he year, was piled up with newly cut logs.
In her long, clinging black dress, the light from the halo of St.
Aldwyth in the window falling on her regular Greek features, and
touching with a ruddier gleam the pale gold of her rippling hair, Miss
Cavendish looked an imposing and commanding figure. Born of a good
family, the daughter of a high dignitary of the Church, she was by
nature a student, and after a brilliant career at Girton she had for a
time devoted herself to scientific research, arousing much interest by
her clever articles in various periodicals; but feeling that her true
vocation was teaching, she had turned her attention to education, and,
gaining a reputation in the scholastic world, had in course of time
been elected as the principal of Chessington College, a post which she
filled with dignity, and greatly to the satisfaction of both governors
and parents. Not a remarkably tender woman, she was perhaps more
respected than loved by her pupils; but she had great powers of
administration, and managed to impress upon her girls a strict sense of
duty and responsibility, a love of work, a fine perception of honour,
and a desire to keep up the high tone and prestige of the school.

She turned her clear, cold blue eyes on Honor, as the latter entered
the room, with a scrutinizing gaze, so comprehensive and so full of
authority that, despite her intention of showing a bold front, the girl
involuntarily quailed.

"Come here, Honor Fitzgerald," began Miss Cavendish, in a calm,
measured tone. "I wish you to explain to me why you have taken it upon
yourself to alter the costume which, you are well aware, is obligatory
for all attending the College."

"I can't wear orange," replied Honor, plucking up her courage for the
battle; "it's against my principles."

"There are right principles and wrong principles; we will decide
presently to which class yours belong. On what grounds do you raise
your objection?"

"I'm Irish," said Honor briefly, "so I prefer green."

"That is no reason. We have many nationalities here, and do you imagine
that every girl can be permitted to carry out her individual taste?
Tell me why you suppose such a rule was framed."

"I don't know," returned Honor rebelliously.

"Then you must think, for I require an answer."

Honor stared at the fireplace, at the bookcase, with its richly bound
volumes; at the window, where the red robe of St. Hilary made such a
glorious spot of colour; at the