is?"
"Hush! don't speak so loud. Annabel Lee--" Nancy's eyes filled withtears--"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 FOUR.
AN EAVESDROPPER.
The students at St Benet's were accustomed to unlimited licence in thematter of sitting up at night. At a certain hour the electric lightswere put out, but each girl was well supplied with candles, and couldsit up and pursue her studies into the small hours, if she willed.
It was late when Priscilla left Maggie Oliphant's room on this firstnight, but, long as her journey had been, and tired as she undoubtedlyfelt, the events of the evening had excited her, and she did not care togo to bed. Her fire was now burning well, and her room was warm andcosy. She drew the bolt of her door, and, unlocking her trunk, began tounpack. She was a methodical girl, and well trained. Miss Rachel Peelhad instilled order into Priscilla from her earliest days, and she nowquickly disposed of her small but neat wardrobe. Her linen would justfit into the drawers of the bureau. Her two or three dresses andjackets were hung tidily away behind the curtain which formed herwardrobe.
Priscilla pushed her empty trunk against the wall, folded up the bits ofstring and paper which lay scattered about, and then, slowly undressing,she got into bed.
She undressed with a certain sense of luxuriousness and pleasure. Herroom began to look charming to her now that her things were unpacked,and the first sharp pain of her home-sickness was greatly softened sinceshe 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 toher, new, exciting. Now she was really very tired, and the moment shelaid her head on her pillow would doubtless be asleep.
She got into bed, and, putting out her candle, lay down. The firelightplayed on the pale blue walls, and lit up the bold design of thebriar-roses, which ran round the frieze at the top of the room.
Priscilla wondered why she did not drop asleep at once. She felt vexedwith herself when she discovered that each instant the chance of slumberwas flying before her, that every moment her tired body became morerestless and wide-awake. She could not help gazing at that scroll ofbriar-roses; she could not help thinking of the hand that had paintedthe flowers, of the girl whose presence had once made the room in whichshe now lay so charming.
Priscilla had not yet been twelve hours at St Benet's, and yet almostevery student she had met had spoken of Annabel Lee--had spoken of herwith interest, with regret. One girl had gone further than this; shehad breathed her name with bitter sorrow.
Priscilla wished she had not been put into this room. She feltabsolutely nervous; she had a sense of usurping someone else's place, ofturning somebody else out into the cold. She did not believe in ghosts,but she had an uncomfortable sensation, and it would not have greatlysurprised her if Annabel had come gliding back in the night watches toput the finishing touches to those scrolls of wild flowers whichornamented 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, andpursue 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 strangevisitor, 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 nowmurmuring 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 witha start. Her heart was beating fast. She thought of Maggie's exquisiteface. She remembered it as she had seen it that night when they weresitting 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 lighther 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 toAunt Raby and to her little sisters. Such methodical work would calmnerves not often so highly strung.
She rose, and fetching her neat little leather writing-case from whereshe had placed it on the top of her bureau, prepared to open it.
The little case was locked. Priscilla went over to her curtainedwardrobe, pushed it aside, and felt in the pocket of the dress she hadworn that day for her purse. It was not there. Within that purse thelittle key was safely hiding, but the purse itself was nowhere to befound.
Priscilla looked all round the room. In vain; the neat brown-leatherpurse, which held the key, some very precious memoranda of differentsorts, and her small store of worldly wealth, was nowhere to be found.
She stood still for a moment in perplexity. All her nervous fears hadnow completely vanished; a real calamity and a grave one stared her inthe face. Suppose her purse were gone? Suppose it had been stolen?The very small supply of money which that purse contained was mostprecious to Priscilla. It seemed to her that nothing could well be moreterrible than for her now to have to apply to Aunt Raby for fresh funds.Aunt Raby had stinted herself dreadfully to get Priscilla's modestlittle outfit together, and now--oh, she would rather starve than appealto her again.
Suddenly as she stood in the middle of her room a memory came back toher. It was the recollection of a very trivial incident. Sheremembered something dropping on the floor as she sat by Maggie's sideat dinner. She had felt too nervous and miserable at the time to takeany notice of the slight sound made by the fall, but now it returnedvividly to her memory. She was sure that her purse must have droppedout of her pocket at that moment, and was convinced that it was nowlying quietly under the table where she had sat.
Priscilla felt far too excited to wait until the morning to make herselfsure on this point. No; happen what might, she would set her fears atrest now, and find her way somehow through the strange and sleepinghouse until she discovered her lost treasure.
Partly re-dressing, she took her candle in her hand, and softly unhaspedher door. It was a well-oiled lock, and made no click or noise of anykind as she turned the handle. When she opened the door wide it did notcreak. The long corridor outside had a stone floor, and was richlycarpeted. No fear of treacherous, creaking boards here. Priscillaprepared to walk briskly down the length of the corridor, when she wasarrested by seeing a light streaming out of Maggie Oliphant's room.
The electric lights were all extinguished, and this light alone shonelike a ray in the darkness.
Prissie stood still, with a gasp of dismay. She did not want Maggie tohear her now. She would have been distressed at Maggie being acquaintedwith her carelessness. She felt sure that a girl like Maggie Oliphantcould never understand what a little purse, which only contained asovereign or two, would mean to her.
On tiptoe, and shading the candle with her hand, she stole past thepartly open door. A rich tapestry curtain hung at the other side, andMaggie doubtless thought the door was shut.
Priscilla had almost gone past the open door, when her steps were againarrested by the sound of voices. Someone said "Priscilla Peel," andthen someone 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 thenext words.
"I would not be jealous if I were you, Nancy," said Maggie's lazy, sweetvoice. "The poor girl is as queer as her name, but it gives me a kindof aesthetic pleasure to be good to people. _You_ have no cause to bejealous, 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 therewas the sound of one girl kissing another, and Maggie's light laugh washeard again.
"The unfortunate girl has fallen in love with you, there's no doubtabout that, Maggie," said Nancy.
"Well, my dear, she'll get over that little fever presently. When I'mkind to them, they all have it. I believe I am gracious to them justbecause I like to see that grateful, affectionate expression in theireyes. The fact is, Nance, I have a perfectly crazy desire to