Part 32 (1/2)
”I have been waiting for you to help me, if you will, Maggie,” said Priscilla. ”I have lost the right clew to the full sense of this pa.s.sage-- see! Can you give it to me?”
Maggie sat down at once, took up the book, glanced her eyes over the difficult words and translated them with ease.
”How lovely!” said Prissie, clasping her hands and giving herself up to a feeling of enjoyment. ”Don't stop, Maggie, please; do read some more!”
Miss Oliphant smiled.
”Enthusiast!” she murmured.
She translated with brilliancy to the end of the page; then, throwing the book on her knee, repeated the whole pa.s.sage aloud in Greek.
The note that Prissie put in as a mark fell on the floor. She was so lost in delighted listening that she did not notice it, but, when Maggie at last stopped for want of breath, Priscilla saw the little note, stooped forward to pick it up, glanced at the handwriting, and a shadow swept over her expressive face.
”Oh! thank you, Maggie, thank you,” she exclaimed; ”it is beautiful, entrancing! It made me forget everything for a short time, but I must not listen to any more; it is, indeed, most beautiful, but not for me.”
”What do you mean, you little goose? You will soon read Euripides as well as I do. What is more, you will surpa.s.s me, Priscilla; your talent is greater than mine.”
”Don't say that, Maggie; I can scarcely bear it when you do.”
”Why do you say you can scarcely bear it? Do you love me so well that you hate to excel me? Silly child, as if I cared!”
”Maggie, I know you are really too great to be possessed by petty weaknesses. If I ever did excel you, which is most unlikely, I know you would be glad both for me and for yourself. No, it is not that; I am unhappy because of no fancy.”
”What worries you then?”
”Maggie, do you see this note?”
”Yes; it is from Miss Heath, is it not?”
”It is. I am to see her to-night.”
”Well, Prissie, you must be quick with your revelation, for I have some notes to look over.”
”I won't keep you a moment. I am to see Miss Heath to tell her---- Prissie paused. Her face grew deadly white. ”I am to see Miss Heath to tell her-- to tell her-- that I-- oh, Maggie! I must give up my cla.s.sics. I must; it's all settled. Don't say anything. Don't tempt me to reconsider the question. It can't be reconsidered, and my mind is made up. That's it; it's a trouble, but I must go through with it.
Good night, Maggie.”
Prissie held out her long, unformed hand; Miss Oliphant clasped it between both her own.
”You are trembling,” she said, standing up and drawing the girl toward her. ”I don't want to argue the point if you so firmly forbid me. I think you quite mad, of course. It is absolutely impossible for me to sympathize with such wild folly. Still, if your mind is made up, I won't interfere. But, seeing that at one time we were very firm friends, you might give me your reasons, Priscilla.”
Priscilla slowly and stiffly withdrew her hands; her lips moved. She was repeating Miss Oliphant's words under her breath:
”At one time we were friends.”
”Won't you speak?” said Maggie impatiently.
”Oh, yes, I'll speak, I'll tell you the reason. You won't understand, but you had better know--” Prissie paused again; she seemed to swallow something; her next words came out slowly with great difficulty: ”When I went home for the Christmas recess I found Aunt Raby worse. You don't know what my home is like, Miss Oliphant; it is small and poor.
At home we are often cold and often hungry. I have three little sisters, and they want clothes and education; they want training, they want love, they want care. Aunt Raby is too weak to do much for them now; she is very, very ill. You have not an idea-- not an idea-- Miss Oliphant, in your wealth and your luxury, what the poverty of Penywern Cottage is like. What does such poverty mean? How shall I describe it to you? We are sometimes glad of a piece of bread; b.u.t.ter is a luxury; meat we scarcely taste.” Prissie again broke off to think and consider her next words. Maggie, whose sympathies were always keenly aroused by any real emotion, tried once again to take her hands; Prissie put them behind her. ”Aunt Raby is a good woman,” continued Priscilla; ”she is brave, she is a heroine. Although she is just a commonplace old woman, no one has ever led a grander life in its way. She wears poor clothes-- oh, the poorest; she has an uncouth appearance, worse even than I have, but I am quite sure that G.o.d-- G.o.d respects her-- G.o.d thinks her worthy. When my father and mother died (I was fourteen when my dear mother died) Aunt Raby came and took me home and my three little sisters. She gave us bread to eat. Oh, yes, we never quite wanted food, but before we came Aunt Raby had enough money to feed herself and no more. She took us all in and supported us, because she worked so very, very hard. Ever since I was fourteen-- I am eighteen now-- Aunt Raby has done this. Well,” continued Priscilla, slow tears coming to her eyes and making themselves felt in her voice, ”this hard work is killing her; Aunt Raby is dying because she has worked so hard for us. Before my three years have come to an end here, she will be far, far away: she will be at rest forever-- G.o.d will be making up to her for all she has done here. Her hard life which G.o.d will have thought beautiful will be having its reward. Afterward I have to support and educate the three little girls. I spoke to Mr. Hayes-- my dear clergyman, about whom I have told you, and who taught me all I know-- and he agrees with me that I know enough of Greek and Latin now for rudimentary teaching, and that I shall be better qualified to take a good paying situation if I devote the whole of my time while at St.
Benet's to learning and perfecting myself in modern languages. It's the end of a lovely dream, of course, but there is no doubt-- no doubt whatever-- what is right for me to do.”