“Only this,” said Nancy: “I remember his once talking about that part of Devonshire where Prissie’s home is, and saying that his uncle has a parish there. Mr Hammond’s uncle is the man to help us.”
Miss Oliphant was silent for a moment.
“Very well,” she said; “will you write to Mr Hammond and ask him for his uncle’s address?”
“Why should I do this, Maggie? Geoffrey Hammond is your friend; he would think it strange for me to write.”
Maggie’s tone grew as cold as her expressive face had suddenly become. “I can write if you think it best,” she said; “but you are mistaken in supposing that Mr Hammond is any longer a person of special interest to me.”
“Oh, Maggie, Maggie, if you only would—”
“Good-night, Nancy,” interrupted Maggie. She kissed her friend, and went back to her room. There she sat down before her bureau and prepared to write a letter. “I must not lose any time,” she said to herself; “I must help these people substantially; I must do something to rescue poor Prissie from a life of drudgery. Fancy Prissie, with her genius, living the life of an ordinary underpaid teacher: it is not to be thought of for a moment! Something must be done to put the whole family on a different footing, but that, of course, is for the future. From Priscilla’s account they want immediate aid. I have two five-pound notes in my purse: Geoffrey shall have them and enclose them to the clergyman who is his relation, and who lives near Priscilla’s home.”
Maggie wrote her letter rapidly. She thought it cold; she meant it to be a purely business note; she did not intend Hammond to see even the glimpse of her warm heart under the carefully studied words. “I am sick of money,” she said to him, “but to some people it is as the bread of life. Ask your friend to provide food and warmth without a moment’s delay for these poor people out of the trifle I enclose. Ask him also to write directly to me, for the ten pounds I now send is only the beginning of what I mean really to do to help them.”
When her letter was finished, Maggie put her hand in her pocket to take out her purse. It was not there. She searched on the table, looked under piles of books and papers, and presently found it. She unclasped the purse, and opened an inner pocket for the purpose of taking out two five-pound notes which she had placed there this morning. To her astonishment and perplexity, this portion of the purse now contained only one of the notes. Maggie felt her face turning crimson. Quick as a flash of lightning a horrible thought assailed her—Priscilla had been alone in her room for nearly an hour—Priscilla’s people were starving: had Priscilla taken the note?
“Oh, hateful!” said Maggie to herself; “what am I coming to, to suspect the brave, the noble—I won’t, I can’t. Oh, how shall I look her in the face and feel that I ever, even for a second, thought of her so dreadfully.” Maggie searched through her purse again. “Perhaps I dreamt that I put two notes here this morning,” she said to herself. “But no, it is no dream; I put two notes into this division of my purse, I put four sovereigns here; the sovereigns are safe—one of the notes is gone.”