Miss Heath looked attentively at the young student, for whom she felt so strong an interest. Priscilla’s words had scarcely been absent from her night or day since they were spoken. “Maggie ought to marry Mr. Hammond. Maggie loves him and he loves her, but a bogie stands in the way.” Night and day Miss Heath had pondered these words. Now, looking at the fair face, whose roundness of outline was slightly worn, at the eyes which had looked at her for a moment through a veil of sudden tears, she resolved to take the initiative in a matter which she considered quite outside her province. “Sit down, Maggie,” she said. “I think the time has come for me to tell you something which has lain as a secret on my heart for over a year.” Maggie looked up in surprise, then dropped into a chair and folded her hands in her lap. She was slightly surprised at Miss Heath’s tone, but not as yet intensely interested. “You know, my dear,” she said, “that I never interfere with the life a student lives _outside_ this hall. Provided she obeys the rules and mentions the names of the friends she visits, she is at liberty, practically, to do as she pleases in those hours which are not devoted to lectures. A girl at St. Benet’s may have a great, a very great friend at Kingsdene or elsewhere of whom the principals of the college know nothing. I think I may add with truth that were the girl to confide in the principal of her college in case of any friendship developing into— into love, she would receive the deepest sympathy and the tenderest counsels that the case would admit of. The principal who was confided in would regard herself for the time being as the young girl’s mother.” Maggie’s eyes were lowered now; her lips trembled; she played nervously with a flower which she held in her hand. “I must apologize,” continued Miss Heath, “for having alluded to a subject which may not in the least concern you, my dear. My excuse for doing so is that what I have to tell you directly bears on the question of marriage. I would have spoken to you long ago, but, until lately, until a few days ago, I had not the faintest idea that such a subject had even distantly visited your mind.” “Who told you that it had?” questioned Maggie. She spoke with anger. “Who has dared to interfere— to spread rumors? I am not going to marry. I shall never marry.” “It is not in my power at present to tell you how the rumor has reached me,” continued Miss Heath, “but, having reached me, I want to say a few words about— about Annabel Lee.” “Oh, don’t!” said Maggie, rising to her feet, her face pale as death. She put her hand to her heart as she spoke. A pang, not so much mental as bodily, had gone through it. “My dear, I think you must listen to me while I give you a message from one whom you dearly loved, whose death has changed you, Maggie, whose death we have all deeply mourned.” “A message?” said Maggie; “a message from Annabel! What message?”