The girl's old-young face flushed painfully.

"I'll want a few pence for stamps, of course," she said. "But I
sha'n't write a great many letters. I'll be a great deal too busy
studying. You need not allow me anything like so large a sum as that,
Aunt Raby."

"Nonsense, child. You'll find it all too small when you go out into
the world. You are a clever girl, Prissie, and I'm going to be proud
of you. I don't hold with the present craze about women's education.
But I feel somehow that I shall be proud of you. You'll be learned
enough, but you'll be a woman with it all. I wouldn't have you stinted
for the world, Prissie, my dear. Yes, I'll make it ten shillings a
month-- yes, I will. I can easily screw that sum out of the butter
money. Now, not another word. I'm off to bed. Good night, my love."

Priscilla kissed her aunt and went out. It was a lovely autumn
evening. She stepped on to the green sward which surrounded the little
cottage, and with the moonlight casting its full radiance on her slim
figure, looked steadily out over the sea. The cottage was on the top
of some high cliffs. The light of the moon made a bright path over the
water, and Priscilla had a good view of shining, silvered water and
dark, deep blue sky.

She stood perfectly still, gazing straight out before her. Some of the
reflection and brightness of the moonlight seemed to get into her
anxious eyes and the faint dawn of a new-born hope to tremble around
her lips. She thought herself rich with ten shillings a month
pocket-money. She returned to the house, feeling overpowered at Aunt