A Sweet Girl Graduate

“Hush! you will spoil all by speaking so loud. Yes, I fully believe we shall make a discovery on Friday night.”

“You don’t suppose I would go to act the spy?”

“No, no, nothing of the sort; only come – only come!”

Maggie opened her book, and glanced at some of its contents before replying.

“Only come,” repeated Annie, in an imploring voice.

“I said I would come,” answered Maggie. “Must I reiterate my assurance? Tell Miss Elliot-Smith to expect me.”

Maggie read for a little in the library; then, feeling tired, she rose from her seat and crossed the large room, intending to go up at once to her own chamber. In the hall, however, she was attracted by seeing Miss Heath’s door slightly open. Her heart was full of compunction for having, even for a moment, suspected Priscilla of theft. She thought she would go and speak to Miss Heath about her.

She knocked at the Vice-Principal’s door.

“Come in,” answered the kind voice, and Maggie found herself a moment later seated by the fire: the door of Miss Heath’s room shut, and Miss Heath herself standing over her, using words of commiseration.

“My dear,” she said, “you look very ill.”

Maggie raised her eyes. Miss Heath had seen many moods on that charming face; now the expression in the wide-open, brown eyes caused her own to fill with sudden tears.

“I would do anything to help you, my love,” she said, tenderly, and, stooping down, she kissed Maggie on her forehead.

“Perhaps, another time,” answered Miss Oliphant. “You are all that is good, Miss Heath, and I may as well own frankly that I am neither well nor happy, but I have not come to speak of myself just now. I want to say something about Priscilla Peel.”

“Yes, what about her?”

“She came to you last night. I know what she came about.”

“She told me she had confided in you,” answered the Vice-Principal, gravely.

“Yes. Well, I have come to say that she must not be allowed to give up her Greek and Latin.”

“Why not?”

“Miss Heath, how can you say, ‘why not’? Prissie is a genius; her inclination lies in that direction. It is in her power to become one of the most brilliant classical scholars of her day.”

Miss Heath smiled. “Well, Maggie,” she said, slowly, “even suppose that is the case – and you must own that, clever as Priscilla is, you make an extreme statement when you say such words – she may do well, very well, and yet turn her attention to other subjects for the present.”

“It is cruel!” said Maggie, rising and stamping her foot, impatiently. “Priscilla has it in her to shed honour on our college; she will take a first-class when she goes in for her tripos, if her present studies are not interfered with.”

Miss Heath smiled at Maggie in a pitying sort of way. “I admit,” she said, “that first-class honours would be a very graceful crown of bay to encircle that young head; and yet, Maggie, yet – surely Priscilla can do better?”

“What do you mean? How can she possibly do better?”

“She can wear a nobler crown. You know, Maggie, there are crowns to be won which cannot fade.”

“Oh!” Maggie’s lips trembled; she looked down.

After a pause, she said, “Priscilla told me something of her home and her family. I suppose she has also confided in you, Miss Heath?”

“Yes, my dear.”

“Well, I have come to-night to say that it is in my power to use some of that money which I detest in helping Prissie – in helping her family. I mean to help them; I mean to put them all in such a position that Priscilla shall not need to spend her youth in uncongenial drudgery. I have come to say this to you, Miss Heath, and I beg of you – yes, I beg of you – to induce my dear Prissie to go on with her classical studies. It will now be in your power to assure her that the necessity which made her obliged to give them up no longer exists.”

“In short,” said Miss Heath, “you will give Miss Peel of your charity, and take her independence away?”

“What do you mean?”

“Put yourself in her place, Maggie. Would you take money for yourself and those dear to you from a comparative stranger?”

Maggie’s face grew very red. “I think I would oblige my friend, my dear friend,” she said.

“Is Prissie really your dear friend?”

“Why do you doubt me? I love her very much. Since – since Annabel died, no one has come so close to me.”

“I am glad of that,” replied Miss Heath. She went up to Maggie and kissed her.

“You will do what I wish?” asked the girl, eagerly.

“No, my dear: that matter lies in your hands alone. It is a case in which it is absolutely impossible for me to interfere. If you can induce Priscilla to accept money from you, I shall not say a word; and, for the sake of our college, I shall, perhaps, be glad, for there is not the least doubt that Prissie has it in her to win distinction for St. Benet’s. But, on the other hand, if she comes to me for advice, it will be impossible for me not to say to her – ‘My dear, character ranks higher than intellect. You may win the greatest prizes and yet keep a poor and servile soul. You may never get this great earthly distinction, and yet you may be crowned with honour – the honour which comes of uprightness, of independence, of integrity.’ Prissie may never consult me, of course, Maggie; but, if she does, I must say words something like these. To tell the truth, my dear, I never admired Priscilla more than I did last night I encouraged her to give up her classics for the present, and to devote herself to modern languages, and to those accomplishments which are considered more essentially feminine. As I did so I had a picture before me, in which I saw Priscilla crowned with love, the support and blessing of her three little sisters. The picture was a very bright one, Maggie, and your crown of bay looks quite tawdry beside the other crown which I hope to see on Prissie’s brow.”

Maggie rose from her chair. “Good-night,” she said.

“I am sorry to disappoint you, my love.”

“I have no doubt you are right,” said Maggie, “but,” she added, “I have not made up my mind, and I still long for Priscilla to wear the crown of bay.”

“You will win that crown yourself, my dear.”

“Oh, no, it is not for me.”

“I am very anxious about you, Maggie. Why do you speak in that reckless tone? Your position and Prissie’s are not the least alike: it is your duty to do your very utmost with those talents which have been bestowed upon you.”

“Perhaps,” answered Maggie, shrugging her shoulders, “but I am tired of stretching out my hand like a baby to catch soap-bubbles. I cannot speak of myself at all to-night, Miss Heath. Thank you for what you have said, and again good-night.”

Maggie had scarcely left the room before Priscilla appeared.

“Are you too tired to see me to-night, Miss Heath?”

“No, my love; come in and sit down. I was sorry to miss you this morning.”

“But I am glad as it turned out,” replied Priscilla.

“You were in great trouble, Prissie. The servant told me how terribly upset you were.”

“I was. I felt nearly mad.”