The little house looked as if any storm
must detach it from its resting-place, but to-night there was no wind,
only clinging mist and damp and thick fog.
Priscilla mounted the rough road which led to the vicarage, opened the
white gate, walked up the gravel path and entered the little porch.
Her knock was answered by the vicar himself. He drew her into the
house with an affectionate word of welcome, and soon she was sitting
by his study fire, with hat and jacket removed.
In the vicar's eyes Priscilla was not at all a plain girl. He liked
the rugged power which her face displayed; he admired the sensible
lines of her mouth, and he prophesied great things from that brow, so
calm, so broad, so full. Mr. Hayes had but a small respect for the
roses and lilies of mere beauty. Mind was always more to him than
matter. Some of the girls at St. Benet's, who thought very little of
poor Priscilla, would have felt no small surprise had they known the
high regard and even admiration this good man felt for her.
"I am glad you have called, Prissie," he said. "I was disappointed in
not seeing you to-day. Well, my dear, do as well in the coming term as
you did in the past. You have my best wishes.
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