sir, I beg your pardon."

"Granted, my dear child. Sit down, Prissie. I will forgive your
profane words about Cicero, for I see you are excited. What is the
matter?"

"I want you to help me, Mr. Hayes. Will you help me? You have always
been my dear friend, my good friend."

"Of course I will help you. What is wrong? Speak to me fully."

"Aunt Raby fainted in the hayfield yesterday."

"Indeed? It was a warm day; I am truly concerned. Would she like to
see me? Is she better to-day?"

"She is quite well to-day-- quite well for the time."

"My dear Priscilla, what a tragic face! Your Aunt Raby is not the
first woman who has fainted and got out of her faint again and been
none the worse."

"That is just the point, Mr. Hayes. Aunt Raby has got out of her
faint, but she is the worse."

Mr. Hayes looked hard into his pupil's face. There was no beauty in
it. The mouth was wide, the complexion dull, the features irregular.
Even her eyes-- and perhaps they were Prissie's best point-- were
neither large nor dark; but an expression now filled those eyes and
lingered round that mouth which made the old rector feel solemn.