Chapter Twenty Six.
In the Ante-Chapel of St. Hilda’s.
Priscilla ran blindly down the corridor which opened into the wide entrance-hall. Groups of girls were standing about; they stared as the wild-looking apparition rushed past them: Prissie was blind to their puzzled and curious glances. She wanted to see Miss Heath; she had a queer kind of instinct, rather than any distinct impression, that in Miss Heath’s presence she would be protected, that Miss Heath would know what to say, would know how to dispel the cloud of disgrace which had suddenly been cast over her like a cloak.
“Is there anything wrong, Miss Peel?” said gentle little Ada Hardy, coming up and speaking to her affectionately. Miss Hardy stood right in Prissie’s path, barring her way for a moment, and causing her, in spite of herself, to stop her headlong rush to the Vice-Principal’s room. Priscilla put up her hand to her brow; she looked in a dazed sort of way at the kind-hearted girl.
“What is the matter—can I help you?” repeated Ada Hardy.
“You can’t help me,” said Prissie. “I want to see Miss Heath; let me pass.” She ran forward again, and some other girls, coming out of the dining-hall, now came up to Ada and distracted her attention.
Miss Heath’s private sitting-room was on the ground floor. This lovely room has been described before. It was open now, and Prissie went in without knocking; she thought she would see Miss Heath sitting as she usually was at this hour, either reading or answering letters; she was not in the room. Priscilla felt too wild and impetuous to consider any action carefully, just then; she ran up at once to the electric-bell, and pressed the button for quite a quarter of a minute. A maidservant came quickly to answer the summons. She thought Miss Heath had sent for her, and stared at the excited girl.
“I want to see Miss Heath,” said Priscilla; “please ask her to come to me here; say Miss Peel wants to see her—Priscilla Peel wants to see her, very, very badly, in her own sitting-room at once. Ask her to come to me at once.”
The presence of real tragedy always inspires respect; there was no question with regard to the genuineness of Prissie’s sorrow just then.