color, too, which added to her fascination. Sometimes the beautiful
oval of her face would he almost ivory white, but then again a rosy
cloud would well up and up the cheeks and even slightly suffuse the
broad, low forehead. Her face was never long the same, never more than
a moment in repose; eyes, mouth, brow, even the very waves of her hair
seemed to Priscilla, this first night as she sat by her hearth, to be
all speech.

The girls grew cozy and confidential together. Priscilla told Maggie
about her home, a little also about her past history and her motive in
coming to St. Benet's. Maggie sympathized with all the expression she
was capable of. At last Priscilla bade her new friend good night, and,
rising from her luxurious chair, prepared to go back to her own room.

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.