PRISCILLA ran blindly down the corridor which opened into the wide entrance-hall. Groups of girls were standing about. They stared as the wild-looking apparition rushed past them: Prissie was blind to their puzzled and curious glances. She wanted to see Miss Heath. She had a queer kind of instinct, rather than any distinct impression, that in Miss Heath's presence she would be protected, that Miss Heath would know what to say, would know how to dispel the cloud of disgrace which had suddenly been cast over her like a cloak.

"Is there anything wrong, Miss Peel?" said gentle little Ada Hardy, coming up and speaking to her affectionately. Miss Hardy stood right in Prissie's path, barring her way for a moment and causing her, in spite of herself, to stop her headlong rush to the vice-principal's room. Priscilla put up her hand to her brow. She looked in a dazed sort of way at the kindhearted girl.

"What is the matter— can I help you?" repeated Ada Hardy.

"You can't help me," said Prissie. "I want to see Miss Heath; let me pass." She ran forward again, and some other girls, coming out of the dining-hall, now came up to Ada and distracted her attention.

Miss Heath's private sitting-room was on the ground floor. This lovely room has been described before. It was open now, and Prissie went in without knocking; she thought she would see Miss Heath sitting as she usually was at this hour, either reading or answering letters. She was not in the room. Priscilla felt too wild and impetuous to consider any action carefully just then. She ran up at once to the electric bell and pressed the button for quite a quarter of a minute. A maid servant came quickly to answer the summons. She thought Miss Heath had sent for her and stared at the excited girl.

"I want to see Miss Heath," said Priscilla. "Please ask her to come to me here. Say Miss Peel wants to see her— Priscilla Peel wants to see her, very, very badly, in her own sitting-room at once. Ask her to come to me at once."

The presence of real tragedy always inspires respect. There was no question with regard to the genuineness of Priscilla's sorrow just then.

"I will try and find Miss Heath, miss, and ask her to come to you without delay," answered the maid. She softly withdrew, closing the door after her. Priscilla went and stood on the hearthrug. Raising her eyes for a moment, they rested on a large and beautiful platinotype of G. F. Watts' picture of "Hope." The last time she had visited Miss Heath in that room Prissie had been taken by the kind vice-principal to look at the picture, and some of its symbolism was explained to her. "That globe on which the figure of Hope sits," Miss Heath had said, "is meant to represent the world. Hope is blindfolded in order more effectually to shut out the sights which might distract her. See the harp in her hand, observe her rapt attitude— she is listening to melody— she hears, she rejoices, and yet the harp out of which she makes music only possesses one string— all the rest are broken." Miss Heath said nothing further, and Prissie scarcely took in the full meaning of the picture that evening. Now she looked again, and a passionate agony swept over her. "Hope has one string still left to her harp with which she can play music," murmured the young girl; "but oh! there are times when all the strings of the harp are broken. Then Hope dies."

The room door was opened and the servant reappeared.

"I am very sorry, miss," she said, "but Miss Heath has gone out for the morning. Would you like to see any one else?"

Priscilla gazed at the messenger in a dull sort of way. "I can't see Miss Heath?" she murmured.

"No, miss, she is out."

"Very well."

"Can I do anything for you, miss?"

"No, thank you."

The servant went away with a puzzled expression on her face.

"That plain young lady, who is so awful poor— Miss Peel, I mean— seems in a sad taking," she said by and by to her fellow-servants.

Priscilla, left alone in Miss Heath's sitting-room, stood still for a moment, then running usptairs to her room, she put on her hat and jacket and went out. She was expected to attend two lectures that morning and the hour for the first had almost arrived. Maggie Oliphant was coming into the house when Prissie ran past her.

"My dear!" she exclaimed, shocked at the look on Priscilla's face, "come here; I want to speak to you."

"I can't— don't stop me."

"But where are you going? Mr. Kenyon has just arrived. I am on my way to the lecture-hall now."

"It doesn't matter."

"Aren't you coming?"

"No."

This last word reached Miss Oliphant from a distance. Prissie had already almost reached the gates.

Maggie stood still for a moment, half inclined to follow the excited, frantic-looking girl, but that queer inertia, which was part of her complex character, came over her. She shrugged her shoulders, the interest died out of her face; she walked slowly through the entrance-hall and down one of the side corridors to the lecture-room.

When the Greek lecture had come to an end Nancy Banister came up and slipped her hand through Maggie's arm.

"What is the matter, Maggie?" she asked, "you look very white and tired."

"I have a headache," answered Maggie. "If it does not get better, I shall send for a carriage and take a drive."

"May I come with you?"

"No, dear Nancy, when I have these bad headaches it is almost necessary to me to be alone."

"Would it not be better for you to go and lie down in your room?"

"I to lie down in my room with a headache like this? No, thank you." Maggie shuddered as she spoke. Nancy felt her friend's arm shiver as she leaned on it.

"You are really ill, darling!" she said in a tone of sympathy and fondness.

"I have not felt right for a week and am worse today, but I dare say a drive in this nice frosty air will set me up."

"I am going to Kingsdene. Shall I order a carriage for you?"

"I wish you would."

"Maggie, did you notice that Priscilla was not at her lecture?"

"She was not. I met her rushing away, I think, to Kingsdene; she seemed put out about something."

"Poor little thing. No wonder— those horrid girls!"

"Oh, Nancy, if there's anything unpleasant, don't tell me just now; my head aches so dreadfully, I could scarcely hear bad news."

"You are working too hard, Maggie."

"I am not; it is the only thing left to me."

"Do you know that we are to have a rehearsal of The Princess to-night? If you are as ill as you look now, you can't be present."

"I will be present. Do you think I can't force myself to do what is necessary?"

"Oh, I am well acquainted with the owner of your will," answered Nancy with a laugh. "Well, good-by, dear, I am off. You may expect the carriage to arrive in half an hour."

Meanwhile Priscilla, still blind, deaf and dumb with misery, ran, rather than walked, along the road which leads to Kingsdene. The day was lovely, with little faint wafts of spring in the air; the sky was pale blue and cloudless; there was a slight hoar frost on the grass. Priscilla chose to walk on it, rather than on the dusty road; it felt crisp under her tread.

She had not the least idea why she was going to Kingsdene. Her wish was to walk, and walk, and walk until sheer fatigue, caused by long-continued motion, brought to her temporary ease and forgetfulness.

Prissie was a very strong girl, and she knew she must walk for a long time; her feet must traverse many miles before she effected her object. Just as she was passing St. Hilda's College she came face to face with Hammond. He was in his college cap and gown and was on his way to morning prayers in the chapel. Hammond had received Maggie's letter that morning, and this fact caused him to look at Priscilla with new interest. On another occasion he would have passed her with a hurried bow. Now he stopped to speak. The moment he caught sight of her face, he forgot everything else in his distress at the expression of misery which it wore.

"Where are you going, Miss Peel?" he asked; "you appear to be flying from something, or, perhaps, it is to something. Must you run? See, you have almost knocked me down." He chose light words on purpose, hoping to make Prissie smile.

"I am going for a walk," she said. "Please let me pass."

"I am afraid you are in trouble," he replied then, seeing that Priscilla's mood must be taken seriously.

His sympathy gave the poor girl a momentary thrill of com............