d life
with its troubles and its shortcomings and arise with new ideals and a
new spirit. He had expressed himself finely. Helen, who was sympathetic,
was touched by his words. She would put aside the old life. She would
begin that instant to forget all that had passed and begin anew even her
friendship with Hester.

Hester, fortified by her pride and the resolution she had made some
weeks before, sat at her table writing. For weeks she had given Helen no
opportunity for more than a passing word.

"This letter from Doctor Baker is beautiful," began Helen. "He is as
good as he writes. He has been our pastor for fifteen years--more
perhaps. Will you read it, Hester? It may do you good. It has me."

"Perhaps I do not need it," was the curt reply. "And perhaps Doctor
Baker might object to a third party reading his letters."

"Nonsense. He would be delighted. Will you read it?"

"No, I thank you," said Hester, proudly. Then she added. "I may be
beyond being reached, you know."

Her tone was sharp. It caused Helen to cease from further importunity.

"Very well, Hester. If you do not wish to, I shall not insist." She
laid the letter aside.

"It will be the very last time, I shall try to make up with Hester," she
said to herself. "She never really cared for me, or she would see that I
wish to be friends. But she does not care."

When the half-hour bell rang, the girls began their preparation for bed
without a word to each other. Since the first days of their
misunderstanding, their politeness toward each other was so marked as to
be burdensome.

They excused and begged pardon each time their paths crossed. The same
formality was continued now. There was no conversation, although both
were talkers and their heads were buzzing with the things they would
like to have said.

When the retiring bell sounded, there was a short "Good-night, Hester,"
and as short a response, "Good-night, Helen."

There were to be sunrise services in the chapel at which every student
was required to be present. But before that time, Hester was awakened by
voices far in the distance. She sat up in bed to listen. The gray of the
Easter morning was stealing through the window. The voices came nearer
and nearer. At last she could distinguish the words.

"Christ is Risen. Christ is Risen. He hath burst His bounds in twain.
Christ is Risen! Christ is Risen! Alleluia, swell the strain."

It was the chorus of girls. This had long been th