had come here to work, and she meant to work, and her room muststay bare, for she had no money to make it anything else. `But,' shesaid, `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--`whohave sent me here!'
"After that the two girls skedaddled; they had had enough of her, and Iexpect, Maggie, your little Puritan Prissie will be left in peace in thefuture."
"Don't call her my little Puritan," said Maggie. "I have nothing to sayto 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, aftera pause. "They make me feel so uncomfortable. If Priscilla Peel isgoing to be turned into a sort of heroine, she'll be much moreunbearable than in her former character."
"Oh, Maggie, I wish you wouldn't talk in that reckless way, nor pretendthat you hate goodness. You know you adore it--you know you do! Youknow you are far and away the most lovable and bewitching, and the--thevery best girl at St Benet's."
"No, dear little Nance, you are quite mistaken. Perhaps I'mbewitching--I suppose to a certain extent I am, for people always tellme so--but I'm _not_ lovable, and I'm _not_ good. There, my dear, dolet 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 verymuch. I think we have both rather shunned her lately, and I _did_ feelsure 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 itsexpression was distinctly bored, and her lazy eyes were not even open totheir full extent.
"Perhaps I found her stupid," she said, "and so for that reason droppedher. Perhaps I would have continued to be kind if she had reciprocatedattentions, but she did not. I am glad now, very glad, that we areunlikely to be friends, for, after what you have just told me, I shouldprobably 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 amoment 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. Idon't like stories about good people. I don't wish to think about goodpeople. I am determined that I will not allow my thoughts to dwell onthat unpleasant Priscilla Peel, and her pathetic poverty, and her burstof heroics. It is too trying to hear footsteps in that room. No, Iwill not think of that room, nor of its inmate. Now, if I could only goto sleep!"
Maggie curled herself up in her luxurious chair, arranged a soft pillowunder her head, and shut her eyes. In this attitude she made a charmingpicture: her thick, black lashes lay heavily on her pale cheeks; her redlips were slightly parted; her breathing came quietly. By-and-by reposetook the place of tension--her face looked as if it were cut out ofmarble. The excitement and unrest, which her words had betrayed,vanished utterly; her features were beautiful, but almostexpressionless.
This lasted for a short time, perhaps ten minutes; then a trivialcircumstance, the falling of a coal in the grate, disturbed the lightslumber of the sleeper. Maggie stirred restlessly, and turned her head.She was not awake, but she was dreaming. A faint rose tint visitedeach check, and she clenched one hand, then moved it, and laid it overthe other. Presently tears stoic from under the black eyelashes, androlled down her cheeks. She opened her eyes wide; she was awake again;unutterable regret, remorse, which might never be quieted, filled herface.
Maggie rose from her chair, and, going across the room, sat down at herbureau. She turned a shaded lamp, so that the light might fall upon thepages of a book she was studying, and, pushing her hands through herthick hair, she began to read a passage from the splendid _PrometheusVinctus_ of Aeschylus--
"O divine ether, O swift-winged winds!"
She muttered the opening lines to herself, then turning the page beganto 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--"
Anyone who had seen Maggie in her deep and expressionless sleep but afew minutes before would have watched her now with a sensation ofsurprise. This queer girl was showing another phase of her complexnature. Her face was no longer lacking in expression, no longerstricken with sorrow, nor harrowed with unavailing regret. A fine firefilled her eyes; her brow, as she pushed back her hair, showed itsrather massive proportions. Now, intellect and the triumphant delightof overcoming a mental difficulty reigned supreme in her face. She readon without interruption for nearly an hour. At the end of that time hercheeks 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 thatwhole 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 nightif that knock hadn't come--but now--now I am Maggie Oliphant, the mostmiserable 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 movedforward, and a little fair-haired girl, with an infantile expression offace, and looking years younger than her eighteen summers, tripped a fewsteps into the room.
"I beg your pardon, Maggie," she said. "I had not a moment to comesooner--not one, really. That stupid Miss Turner chose to raise thealarm for the fire brigade; of course I had to go, and I've only justcome 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 cosy you lookhere."
"My dear, I am not going to keep you out of your beauty sleep. You canadmire 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 atMaggie. Then her dimpled little hand slid swiftly into the pocket ofher dress, came out again with a quick, little, frightened dart, anddeposited a square envelope with some manly, writing on it on thebureau, where Maggie had been studying _Prometheus Vinctus_. The lettercovered the greater portion of the open page. It seemed to Maggie as ifthe Greek play had suddenly faded and gone out of sight behind acurtain.
"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 letme."
"Thank you," replied Miss Oliphant, in a lofty tone. The words came outof 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 tookup her letter, and opened it slowly. "At Spilman's; he was buyingsomething for his room. He--" Rosalind blushed all over her face.
Maggie took her letter out of its envelope. She looked at the first twoor 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 youto bring this, certainly; but Mr Hammond would have done better--yes,undoubtedly better--had he sent his letter by post. There would havebeen no mystery about it then, and I should have received it at leasttwo
hours ago. Thank you, Rosalind, all the same--good-night."Rosalind Merton stepped demurely out of the room. In the corridor,however, a change came over her small childish face. Her blue eyesbecame full of angry flame, and she clenched her baby hand and shook itin the direction of the closed door.
"Oh, Maggie Oliphant, what a deceiver you are!" she murmured. "Youthink that I'm a baby, and notice nothing, but I'm on the alert now, andI'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 careabout that letter! But I know you _do_ care; and I'll get hold of allyour secrets before