The voices grew muffled as the President and Professor Green moved slowly down the hall. Molly felt ill and tired. Would the Blounts be able to pay back the money? Suppose they were not and she had to leave college while Judith was to be allowed to finish her education and live in the most expensive rooms in Wellington. She pressed her lips together. Such thoughts were unworthy of her and she tried to brush them out of her mind. "Poor Judith!" she said to herself. The President's footsteps sounded on the stairs. She paused on the landing, cleared her throat and mounted the second flight. How dark it had grown. A feeling of sickening fear came over Molly, and suddenly she rushed blindly into the hall and out of the house without once looking behind her. Down the steps she flew, and, in her headlong flight, collided with Professor Green, who had evidently started to go in one direction and, changing his mind, turned to go toward the village. "Why, Miss Brown, has anything frightened you? You are trembling like a leaf." "I--I was only hurrying," she replied lamely. "Have you been to see the President?" "I didn't see her. It was too late," answered Molly evasively. They walked on in silence for a moment. "I am going down to the village for a long-distance message. May I see you to your door on my way?" he asked. "Oh, yes," said Molly, half inclined to confide to the Professor that she had just overheard his conversation. But a kind of shyness closed her lips. They began talking of other things, chiefly of the little Japanese, Molly's pupil. At the door of Queen's, the Professor took her hand and looked down at her kindly. "You were frightened at something," he said, smiling gravely. "Confess, now, were you not?" "There was nothing to frighten me," she answered. "Did you ever see a picture," she continued irrelevantly, "a photograph in a gilt frame on a little table in the President's drawing room? It's a picture of a slender girl in an old-fashioned black dress. Her hair is dark and her face is rather pale-looking." "Oh, yes. That's a photograph of Miss Elaine Walker, President Walker's sister." "Where is she now?" asked Molly. "She died in that house some twenty-five years ago. You know, Miss Walker succeeded her father as President and they have always lived there. Miss Elaine was in her senior year when she had typhoid fever and died. It was a good deal of a blow, I believe, to the family and to the entire University. She was very popular and very talented. She wrote charming poetry. I have read some of it. No doubt she would have done great things if she had lived." "After all," Molly argued with herself, "I went to sleep looking at her photograph. It was the most natural thing in the world to dream about it. But why did she look so sorrowful and then so hopeful? I can't forget her face."