“I am so sorry I said anything to hurt Miss Oliphant,” said Priscilla. “Oh, you were not to blame. You could not know any better. Of course, now that you do know, you will never do it again.” “But I don’t know anything now. Please will _you_ tell me who Annabel Lee is?” “Hush! don’t speak so loud. Annabel Lee” Nancy’s eyes filled with tears— “no girl in the college was so popular.” “Why do you say _was?_ and why do you cry?” “I did not know that I cried. Annabel Lee is dead.” “Oh!” Priscilla walked into her room and Nancy went back to Maggie Oliphant. CHAPTER IV AN EAVESDROPPER The students at St. Benet’s were accustomed to unlimited license in the matter of sitting up at night. At a certain hour the electric light were put out, but each girl was well supplied with candles and could sit up and pursue her studies into the small hours, if she willed. It was late when Priscilla left Maggie Oliphant’s room on this first night, but, long as her journey had been, and tired as she undoubtedly felt, the events of the evening had excited her, and she did not care to go to bed. Her fire was now burning well, and her room was warm and cozy. She drew the bolt of her door, and, unlocking her trunk, began to unpack. She was a methodical girl and well trained. Miss Rachel Peel had instilled order into Priscilla from her earliest days, and she now quickly disposed of her small but neat wardrobe. Her linen would just fit into the drawers of the bureau. Her two or three dresses and jackets were hung tidily away behind the curtain which formed her wardrobe. Priscilla pushed her empty trunk against the wall, folded up the bits of string and paper which lay scattered about, and then, slowly undressing, she got into bed. She undressed with a certain sense of luxuriousness and pleasure. Her room began to look charming to her now that her things were unpacked, and the first sharp pain of her homesickness was greatly softened since she had fallen in love with Maggie Oliphant. Priscilla had not often in the course of her life undressed by a fire, but then had she ever spent an evening like this one? All was fresh to her, new, exciting. Now she was really very tired, and the moment she laid her head on her pillow would doubtless be asleep. She got into bed, and, putting out her candle, lay down. The firelight played on the pale blue walls and lit up the bold design of the briar-roses which ran round the frieze at the top of the room. Priscilla wondered why she did not drop asleep at once. She felt vexed with herself when she discovered that each instant the chance of slumber was flying before her, that every moment her tired body became more restless and wide-awake. She could not help gazing at that scroll of briar-roses; she could not help thinking of the hand that had painted the flowers, of the girl whose presence had once made the room in which she now lay so charming.