“That woman, so grand and strong, represents Death, but not under the old metaphor. She comes with renewed life— the child is the type of that— she comes as a deliverer. See, she is touching that poor worn-out creature, who is so tired that she can scarcely hold her head up again. Death, with a new aspect and a new, grand strength in her face is saying to this woman, ‘Come with me now to your rest. It is all over,’ Death says: all the trouble and perplexity and strife. Come away with me and rest. The name of that picture is ‘The Deliverer.’ It is the work of a painter who can preach a sermon, write a book, deliver an oration and sing a song all through the medium of his brush. I won’t trouble you with his name just now. You will hear plenty of him and his wonderful, great pictures by and by, if you love art as I do.” “Thank you,” said Prissie simply. Some tears stole down her cheeks. She did not know she was crying; she did not attempt to wipe them away. CHAPTER XXI “I DETEST IT” Shortly after the girls got home that evening they received letters in their rooms to inform them that Miss Heath and Miss Eccleston had come to the resolution not to report the affair of the auction to the college authorities. They would trust to the honor of the students at St. Benet’s not to allow such a proceeding to occur again and would say nothing further on the matter. Prissie’s eyes again filled with tears as she read the carefully worded note. Holding it open in her hand she rushed to Maggie’s room and knocked. To her surprise, instead of the usual cheerful “Come in,” with which Miss Oliphant always assured her young friend of a welcome, Maggie said from the other side of the locked door: “I am very busy just now— I cannot see any one.” Priscilla felt a curious sense of being chilled; her whole afternoon had been one of elation, and Maggie’s words came as a kind of cold _douche._ She went back to her room, tried not to mind and occupied herself looking over her beloved Greek until the dinner-gong sounded. After dinner Priscilla again looked with anxious, loving eyes at Maggie. Maggie did not stop, as was her custom, to say a kind word or two as she passed. She was talking to another girl and laughing gaily. Her dress was as picturesque as her face and figure were beautiful. But was Priscilla mistaken, or was her anxious observation too close? She felt sure as Miss Oliphant brushed past her that her eyelids were slightly reddened, as if she had been weeping. Prissie put out a timid hand and touched Maggie on the arm. She turned abruptly. “I forgot,” she said to her companion. “Please wait for me outside, Hester; I’ll join you in a moment. I have just a word to say to Miss Peel. What is it, Prissie” said Maggie then, when the other girl had walked out of hearing. “Why did you touch me?”