room began to look charming to her now that her things were unpacked,
and the first sharp pain of her homesickness was greatly softened
since she had fallen in love with Maggie Oliphant.

Priscilla had not often in the course of her life undressed by a fire,
but then had she ever spent an evening like this one? All was fresh to
her, new, exciting. Now she was really very tired, and the moment she
laid her head on her pillow would doubtless be asleep.

She got into bed, and, putting out her candle, lay down. The firelight
played on the pale blue walls and lit up the bold design of the
briar-roses which ran round the frieze at the top of the room.

Priscilla wondered why she did not drop asleep at once. She felt vexed
with herself when she discovered that each instant the chance of
slumber was flying before her, that every moment her tired body became
more restless and wide-awake. She could not help gazing at that scroll
of briar-roses; she could not help thinking of the hand that had
painted the flowers, of the girl whose presence had once made the room
in which she now lay so charming.

Priscilla had not yet been twelve hours at St. Benet's, and yet almost
every student she had met had spoken of Annabel Lee-- had spoken of
her with interest, with regret. One girl had gone further than this;
she had breathed her name with bitter sorrow.

Priscilla wished she had not been put into this room. She felt
absolutely nervous; she had a sense of usurping some one else's place,
of turning somebody else out into the cold. She did not believe in
ghosts, but she had an uncomfortable sensation, and it would not have