in all respects her opposite.
Nothing would induce Maggie to enter this room, and no words wouldpersuade her to speak of Annabel. She was merry and bright once more,and few gave her credit for secret hours of misery, which were seriouslyundermining her health, and ruining what was best of her character.
On this particular day, as she lay back in her carriage, wrapped incostly furs, a great wave of misery and bitterness was sweeping over herheart. In the first agony caused by Annabel's death, Maggie had vowed avow to her own heart never, under any circumstances, to consent to beHammond's wife. In the first misery of regret and compunction it hadbeen easy to Maggie Oliphant to make such a vow; but she knew well, asthe days and months went by, that its weight was crushing her life, wasdestroying her chance of ever becoming a really strong and good woman.If she had loved Hammond a year ago her sufferings made her love himfifty times better now. With all her outward coldness and apparentindifference, his presence gave her the keenest pain. Her heart beatfast when she caught sight of his face; if he spoke to another, she wasconscious of being overcome by a spirit of jealousy. The thought of himmingled with her waking and sleeping hours; but the sacrifice she owedto the memory of her dead friend must be made at all hazards. Maggieconsulted no one on this subject. Annabel's unhappy story lay buriedwith her in her early grave; Maggie would have died rather than revealit. 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. "Ishall leave St Benet's at the end of the present term. What is thewinning of a tripos to me? what do I want with honours and distinctions?Everything is barren to me. My life has no flavour in it. I lovedAnnabel, 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 isbroken, for I love Geoffrey--I love him, and I can never, under anycircumstances, 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 someone else, andperhaps marry someone 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 wipethem away. It was little wonder that when she returned from her driveher head was no better.
"We must put off the rehearsal," said Nancy Banister. She came intoMaggie's room, and spoke vehemently. "I saw you at lunch, Maggie: youate nothing--you spoke with an effort. I know your head is worse. Youmust lie down, and, unless you are better soon, I will ask Miss Heath tosend for a doctor."
"No doctor will cure me," said Maggie. "Give me a kiss, Nance; let merest my head against yours for a moment. Oh, how earnestly I wish I waslike you."
"Why so? What have I got? I have no beauty; I am not clever; I amneither romantically poor, like Prissie, nor romantically rich, likeyou. In short, the fairies were not invited to my christening."
"One or two fairies came, however," replied Maggie, "and they gave youan honest soul, and a warm heart, and--and happiness, Nancy. My dear, Ineed only look into your eyes to know that you are happy."
Nancy's blue eyes glowed with pleasure. "Yes," she said, "I don't knowanything 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 moreimportant subject. I will see the members of our Dramatic Society, andput off the rehearsal."
"You must not; the excitement will do me good."
"For the time, perhaps," replied Nancy, shaking her wise head, "but youwill be worse afterwards."
"No. Now, Nancy, don't let us argue the point. If you are _truly_ myfriend, you will sit by me for an hour, and read aloud the dullest bookyou can find, then perhaps I shall go to sleep."
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.
"COME AND KILL THE BOGIE."
Notwithstanding Nancy's dismal prognostications, Maggie Oliphant playedher part brilliantly that night. Her low spirits were succeeded by gayones; the Princess had never looked more truly regal, nor had the Princeever more passionately wooed her. Girls who did not belong to thesociety always flocked into the theatre to see the rehearsals. Maggie'smood scarcely puzzled them. She was so erratic that no one expectedanything from her but the unexpected: if she looked like a droopingflower one moment, her head was erect the next, her eyes sparkling, hervoice gay. The flower no longer drooped, but blossomed with renewedvigour. 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 theworld, 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, thather words had effect, and a little rumour spread in the college thatMiss Oliphant could not take her part in the important rehearsals whichwere to take place that evening. Her appearance, therefore, in morethan her usual beauty, with more vigour in her voice, more energy andbrightness in her eyes, gave at once a pleasing sense of satisfaction.She was cheered when she entered the little theatre, but, if there was abrief surprise, it was quickly succeeded by the comment which generallyfollowed all her doings--"This is just like Maggie; no one can depend onhow she will act for a moment."
At that rehearsal, however, people were taken by surprise. If thePrincess did well, the young Prince did better. Priscilla hadcompletely dropped her _role_ of the awkward and _gauche_ girl. Fromthe first there had been vigour and promise in her acting. To-nightthere was not only vigour, but tenderness--there was a passion in hervoice which arose now and then to power. She was so completely insympathy with her part that she ceased to be Priscilla: she was thePrince 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 thestage."
Priscilla smiled. "No," she said, "for I need inspiration to forgetmyself."
"Well, genius would supply that."
"No, Maggie, no. The motive that seems to turn me into the Princehimself 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 forgetthat you are Priscilla Peel."
Priscilla laughed joyously.
"How gay you look to-night, Prissie, and yet I am told you weremiserable 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 thatsome 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 honestand--and true."
"Yes, my dear," said Maggie, with fervour, "I believe in you as Ibelieve in myself. Now, have you quite disrobed? Shall we go into thelibrary for a little?"
The moment they entered this cheerful room, which was bright with twoblazing fires and numerous electric lights, Miss Day and Miss Marsh cameup 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 Metais 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 heartwas in that softened, half-tired state when it could be most easilyinfluenced; 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 soreckless a mood as to be indifferent to what anyone thought of her. TheElliot-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 beenintroduced to Miss Oliphant, and had pressed her invitation vigorously.It would be a triumph of triumphs to Meta Elliot-Smith to introduce thebeautiful heiress to her own set. Maggie's refusal was not listened to.She was begged to reconsider the question; implored to be merciful, tobe kind; assured of undying gratitude if she would consent to come evenfor one short hour.
Miss Day and Miss Marsh were commissioned by