g of the distant sea.

She bent her head sideways as though to listen, rose to her feet, and
standing back against the bed, looked down at the shadows which danced
about the hem of her garment. A swift furtive glance over her shoulder
and her hand stole to the crimson kimono hanging on the brass rail,
whilst a jewelled cat's-eye winked cunningly among the embroidery of
her night-robe.

"Come in," she said suddenly and sharply, "don't stand outside the
door, come in."

And when there came no answer she thrust her arms swiftly into the
sleeves of the crimson kimono, and running across the room flung open
the door, and finding the corridor empty passed hurriedly on, leaving
the door wide so that the shadows skipped freakishly about the room in
tune to the rhythmical whisperings which the sea bore from the distant
corners of the earth.

CHAPTER XI

"Thy brother Death came, and cried,
'Wouldst thou me?'
And I replied,
'No, not thee!'"--_Shelley_.

The electric lights gave out a kind of fictitious radiance against the
dull grey of the hall windows through which the dawn was struggling.

The place was packed with girls. Some clustered near the baize door,
standing nervously on tip-toe and with the intent of retiring
precipitately if there should be any sign of the Principal; others hung
over the stair or gallery banisters; the domestic staff stood round their
own particular door, their white faces shining dully like Chinese
lanterns; no one spoke or moved. In fact they might have been posing for
a photographer until those above suddenly swayed and bent this way and
that, and those in the hall parted to give way to Leonie.

Clad in crimson satin kimono, with feet thrust into crimson satin
slippers and her hastily plaited hair hanging in two great ropes, she
passed through them like a flame, emanating strength and resolve and a
tremendous power of will. Although she looked neither to the right nor
left as she ran swiftly and disappeared into the wing where lay her
little friend, there was something very pleasing in the way the girls put
out their hands to touch her as she passed; and something distinctly
encouraging in the whispered remarks that followed her, and which might
be summarised in the "_Now_ it's all right," which under the high
pressure of intense excitement almost burst from the lips of Annie Smith.

Like an arrow she sped to the bed, unconsciously pushing aside the women
who, al