thelight from the lamp should not reveal the deathly tired lines round it.
Aunt Raby was dressed in a rough homespun garment. Her feet were cladin unbleached cotton stockings, also made at home; her little, iron-greycurls lay flat at each side of her hollow cheeks. She wore listslippers, very coarse and common in texture. Her whole appearance wasthe essence of the homely, the old-fashioned, even the ungainly.
Priscilla had seen elegance and beauty since she went away; she hadentered into the life of the cultivated, the intellectually great. Inspite of her deep affection for Aunt Raby, she came back to the uglinessand the sordid surroundings of home with a pang which she hated herselffor feeling. She forgot Aunt Raby's sufferings for a moment in heruncouthness. She longed to shower riches, refinement, beauty upon her.
"How has your dress worn, Prissie?" said the elder woman, after a pause."My sakes, child, you have got your best brown cashmere on! Abeautiful fine bit of cashmere it was, too. I bought it out of themoney I got for the lambs' wool."
Aunt Raby stretched out her hand, and, taking up a fold of the cashmere,she rubbed it softly between her finger and thumb.
"It's as fine as velvet," she said, "and I put strong work into it, too.It isn't a bit worn, is it, Prissie?"
"No, Aunt Raby, except just round the tail. I got it very wet one day,and the colour went a trifle; but nothing to signify."
A vivid picture rose up before Priscilla's eyes as she spoke of MrsElliot-Smith's drawing-room, and the dainty, disdainful ladies in theirgay attire, and her own poor, little, forlorn figure in her muddycashmere dress--the same dress Aunt Raby considered soft and beautifulas velvet.
"Oh, Aunt Raby," she said with sudden impulse, "a great many things havehappened to me since I went away. On the whole I have had a very goodtime."
Aunt Raby opened her mouth to emit a prodigious yawn.
"I don't know how it is," she said, "but I'm a bit drowsy to-night. Isuppose it's the weather. The day was quite a muggy one. I'll hearyour news another time, Priscilla; but don't you be turned with thevanities of the world, Priscilla. Life's but a passing day: you mindthat when you're young, and it won't come on you as a shock when you areold. I'm glad the cashmere has worn well--ay, that I am, Prissie. Butdon't put it on in the morning, my love, for it's a sin to wear throughbeautiful fine stuff like that. And, even if the colour is gone a bitround the hem, the stuff itself isn't worn, and looks don't signify.You'll have to make up your mind to wear the cashmere for best againnext term, Prissie, for, though I'm not pinched in any way, I'm notoverflush either, my love."
Priscilla, who had been sitting in a low chair near her aunt, now roseto her feet.
"Ought we not to come to bed?" she said. "If you don't feel tired, youlook it, Aunt Raby. Come upstairs, do, and let me help you to take yourthings off, and put you into bed. Come, Aunt Raby, it will be like oldtimes to help you, you know."
The girl knelt by the old woman, took one of her withered hands, raisedit suddenly to her lips, and kissed it. Aunt Raby's face was stillturned from the light.
"Don't you keep kneeling on your cashmere," she said. "You'll crease itawfully, and I don't see my way to another best dress this term."
"You needn't, Aunt Raby," said Priscilla, in a steady voice. "Thecashmere is quite neat still. I can manage well with it."
Aunt Raby rose slowly and feebly from the sofa.
"You may help me to get into bed if you like," she said. "The muggy dayhas made me wonderfully drowsy, and I'll be glad to lie down. It's onlythat: I'll be as pert as a cricket in the morning."
The old woman leant on the girl's strong, young arm, and stumbled a bitas she went up the narrow stairs.
When they entered the tiny bedroom Aunt Raby spoke again--
"Your dress will do, but I have been fretting about your winter jacket,Prissie. There's my best one, though--you know, the quilted satin whichmy mother left me; its loose and full, and you shall have it."
"But you want it to go to church in yourself, Aunt Raby."
"I don't often go to church lately, child. I take a power of comfortlying on the sofa, reading my Bible, and Mr Hayes doesn't see anythingcontrary to Scripture in it, for I asked him. Yes, you shall have myquilted satin jacket to take back to college with you, Prissie, and thenyou'll be set up fine."
Priscilla bent forward and kissed Aunt Raby. She made no otherresponse, but that night before she went to sleep she saw distinctly avision of herself. Prissie was as little vain as a girl could be, butthe vision of her own figure in Aunt Raby's black satin quilted jacketwas not a particularly inspiriting one. That jacket, full in theskirts, long in the shoulders, wide in the sleeves, and enormous roundthe neck, would scarcely bear comparison with the neat, tight-fittinggarments which the other girl graduates of St Benet's were wont topatronise. Prissie felt glad she was not attired in it that unfortunateday when she sat in Mrs Elliot-Smith's drawing-room; and yet--and yet--she knew that the poor, quaint, old-world jacket meant love andself-renunciation.
"Dear Aunt Raby!" whispered the girl.
Tears lay heavily on her eyelashes as she dropped asleep, with one armthrown protectingly round her little sister Katie.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
THE FASHION OF THE DAY.
A thick mist lay over everything. Christmas had come and gone, andPriscilla's trunk was packed once more--Aunt Raby's old-world jacketbetween folds of tissue-paper, lying on the top of other homelygarments.
The little sisters were in bed and asleep, and Aunt Raby lay on thesofa. Prissie was accustomed to her face now, so she did not turn itaway from the light. The white lips, the chalky grey tint under theeyes, the deep furrows round the sunken temples, were all familiar tothe younger "Miss Peel." She had fitted once more into the old sordidlife. She saw Hattie in her slipshod feet, and Katie and Rose in theirthin winter jackets, which did not half keep out the cold. She saw andpartook of the scanty meals, and tried to keep warm by the wretchedfires. Once more she was part and parcel of the household. Thechildren were so accustomed to her that they forgot she was going awayagain.
To-night, however, the fact was brought back to her. Katie cried whenshe saw the packed trunk, Hattie pouted, and flopped herself about andbecame unmanageable. Rose put on her most discontented manner andvoice, and finding that Prissie had earned no money during the pastterm, gave utterance to sceptical thoughts.
"Prissie just went away to have a good time, and she never meant to earnmoney, and she forgot all about them," grumbled the naughty little girl.
Hattie came up and pummelled Rose for her bad words. Katie criedafresh, and altogether the scene was most dismal.
Now, however, it was over. The children were in the land of happydreams. They were eating their Christmas dinner over again, and lookingwith ecstasy at their tiny, tiny Christmas gifts, and listening oncemore to Prissie, who had a low, sweet voice, and who was singing to themthe old and beloved words--
"Peace and goodwill to men."
The children were happy in their dreams, and Prissie was standing byAunt Raby's side.
"Why don't you sit down, child? You have done nothing but fidget,fidget, for the last half-hour."
"I want to go out, Aunt Raby."
"To go out? Sakes! what for? And on such a night, too!"
"I want to see Mr Hayes."
"Prissie, I think you have got a bee in your bonnet. You'll be lost inthis mist."
"No, I won't. I missed Mr Hayes to-day when he called, and I must seehim before I go back to St Benet's. I have a question or two to askhim, and I know every step of the way. Let me go, auntie, please, do!"
"You always were a wilful girl, Priscilla, and I think that college hasmade you more obstinate than ever. I suppose the half-mannish ways ofall those girls tell upon you. There, if you must go--do. I'm in nomood for arguing. I'll have a bit of a sleep while you are out: themuggy weather always makes me so drowsy."
Aunt Raby uttered a very weary yawn, and turned her
face from the light.Priscilla stepped into the hall, put on her waterproof and oldest hat,and went out. She knew her way well to the little vicarage, built ofgrey stone, and lying something like a small, daring fly against thebrow of the hill. The little house looked as if any storm must detachit from its resting-place; but to-night there was no wind, only clingingmist, and damp and thick fog.
Priscilla mounted the rough road which led to the vicarage, opened thewhite gate, walked up the gravel path, and entered the little porch.Her knock was answered by the vicar himself. He drew her into the housewith an affectionate word of welcome, and soon she was sitting by hisstudy fire, with