Four sides of a sheet of paper were covered with
small, close writing, the neat somewhat cramped hand which at that
time characterized the men of St. Hilda's College.
Maggie's eyes seemed to fly over the writing; they absorbed the sense,
they took the full meaning out of each word. At last all was known to
her, burnt in, indeed, upon her brain.
She crushed the letter suddenly in one of her hands, then raised it to
her lips and kissed it; then fiercely, as though she hated it, tossed
it into the fire. After this she sat quiet, her hands folded meekly,
her head slightly bent. The color gradually left her cheeks. She
looked dead tired and languid. After a time she arose, and, walking
very slowly across her room, sat down by her bureau and drew a sheet
of paper before her. As she did so her eyes fell for a moment on the
Greek play which had fascinated her an hour ago. She found herself
again murmuring some lines from Prometheus Vinctus:
"O divine ether, and swift-winged winds----"
She interrupted herself with a petulant movement.
"Folly!" she murmured, pushing the book aside. "Even glorious, great
thoughts like those don't satisfy me. Whoever supposed they would?
What was I given a heart for? Why does it beat so fiercely, and long,
and love? and why is it wrong-- wrong of me to love? Oh, Annabel Lee!
oh, darling! if only your wretched Maggie Oliphant had never known
you!"
Maggie dashed some heavy tears from her eyes.
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