When she was alone, Maggie Oliphant sat down in her favourite 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 coloured.
"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 anyone; 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, someone has taken them! Someone, 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, someone 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 colour 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 anyone 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 dishonour."