"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 coloured 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 worshipper 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 favourite 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 anyone
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's girls had come
to the afternoon service. Amongst 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 Marshalls' 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. "Good-bye." 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 colour 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 colour rushed into her
cheeks. Mrs Marshall looked at her affectionately.
"Helen," she called to her grand-daughter 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
anyone 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 anyone'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 colourless, and tears were lying wet on her
eyelashes.
Maggie made a swift remark, a passing jest, and hurried past the two
into the outer 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 centre 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.