She had just reached the door of Maggie's room, and was about to turn
the handle, when a sudden thought arrested her. She came back a few
steps.
"May I ask you a question?" she said.
"Certainly," replied Miss Oliphant.
"Who is the girl who used to live in my room? Annabel Lee, the other
girls call her. Who is she? What is there remarkable about her?"
To Priscilla's astonishment, Maggie started a step forward, her eyes
blazed with an expression which was half frightened-- half angry. She
interlocked one soft hand inside the other, her face grew white, hard
and strained.
"You must not ask me about Annabel Lee," she said in a whisper, "for
I-- I can tell you nothing about her. I can never tell you about her--
never."
Then she rushed to her sofa-bed, flung herself upon it face downward,
and burst into queer, silent, distressful tears.
Some one touched Priscilla softly an her shoulder.
"Let me take you to your room, Miss Peel," said Nancy Banister. "Don't
take any notice of Maggie; she will be all right by and by."
Nancy took Priscilla's hand and walked with her across the corridor.
"I am so sorry I said anything to hurt Miss Oliphant," said Priscilla.
"Oh, you were not to blame. You could not know any better.
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