This last word reached Miss Oliphant from a distance.  Prissie had already almost reached the gates.

Maggie stood still for a moment, half inclined to follow the excited, frantic-looking girl, but that queer inertia, which was part of her complex character, came over her.  She shrugged her shoulders, the interest died out of her face; she walked slowly through the entrance-hall and down one of the side corridors to the lecture-room.

When the Greek lecture had come to an end Nancy Banister came up and slipped her hand through Maggie’s arm.

“What is the matter, Maggie?” she asked, “you look very white and tired.”

“I have a headache,” answered Maggie.  “If it does not get better, I shall send for a carriage and take a drive.”

“May I come with you?”

“No, dear Nancy, when I have these bad headaches it is almost necessary to me to be alone.”

“Would it not be better for you to go and lie down in your room?”

“I to lie down in my room with a headache like this?  No, thank you.”  Maggie shuddered as she spoke.  Nancy felt her friend’s arm shiver as she leaned on it.

“You are really ill, darling!” she said in a tone of sympathy and fondness.

“I have not felt right for a week and am worse today, but I dare say a drive in this nice frosty air will set me up.”

“I am going to Kingsdene.  Shall I order a carriage for you?”

“I wish you would.”

“Maggie, did you notice that Priscilla was not at her lecture?”

“She was not.  I met her rushing away, I think, to Kingsdene; she seemed put out about something.”

“Poor little thing.  No wonder—­ those horrid girls!”

“Oh, Nancy, if there’s anything unpleasant, don’t tell me just now; my head aches so dreadfully, I could scarcely hear bad news.”

“You are working too hard, Maggie.”

“I am not; it is the only thing left to me.”

“Do you know that we are to have a rehearsal of The Princess to-night?  If you are as ill as you look now, you can’t be present.”

“I will be present.  Do you think I can’t force myself to do what is necessary?”

“Oh, I am well acquainted with the owner of your will,” answered Nancy with a laugh.  “Well, good-by, dear, I am off.  You may expect the carriage to arrive in half an hour.”

Meanwhile Priscilla, still blind, deaf and dumb with misery, ran, rather than walked, along the road which leads to Kingsdene.  The day was lovely, with little faint wafts of spring in the air; the sky was pale blue and cloudless; there was a slight hoar frost on the grass.  Priscilla chose to walk on it, rather than on the dusty road; it felt crisp under her tread.

She had not the least idea why she was going to Kingsdene.  Her wish was to walk, and walk, and walk until sheer fatigue, caused by long-continued motion, brought to her temporary ease and forgetfulness.