my life."
"Nevertheless, there are some artists in the world who have conceived ofcharacters like yours. There are some good pictures in this house--shall I show you one or two?"
Prissie sprang to her feet.
"You are most kind," she said, effusively. "I really don't know how tothank you."
"You need not thank me at all; or, at any rate, not in such a loudvoice, nor so impressively. Our neighbours will think I have bestowedhalf a kingdom upon you."
Prissie blushed, and looked down.
"Don't be shocked with me," said Hammond; "I can read your gratefulheart. Come this way." They passed Maggie Oliphant and her two orthree remaining satellites. Prissie looked at her with longing, andtripped awkwardly against her chair. Hammond walked past Maggie as ifshe did not exist to him. Maggie nodded affectionately to Priscilla,and followed the back of Hammond's head and shoulders with asupercilious, amused smile.
Hammond opened the outer drawing-room door. "Where are we going?" askedPriscilla. "Are not the pictures here?"
"Some are here, but the best are in the picture gallery--here to theleft, and down these steps. Now, I'm going to introduce to you a newworld."
He pushed aside a heavy curtain, and Prissie found herself in a rathersmall room, lighted from the roof. It contained in all about six oreight pictures, each the work of a master.
Hammond walked straight across the gallery to a picture which occupied awall by itself at the further end. It represented a summer scene ofdeep repose. There was water in the foreground; in the back, tallforest trees in the fresh, rich foliage of June. Overhead was a sunsetsky, its saffron and rosy tints reflected in the water below. Themaster who painted the picture was Corot.
Hammond motioned Priscilla to sit down opposite to it.
"There is summer," he said; "peace, absolute repose. You have not to goto it; it comes to you."
He did not say any more, but walked away to look at another picture in adifferent part of the gallery.
Prissie clasped her hands; all the agitation and eagerness went out ofher face. She leant back in her chair. Her attitude partook of thequality of the picture, and became restful. Hammond did not disturb herfor several moments.
"I am going to show you something different now," he said, coming up toher almost with reluctance. "There is one sort of rest; I will now showyou a higher. Here, stand so. The light falls well from this angle.Now, what do you see?"
"I don't understand it," said Prissie, after a long, deep gaze.
"Never mind, you see something. Tell me what you see."
Priscilla looked again at the picture.
"I see a woman," she said at last, in a slow, pained kind of voice. "Ican't see her face very well, but I know by the way she lies back inthat chair, that she is old, and dreadfully tired. Oh, yes, I know wellthat she is tired--see her hand stretched out there--her hand and herarm--how thin they are--how worn--and--"
"Hard worked," interrupted Hammond. "Anyone can see by the attitude ofthat hand, by the starting veins and the wrinkles, that the woman hasgone through a life of labour. Well, she does not occupy the whole ofthe picture. You see before you a tired-out worker. Don't be sounhappy about her. Look up a little higher in the picture. Observe foryourself that her toils are ended."
"Who is that other figure?" said Priscilla. "A woman too, but young andstrong. How glad she looks, and how kind. She is carrying a littlechild in her arms. Who is she? What does she mean?"
"That woman, so grand and strong, represents Death, but not under theold metaphor. She comes with renewed life--the child is the type ofthat--she comes as a deliverer. See, she is touching that poor worn-outcreature, who is so tired that she can scarcely hold her head up again.Death, with a new aspect, and a new grand strength in her face, issaying to this woman, `Come with me now to your rest. It is all over,'Death says: `all the trouble and perplexity and strife. Come away withme and rest.' The name of that picture is `The Deliverer.' It is thework of a painter who can preach a sermon, write a book, deliver anoration, and sing a song, all through the medium of his brush. I won'ttrouble you with his name just now. You will hear plenty of him and hiswonderful, great pictures by-and-by, if you love art as I do."
"Thank you," said Prissie, simply. Some tears stole down her cheeks.She did not know she was crying; she did not attempt to wipe them away.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
"I DETEST IT."
Shortly after the girls got home that evening, they received letters intheir rooms to inform them that Miss Heath and Miss Eccleston had cometo the resolution not to report the affair of the auction to the collegeauthorities. They would trust to the honour of the students at StBenet's not to allow such a proceeding to occur again, and would saynothing further on the matter.
Prissie's eyes filled again with tears as she read the carefully wordednote. Holding it open in her hand she rushed to Maggie's room andknocked. To her surprise, instead of the usual cheerful "Come in," withwhich Miss Oliphant always assured her young friend of a welcome, Maggiesaid from the other side of the locked door--
"I am very busy just now--I cannot see anyone."
Priscilla felt a curious sense of being chilled; her whole afternoon hadbeen one of elation, and Maggie's words came as a kind of cold _douche_.She went back to her room, tried not to mind, and occupied herselflooking over her beloved Greek until the dinner-gong sounded.
After dinner Priscilla again looked with anxious, loving eyes at Maggie.Maggie did not stop, as was her custom, to say a kind word or two asshe passed. She was talking to another girl, and laughing gaily. Herdress was as picturesque as her face and figure were beautiful. But wasPriscilla mistaken, or was her anxious observation too close? She feltsure as Miss Oliphant brushed past her that her eyelids were slightlyreddened, as if she had been weeping.
Prissie put out a timid hand and touched Maggie on the arm. She turnedabruptly.
"I forgot," she said to her companion. "Please wait for me outside,Hester; I'll join you in a moment, I have just a word to say to MissPeel. What is it, Prissie?" said Maggie, then, when the other girl hadwalked out of hearing. "Why did you touch me?"
"Oh, for nothing much," replied Prissie, half frightened at her manner,which was sweet enough, but had an intangible hardness about it, whichPriscilla felt, but could not fathom. "I thought you'd be so glad aboutthe decision Miss Heath and Miss Eccleston have come to."
"No, I am not particularly glad. I can't stay now to talk it over,however; Hester Stuart wants, me to practise a duet with her."
"May I come to your room later on, Maggie?"
"Not to-night, I think; I shall be very busy." Miss Oliphant noddedbrightly, and disappeared out of the dining-hall.
Two girls were standing not far off. They had watched this littlescene, and they now observed that Prissie clasped her hands, and that awoe-begone expression crossed her face.
"The spell is beginning to work," whispered one to the other. "When theknight proves unfaithful the most gracious lady must suffer resentment."
Priscilla did not hear these words. She went slowly upstairs and backto her own room, where she wrote letters home, and made copious notesfrom her last lectures, and tried not to think of the little cloud whichseemed to have come between her and Maggie.
Late, on that same evening, Polly Singleton, who had just beenentertaining a chosen bevy of friends in her own room, after the lasthad bidden her an affectionate "Good-night," was startled at hearing alow knock at her door. She opened it at once. Miss Oliphant stoodwithout.
"May I come in?" she asked.
"Why, of course. I'm delighted to see you. How kind of you to come.Where will you sit? I'm afraid you won't find things very comfortable,for most of my furniture is gone. But there's the bed; do you mindsitting on the bed?"
"If I want to sit at all the bed is as snug a place as any," repliedMaggie. "But I'm not going to stay a moment, for it is very late. See,I have brought you this
back."
Polly looked, and for the first time observed that her own sealskinjacket hung on Maggie's arm.
"What do you mean?" she said. "My sealskin jacket! Oh, my beauty! Butit isn't mine, it's yours now. Why do you worry me--showing it to meagain?"
"I don't want to worry you, Miss Singleton. I mean what I say. I havebrought your jacket back."
"But it is yours--you bought it."
"I gave a nominal price for it, but that doesn't make it mine. Anyhow,I have no use for it. Please take it back again."
Poor Polly blushed very red all over her face.
"I