Maggie read for a little in the library; then, feeling tired, she rose from her seat and crossed the large room, intending to go up at once to her own chamber. In the hall, however, she was attracted by seeing Miss Heath’s door slightly open. Her heart was full of compunction for having, even for a moment, suspected Priscilla of theft. She thought she would go and speak to Miss Heath about her.
She knocked at the Vice-Principal’s door.
“Come in,” answered the kind voice, and Maggie found herself a moment later seated by the fire: the door of Miss Heath’s room shut, and Miss Heath herself standing over her, using words of commiseration.
“My dear,” she said, “you look very ill.”
Maggie raised her eyes. Miss Heath had seen many moods on that charming face; now the expression in the wide-open, brown eyes caused her own to fill with sudden tears.
“I would do anything to help you, my love,” she said, tenderly, and, stooping down, she kissed Maggie on her forehead.
“Perhaps, another time,” answered Miss Oliphant. “You are all that is good, Miss Heath, and I may as well own frankly that I am neither well nor happy, but I have not come to speak of myself just now. I want to say something about Priscilla Peel.”
“Yes, what about her?”
“She came to you last night. I know what she came about.”
“She told me she had confided in you,” answered the Vice-Principal, gravely.