say something in public to the girls of Heath Hall on the subject. + +“And now we will turn to something else,” she said. “I am concerned at +those pale cheeks, Maggie. My dear,” as the young girl colored +brightly, “your low spirits weigh on my heart.” + +“Oh, don’t mind me,” said Maggie hastily. + +“It is scarcely kind to say this to one who loves you. I have been many +years vice-principal of this hall, and no girl, except Annabel Lee, has +come so close to my heart as you have, Maggie. Some girls come here, +spend the required three years and go away again without making much +impression on any one. In your case this will not be so. I have not the +least doubt that you will pass your tripos examination with credit in +the summer; you will then leave us, but not to be forgotten. I, for +one, Maggie can never forget you.” + +“How good you are!” said Maggie. + +Tears trembled in the eyes which were far too proud to weep except in +private. + +Miss Heath looked attentively at the young student, for whom she felt +so strong an interest. Priscilla’s words had scarcely been absent from +her night or day since they were spoken. + +“Maggie ought to marry Mr. Hammond. Maggie loves him and he loves her, +but a bogie stands in the way.” Night and day Miss Heath had pondered +these words. Now, looking at the fair face, whose roundness of outline +was slightly worn, at the eyes which had looked at her for a moment +through a veil of sudden tears, she resolved to take the initiative in +a matter which she considered quite outside her province. + +“Sit down, Maggie,” she said. “I think the time has come for me to tell +you something which has lain as a secret on my heart for over a year.” + +Maggie looked up in surprise, then dropped into a chair and folded her +hands in her lap. She was slightly surprised at Miss Heath’s tone, but +not as yet intensely interested. + +“You know, my dear,” she said, “that I never interfere with the life a +student lives _outside_ this hall. Provided she obeys the rules and +mentions the names of the friends she visits, she is at liberty, +practically, to do as she pleases in those hours which are not devoted +to lectures. A girl at St. Benet’s may have a great, a very great +friend at Kingsdene or elsewhere of whom the principals of the college +know nothing. I think I may add with truth that were the girl to +confide in the principal of her college in case of any friendship +developing into— into love, she would receive the deepest sympathy and +the tenderest counsels that the case would admit of. The principal who +was confided in would regard herself for the time being as the young +girl’s mother.” + +Maggie’s eyes were lowered now; her lips trembled; she played nervously +with a flower which she held in her hand. + +“I must apologize,” continued Miss Heath, “for having alluded to a +subject which may not in the least concern you, my dear. My excuse for +doing so is that what I have to tell you directly bears on the question +of marriage. I would have spoken to you long ago, but, until lately, +until a few days ago, I had not the faintest idea that such a subject +had even distantly visited your mind.” + +“Who told you that it had?” questioned Maggie. She spoke with anger. +“Who has dared to interfere— to spread rumors? I am not going to marry. +I shall never marry.” + +“It is not in my power at present to tell you how the rumor has reached +me,” continued Miss Heath, “but, having reached me, I want to say a few +words about— about Annabel Lee.” + +“Oh, don’t!” said Maggie, rising to her feet, her face pale as death. +She put her hand to her heart as she spoke. A pang, not so much mental +as bodily, had gone through it. + +“My dear, I think you must listen to me while I give you a message from +one whom you dearly loved, whose death has changed you, Maggie, whose +death we have all deeply mourned.” + +“A message?” said Maggie; “a message from Annabel! What message?” + +“I regarded it as the effects of delirium at the time,” continued Miss +Heath, “and as you had fever immediately afterward, dreaded referring +to the subject. Now I blame myself for not having told you sooner, for +I believe that Annabel was conscious and that she had a distinct +meaning in her words.” + +“What did she say? Please don’t keep me in suspense.” + +“It was shortly before she died,” continued Miss Heath; “the fever had +run very high, and she was weak, and I could scarcely catch her words. +She looked at me. You know how Annabel could look, Maggie; you know how +expressive those eyes could be, how that voice could move one.” + +Maggie had sunk back again in her chair; her face was covered with her +trembling hands. + +“Annabel said,” continued Miss Heath, “‘tell Maggie not to mistake me. +I am happy. I am glad she will marry’— I think she tried to say a name, +but I could not catch it— tell her to marry him, and that I am _very_ +glad.’” + +A sob broke from Maggie Oliphant’s lips. “You might have told me +before!” she said in a choked voice. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII +“THE PRINCESS” + + +The great event of the term was to take place that evening. _The +Princess_ was to be acted by the girls of St. Benet’s, and, by the kind +permission of Miss Vincent, the principal of the entire college, +several visitors were invited to witness the entertainment. The members +of the Dramatic Society had taken immense pains; the rehearsals had +been many, the dresses all carefully chosen, the scenery appropriate— +in short, no pains had been spared to render this lovely poem of +Tennyson’s a dramatic success. The absence of Rosalind Merton had, for +a short time, caused a little dismay among the actors. She had been +cast for the part of Melissa: + +“A rosy blonde, and in a college gown +That clad her like an April daffodilly.” + + +But now it must be taken my some one else. + +Little Ada Hardy, who was about Rosalind’s height, and had the real +innocence which, alas! poor Rosalind lacked, was sent for in a hurry, +and, carefully drilled by Constance Field and Maggie Oliphant, by the +time the night arrived she was sufficiently prepared to act the +character, slight in itself, which was assigned to her. The other +actors were, of course, fully prepared to take their several parts, and +a number of girls were invested in the + + “Academic silks, in hue + The lilac, with a silken hood to each, + And zoned with gold.” + + +Nothing could have been more picturesque, and there was a buzz of +hearty applause from the many spectators who crowded the galleries and +front seats of the little theater when the curtain rose on the +well-known garden scene, where the Prince, Florian and Cyril saw the +maidens of that first college for women— that poet’s vision, so amply +fulfilled in the happy life at St. Benet’s. + + There + One walk’d, reciting by herself, and one + In this hand held a volume as to read, + And smoothed a petted peacock down with that: + Some to a low song oar’d a shallop by, + Or under arches of the marble bridge + Hung, shadow’d from the heat: some hid and sought + In the orange thickets: others tost a ball + Above the fountain jets, and back again + With laughter: others lay about the lawns, + Of the older sort, and murmur’d that their May + Was passing: what was learning unto them? + They wish’d to marry: they could rule a house; + Men hated learned women. . . .” + + +The girls walked slowly about among the orange groves and by the +fountain jets. In the distance the chapel bells tolled faint and sweet. +More maidens appeared, and Tennyson’s lovely lines were again +represented with such skill, the effect of multitude was so skilfully +managed that the + +“Six hundred maidens, clad in purest white,” + + +appeared really to fill the gardens, + +“While the great organ almost burst his pipes, +Groaning for power, and rolling thro’ the court +A long melodious thunder to the sound +Of solemn psalms, and silver litanies.” + + +The curtain fell, to rise in a few moments amid a burst of applause. +The Princess herself now appeared for the first time on the little +stage. Nothing could have been more admirable than the grouping of this +tableau. All the pride of mien, of race, of indomitable purpose was +visible on the face of the young girl who acted the part of the +Princess Ida. + + “She stood +Among her maidens, higher by the head, +Her back against a pillar.” + + +It was impossible, of course, to represent the tame leopards, but the +maidens who gathered round the Princess prevented this want being +apparent, and Maggie Oliphant’s attitude and the expression which +filled her bright eyes left nothing to be desired. + +“Perfect!” exclaimed the spectators: the interest of every one present +was more than aroused; each individual in the little theater felt, +though no one could exactly tell why, that Maggie was not merely acting +her part, she was living it. + +Suddenly she raised her head and looked steadily at the visitors in the +gallery: a wave of rosy red swept over the whitness of her face. It was +evident that she had encountered a glance which disturbed her +composure. + +The play proceeded brilliantly, and now the power and originality of +Priscilla’s acting divided the attention of the house. Surely there +never was a more impassioned Prince. + +Priscilla could sing; her voice was not powerful, but it was low and +rather deeply set. The well-known and familiar song with which the +Prince tried to woo Ida lost little at her hands. + +“O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South, +Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves, +And tell her, tell her what I tell to thee. + +“O tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each, +That bright and fierce and fickle is the South, +And dark and true and tender is the North. + +“Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love, +Delaying as the tender ash delays +To clothe herself, when all the woods are green? + +“O tell her, brief is life but love is long, +And brief the sun of summer in the North, +And brief the moon of beauty in the South. + +“O Swallow, flying from the golden woods, +Fly to her, and pipe and woo her, and make her mine, +And tell her, tell her that I follow thee.” + + +The wooing which followed made a curious impression; this impression +was not only produced upon the house, but upon both Prince and +Princess. + +Priscilla, too, had encountered Hammond’s earnest gaze. That gaze fired +her heart, and she became once again not herself but he; poor, awkward +and _gauche_ little Prissie sank out of sight; she was Hammond pleading +his own cause, she was wooing Maggie for him in the words of Tennyson’s +Prince. This fact was the secret of Priscilla’s power; she had felt it +more or less whenever she acted the part of the Prince; but, on this +occasion, she communicated the sensations which animated her own breast +to Maggie. Maggie, too, felt that Hammond was speaking to her through +Priscilla’s voice. + +“I cannot cease to follow you, as they say +The seal does music; who desire you more +Than growing boys their manhood; dying lips, +With many thousand matters left to do, +The breath of life; O more than poor men wealth, +Than sick men health— yours, yours, not mine— but half +Without you; with you, whole; and of those halves +You worthiest, and howe’er you block and bar +Your heart with system out from mine, I hold +That it becomes no man to nurse despair, +But in the teeth of clench’d antagonisms +To follow up the worthiest till he die.” + + +In the impassioned reply which followed this address it was noticed for +the first time by the spectators that Maggie scarcely did herself +justice. Her exclamation— + +“_I_ wed with thee! _I,_ bound by precontract +Your bride, your bondslave!” + + +was scarcely uttered with the scorn which such a girl would throw into +the words if her heart went with them. + +The rest of the play proceeded well, the Prince following up his +advantage until his last words— + +“Accomplish thou my mandhood and thyself; +Lay thy sweet hands in mine and trust to me,” + + +brought down the house with ringing applause. + +The curtain fell and rose again. The Prince and Princess stood with +hands clasped. The eyes of the conquered Princess looked again at the +people in the gallery, but the eyes she wanted to see did not meet +hers. + +An hour later Maggie Oliphant had occasion to go back to the forsaken +green-room to fetch a bracelet she had left there. Priscilla was +standing in the corridor when she passed. Quick as lightning Prissie +disappeared, and, making her way into the library, which was thrown +open for a general reception that evening, sought out Hammond, and, +taking his hand, said abruptly: + +“I want you; come with me.” + +In surprise he followed her into the hall. + +“Maggie is in the green-room. Go to her,” said Priscilla. + +He raised his brows; his eyes seemed to lighten and then grow dark. +They asked Priscilla a thousand questions; his lips refused to ask one. + +Replying to the look in his eyes, Priscilla said again: “It is cruel of +you to leave her alone. Go to her; she is waiting for you— and oh, I +know that her heart has been waiting for you for a long, long time.” + +“If I thought that,” said Hammond’s eyes. + +He turned without a word and went down the long corridor which led to +the little theater. + + +Late that evening, after all the bustle and excitement were over and +most of the guests had left, Miss Heath was standing in her own +sitting-room talking to Prissie. + +“And you have quite made up your mind, Prissie?” + +“Yes,” answered Priscilla. “I heard from Aunt Raby to-day; she told me +all about Mr. Hammond’s visit, for Mr. Hayes went to see her and told +her everything.” + +“Well, Prissie,” said Miss Heath, “what have you decided? It is a great +chance for you, and there is nothing wrong in it; indeed, for aught we +can tell, this may be the direct guiding of Providence.” + +“But I don’t think it is,” said Priscilla in a slow voice. “I have +thought it all over very carefully, and I don’t think the chance +offered by dear Maggie would be a good one for me.” + +“Why not, my dear? Your reasons must be strong when you say this.” + +“I don’t know if they are strong,” answered Priscilla, “but they are at +least decided. My father and mother were poor and independent. Aunt +Raby is very poor and also independent. I fancy that were I rich in +comparison, I might cease to be independent. The strong motive power +might go. Something might be taken out of me which I could never get +back, so I——” Her lips trembled. + +“Pause a minute, Prissie; remember what Maggie offers, a sufficient +income to support your aunt, to educate your sisters and to enable you +to pursue those studies at St. Benet’s for which you have the greatest +talent. Think of the honors that lie before you; think how brilliantly +you may pass your tripos examination with your mind at rest.” + +“That’s not the point,” said Priscilla. There was a ring in her voice +which she must have inherited from a long line of rugged, proud but +worthy ancestors. “In a question of this kind, I ought never to content +myself with looking at the brilliant and tempting side. Forgive me, +Miss Heath. I may have done wrong after all; but, right or wrong, I +have made my resolve. I will keep my independence.” + +“Have you considered your Aunt Raby in this?” + +“She has put herself absolutely out of the question by declining all +aid as far as she is concerned. She says such assistance would kill her +in a week. If I can earn money to help her before she dies, she will +accept it from me with thankfulness, but from no one else.” + +“Then you will give up your Latin and Greek?” + +“For the present, I must.” + +“And you are quite happy?” + +“If Maggie and Mr. Hammond will only marry one another, I shall be one +of the happiest girls in the world.” + +There came a knock at the door. Priscilla opened it. + +“Prissie, darling!” said Maggie Oliphant’s voice. She flung her arms +round the young girl’s neck and kissed her several times. + +“It’s all right, Priscilla,” said Hammond. + +Miss Heath made a step or two forward. + +“Come and tell Miss Heath,” said Prissie. “Miss Heath, here is Maggie! +Here is dear Maggie and here is Mr. Hammond, and it is all right.” +Tears of gladness filled Priscilla’s eyes. She went up to Hammond, took +one of his hands in both her own and said in a voice of rapture, “I did +help you to-night, didn’t I? You know I said I would do anything in the +world for you.” + +“You have done everything for me, Priscilla,” replied Hammond. “I shall +bless you while I live.” + +Maggie Oliphant’s arms were round Miss Heath’s neck; her head rested +against her breast. “We have come straight to you,” she said; “you told +me that if such an occasion came, you would act as a mother to me.” + +“So I can and so I will, dear child. God bless you. You are happy now.” + +“Happy!” Maggie’s eyes were glistening through the softest rainbow of +tears. Hammond came and took the hand which she had suddenly thrown at +her side. + +“We both owe everything to Priscilla,” he said. + + + + +CONCLUSION + + +Before Maggie Oliphant left St. Benet’s she brought some of the honor +which had long been expected from her to the dearly loved halls: she +took a first class in her tripos examination. With her mind at rest, a +great deal of the morbidness of her character disappeared, and her last +term at St. Benet’s reminded the students who had known her in Annabel +Lee’s time of the old, brilliant and happy Maggie. Miss Oliphant’s bad +half-hours became rarer and rarer, and Hammond laughed when she spoke +to him of them and said that she could not expect him to believe in +their existence. + +Shortly after the conclusion of the summer term Maggie and Hammond were +married, and her little world at St. Benet’s had to get on without the +presence which had always exerted the influence of a strong personality +and which had been potent both for good and evil. + +By this time, however, a girl whose personal charms were few, whose +poverty was apparent and whose _gaucherie_ was even now often extreme, +was more than filling the place left vacant by Maggie. Extreme +earnestness, the sincerity of a noble purpose, the truthfulness of a +nature which could not stoop to deceit, was spreading an influence on +the side of all that was good and noble. No girl did more honor to +Heath Hall than she who, at one time, was held up to derision and +laughed at as odd, prudish and uninteresting. + +Every one prophesied well for Priscilla in the future which lay before +her; her feet were set in the right direction; the aim of her life was +to become— not learned, but wise; not to build up a reputation, but to +gain character; to put blessedness before happiness— duty before +inclination. + +Women like Priscilla live at the root of the true life of a worthy +nation. Maggie Oliphant had brilliance, beauty, wealth; she had also +strong personal influence and the power of creating love wherever she +went; but, when Priscilla Peel leaves St. Benet’s, she will be more +missed than was Maggie. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SWEET GIRL GRADUATE *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. 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