Then followed the signature of the president of Hilox, a man whose name and fame were familiar to Margaret Lee.

The girl’s cheek glowed; her dark eyes deepened; a look of power and purpose settled upon the sweet full lips.  For this she had studied relentlessly; to this end she had looked; with this in view her four years’ course had been pursued with pluck and determination.  The picture of Joanna Baker, as young as herself, climbing easily to the topmost round of the ladder, had fired and stimulated her, and she had allowed it to be known that her life was dedicated to learning, and by-and-by to teaching.

All the faculty at Mount Seward knew her aspirations, and several of the professors had promised their aid in securing her a position, but she had not expected anything of this kind so soon.

Why, her diploma would not be hers until next week!  Surely there must be some benignant angel at work in her behalf.  But—­Hilox?  Had she ever met any one from Hilox?

Suddenly the light went out of the ardent face, and a frown crinkled the smooth fairness of her brow.  This, then, he had dared to do!

Memory recalled an episode two years back, and half-forgotten.  Margaret had been spending her vacation at home in the West Virginia mountains, and a man had fallen in love with her.  There was nothing remarkable in this, for a beautiful girl of seventeen, graceful, dignified, accomplished, and enthusiastic, is a very lovable creature.  A visiting stranger in the village, the minister’s cousin, had been much at her father’s house, had walked and boated with her, and shared her rides over the hills, both on sure-footed mountain ponies.  As a friend Margaret had liked Dr. Angus, as a comrade had found him delightful, but her heart had not been touched.  What had she, with her Greek professorate looming up like a star in mid-heaven before her—­what had she to do with love and a lover?  She had managed to make Dr. Angus know this before he had quite committed himself by a proposal; but she had understood what was in his thought, and she knew that he knew that she knew all about it.  And Dr. Angus had remained and settled down as a practitioner in the little mountain town.  The town had a future before it, for two railroads were already projected to cross it, and there were coal mines in the neighborhood, and, altogether, a man might do worse than drive his roots into this soil.  She had heard now and then of Dr. Angus since that summer—­her last vacation had been passed with cousins in New England—­and he was said to be courting a Mrs. Murray, a rich and charming neighbor of her father’s.

Dr. Angus had friends in Colorado.  Now she remembered he had a relative who had helped to found Hilox, and had endowed a chair of languages or literature; she was not certain which.  So it must be to him she was indebted, and, oddly, she was more indignant than grateful.  The natural intervention of a friendly hand in the matter took all the satisfaction out of her surprise.