“That dear little Prissie!” she exclaimed. “I don’t know that she is dear,” said Maggie. “I don’t profess quite to understand her; however, that is not the point. The poverty at Penywern Cottage is an undoubted fact. It is also a fact that Prissie is forced to give up her classical education. She shall not! she has a genius for the old tongues. Now, Nancy, help me; use your common sense on my behalf. How am I to send money to Penywern Cottage?” Nancy thought for several minutes. “I have an idea,” she exclaimed at last. “What is that?” “I believe Mr. Hammond could help us.” Maggie colored. “How?” she asked. “Why should Geoffrey Hammond be dragged into Priscilla’s affairs? What can he possibly know about Penywern Cottage and the people who live in it?” “Only this,” said Nancy: “I remember his once talking about that part of Devonshire where Prissie’s home is and saying that his uncle has a parish there. Mr. Hammond’s uncle is the man to help us.” Miss Oliphant was silent for a moment. “Very well,” she said; “will you write to Mr. Hammond and ask him for his uncle’s address?” “Why should I do this, Maggie? Geoffrey Hammond is your friend; he would think it strange for me to write.” Maggie’s tone grew as cold as her expressive face had suddenly become. “I can write if you think it best,” she said; “but you are mistaken in supposing that Mr. Hammond is any longer a person of special interest to me.” “Oh, Maggie, Maggie, if you only would—” “Good night, Nancy,” interrupted Maggie. She kissed her friend and went back to her room. There she sat down before her bureau and prepared to write a letter. “I must not lose any time,” she said to herself; “I must help these people substantially; I must do something to rescue poor Prissie from a life of drudgery. Fancy Prissie, with her genius, living the life of an ordinary underpaid teacher: it is not to be thought of for a moment! Something must be done to put the whole family on a different footing, but that, of course, is for the future. From Priscilla’s account they want immediate aid. I have two five-pound notes in my purse: Geoffrey shall have them and enclose them to the clergyman who is his relation and who lives near Priscilla’s home.” Maggie wrote her letter rapidly. She thought it cold; she meant it to be a purely business note; she did not intend Hammond to see even the glimpse of her warm heart under the carefully studied words. “I am sick of money,” she said to him, “but to some people it is as the bread of life. Ask your friend to provide food and warmth without a moment’s delay for these poor people out of the trifle I enclose. Ask him also to write directly to me, for the ten pounds I now send is only the beginning of what I mean really to do to help them.”