“There,” she said, turning to the girls— “there,” she continued, “you will be good enough to notice that there are no photographs concealed in this trunk, no pictures, no prints.” She lifted the tray. “Empty, you see,” she added, pointing with her hand to the lower portion of the trunk— “nothing here to make my room pretty, and cozy, and home-like.” Then she shut the trunk again and locked it, and going up to where the three girls stood, gazing at her in bewilderment and some alarm, she unfastened her purse and turned all its contents into the palm of her hand. “Look, Miss Marsh,” she said, turning to the girl who had spoken last. “You may count what is here. One sovereign, one half-sovereign, two or three shillings, some pence. Would this money go far at Spilman’s, do you think?” Priscilla put it all slowly back again into her purse. Her face was still absolutely colorless. She laid the purse on the top of her bureau. “I do not suppose,” she said in a low, sad voice, “that I am the sort of girl who often comes to a place of this sort. I am poor, and I have got to work hard, and I have no time for pleasure. Nevertheless,” she added— and now a great wave of color swept over her face, and her eyes were lit up, and she had a sensation of feeling quite glad, and strong, and happy— “I am not going away because I am poor, and I am not going to mind what any one thinks of me as long as I do right. My room must stay empty and bare, because I have no money to make it full and beautiful. And do you think that I would ask those— those who sent me here— to add one feather’s weight to their cares and expenses, to give me money to buy beautiful things because I am afraid of you? No, I should be _awfully_ afraid to do that; but I am not afraid of you.” Priscilla opened the drawer of her bureau and put her little light purse back again in its hiding-place. “Good night, Miss Peel,” said Miss Day in a thin, small kind of voice. “Good night, Miss Peel,” said Miss Marsh. The girls went gently out of the room. They closed the door behind them, without making any noise. Nancy Banister remained behind. She came up to Priscilla and kissed her. “You are brave,” she said. “I admire you. I— I— am proud of you. I am glad to know that a girl like you has come to live here.” “Don’t— don’t,” said poor Prissie. Her little burst of courage had deserted her. She covered her face with her trembling hands. She did not want Nancy Banister to see that her eyes were full of tears. CHAPTER VII IN MISS OLIPHANT’S ROOM “My dear,” said Nancy Banister that same evening— “my dear and beloved Maggie, we have both been guilty of a huge mistake.”