short life, and after her death the high tone of Heath Halldeteriorated considerably.
This girl was a born leader. When she died no other girl in the collegecould take her place, and for many a long day those who had loved herwere conscious of a sense which meant a loss of headship. In short,they were without their leader.
If Annabel in her gaiety and brightness could influence girls who werescarcely more than acquaintances, the effect of her strong personalityon Maggie was supreme. Maggie often said that she never knew what lovemeant until she met Annabel. The two girls were inseparable; their lovefor each other was compared to that of Jonathan and David of Biblestory, and of Orestes and Pylades of Greek legend. The society of eachgave the other the warmest pleasure.
Annabel and Maggie were both so beautiful in appearance, so far abovethe average girl in their pose, their walk, their manner, that peoplenoticed these friends wherever they went. A young and rising artist,who saw them once at St Hilda's, begged permission to make a picture ofthe pair. It was done during the summer recess before Annabel died, andmade a sensation in the next year's Academy. Many of the visitors whowent there stopped and looked at the two faces, both in the perfectionof their youthful bloom and beauty; few guessed that one even now hadgone to the Home best fitted for so ardent and high a spirit.
Annabel Lee died a year before Priscilla came to the college. WhateverMaggie inwardly felt, she had got over her first grief; her smile wasagain as brilliant as when Annabel was by her side, her laugh was asmerry; but the very few who could look a little way into Maggie'sperverse and passionate heart, knew well that something had died in herwhich could never live again, that her laugh was often hollow, and herbrilliant smile had only a foundation in bitterness.
Maggie did not only grieve for her friend when she mourned for Annabel.She had loved her most deeply, and love alone would have caused heragony in such a loss; but Maggie's keenest and most terrible feelingswere caused by an unavailing regret.
This regret was connected with Geoffrey Hammond.
He had known Annabel from her childhood. He was an old friend of someof her friends, and during those last, long summer holidays, which thetwo girls spent together under the roof of Maggie's guardian, Hammond,who was staying with relations not far away, came to see them almostdaily. He was the kind of man who could win both respect andadmiration; he was grave in his nature; and his aspirations, aims, andambitions were high. In their conversations during this lovely summerweather these young people dreamt happy dreams together, and planned afuture which meant good to all mankind. Maggie, to all appearance, washeart and soul with Annabel and Geoffrey in what they thought and said.
Nothing could have been simpler or more unconventional than theintercourse between these young people. Miss Lee had known Hammond allher life; Maggie always spoke and thought of herself as second toAnnabel in Geoffrey Hammond's regard. One brilliant autumn day,however, he surprised Maggie by asking her to take a long walk alonewith him. No words were said during this ramble to open MaggieOliphant's eyes to the true state of Hammond's feelings for her, but,when she returned from her walk, she could not help noticing AnnabelLee's unaccountable depression. It was not until later, however, thatMaggie attributed a certain pathetic, almost heart-broken, look in herfriend's lovely eyes to its true cause.
Hammond was a graduate of St Hilda's College at Kingsdene, and thethree friends often talked of the happy meetings they would have duringthe coming winter. He was a man of large property, and the favouriteamusement of these young people was in talking over the brilliant lifewhich lay before Hammond when he took possession of his estates. Hewould be the ideal landlord of his age; the people who lived on hisproperty would, when he attained his majority, enter into a millenniumof bliss.
Maggie returned to St Benet's, imagining herself quite heart-whole; buthappiness shone out of her eyes, and there was a new tender ring in hervoice for which she could not account to herself, and which added a newfascination to her beauty.
Shortly after the commencement of the term, Hammond met Miss Oliphant byaccident just outside Kingsdene.
"I was going to post a letter to you," he said. His face was unusuallypale, his eyes full of joy and yet of solicitude.
"You can tell me what you have written," replied Maggie, in her gayestvoice.
"No, I would rather you read my letter."
He thrust it into her hand and immediately, to her astonishment, lefther.
As she walked home through the frosty air she opened Hammond's letter,and read its contents. It contained an earnest appeal for her love, andan assurance that all the happiness of the writer's future life dependedon her consenting to marry him. Would she be his wife when her threeyears' term at St Benet's came to an end?
No letter could be more manly, more simple. Its contents went straightto the depths of a heart easily swayed and full of strong affection.
"Yes, I love him," whispered the girl; "I did not know it until I readthis letter, but I am sure of myself now. Yes, I love him better thananyone else in the world."
A joyous light filled Maggie's brown eyes; her heart was gay. Sherushed to Annabel's room to tell her news, and to claim the sympathywhich had never hitherto been denied her, and which was essential to thecompletion of her happiness.
When Maggie entered her friend's room, she saw, to her surprise, thatAnnabel was lying on her bed with flushed cheeks. Two hours before shehad been, to all appearance, in brilliant health; now her face burnedwith fever, and her beautiful dark eyes were glazed with pain.
Maggie rushed up and kissed her. "What is it, darling," she asked;"what is wrong? You look ill; your eyes have a strange expression."
Annabel's reply was scarcely audible. The pain and torpor of her lastshort illness were already overmastering her. Maggie was alarmed at theburning touch of her hand; but she had no experience to guide her, andher own great joy helped to make her selfish.
"Annabel, look at me for a moment; I have wonderful news to give you."
Annabel's eyes were closed. She opened them wide at this appeal forsympathy, stretched out her hand, and pushed back a tangle of brighthair from Maggie's brow.
"I love you, Maggie," she said, in that voice which had always power tothrill its listeners.
Maggie kissed her friend's hand, and pressed it to her own beatingheart. "I met Geoffrey Hammond to-day," she said. "He gave me aletter; I have read it. Oh, Annabel, Annabel! I can be good now. Nomore bad half-hours, no more struggles with myself. I can be very goodnow."
With some slight difficulty Annabel Lee drew her hot hand away fromMaggie's fervent clasp; her eyes, slightly distended, were fixed on herfriend's face; the flush of fever left her cheeks; a hot flood ofemotion seemed to press against her beating heart; she looked at Maggiewith passionate longing.
"What is it?" she asked, in a husky whisper. "Why are you so glad,Maggie? Why can you be good now?"
"Because I love Geoffrey Hammond," answered Maggie: "I love him with allmy heart, all my life, all my strength, and he loves me; he has asked meto be his wife."
Maggie paused. She expected to feel Annabel's arms round her neck; shewaited impatiently for this last crowning moment of bliss. Her ownhappiness caused her to lower her eyes; her joy was so dazzling that fora moment she felt she must shade their brilliance even from Annabel'sgaze.
Instead of the pressure of loving arms, however, and the warm kiss ofsympathy, there came a low cry from the lips of the sick girl. She madean effort to say something, but words failed her: the next moment shewas unconscious. Maggie rushed to the bell, and gave an alarm, whichbrought Miss Heath and one or two servants to the room.
A doctor was speedily sent for, and Maggie Oliphant was banished fromthe room. She never saw Annabel Lee again. That night the sick girlwas removed to the hospital, which was in a building apart from theHalls, and two days afterwards she was dead.
Typhus fever was raging at Kingsdene at this time, and Annabel Lee hadtaken it in its mo
st virulent form. The doctors (and two or three weresummoned) gave up all hope of saving her life from the first. Maggiealso gave up hope. She accused herself of having caused her friend'sdeath; she believed that the shock of her tidings had killed Annabel,who, already suffering from fever, had not strength to bear the agony ofknowing that Hammond's love was given to Maggie.
On the night of Annabel's death, Maggie wrote to Hammond refusing hisoffer of marriage, but giving no reason for doing so. After posting herletter, she lay down on her own sick bed, and nearly died of the feverwhich had taken Annabel away.
All these things happened a year ago. The agitation caused by the deathof one so young, beautiful, and beloved had subsided. People could talkcalmly of Annabel, and although for a long time her room had remainedvacant, it was now occupied by a girl