on their honeymoon. The
Greens escorted her in a body to the Record Wall, and when she saw her
own name she covered her face with her hands, and flew for her life.
And her husband looked quite weepy. The girls said he could hardly
speak!"

"Ah-h!" sighed Rhoda, and was silent. She felt "weepy" too, filled with
a sudden yearning, a sudden realisation of want. Eleanor Newman had
risen to heights to which she could never attain. "A little, fair
thing, and almost stupid," yet her school-fellows loved her, and
immortalised her name in words of grateful loyalty. She sighed again,
and yet again, and heard Kathleen's voice cry sharply--

"Oh, I look at that empty space, and wonder if this time next year I
shall read there that I have passed first, and won the Scholarship. I
wonder if ever, ever there will be a tablet with my name upon it!"

"I expect there will be," said Dorothy. "It's a lovely idea, and I can
imagine every girl longing to see her name on the scroll of honour; but
for my own part I never shall. Not for this child! There is no hope
for me, unless they put me up as `a good little tortoise who never fell
asleep.' The worst of it is that in real life the hare keeps awake too,
and spoils one's chance. I must be content to bloom, in obscurity--`A
violet by a mossy dell, half hidden from the eye'--"

But Rhoda already saw a new tablet twinkling on the empty space, a
tablet recording phenomenal success and distinction, and the name at the
head of the inscription was not "Kathleen Murray," but one much more
familiar in her ears!

CHAPTER EIGHT.

AN ENCOUNTER.

Sunday afternoon was hopelessly wet; but the fact was less regretted
than usual, as from three to four was the time put aside for writing
home. So far a postcard to announce safe arrival had been the only word
written, and each girl was eager to pour forth her feelings at length,
to tell the latest news, and report changes of class. The two new-
comers had a score of complaints and lamentations to record, and Rhoda,
at least, entered unhesitatingly into the recital.

She had never been so miserable in her life. The girls were hateful,
domineering, and unfriendly--Miss Bruce had spoken to her three times
only--the food was good enough in its way, but so plain that she simply
longed for something _nice_; the lessons were difficult, the hours
unbearably long.--It took three whole sheets to complete the list of
grievances, by which time he