A year ago Judy would have been in the depths of despair over a separation from her beloved parents at this holiday time. But whether she had gained poise by her recent sufferings or whether spending Christmas with her friend in the big empty Quadrangle appealed to her romantic nature, it would be difficult to tell. Through all the complexities of her nature her devotion to Molly was interwoven like a silver thread, and the shame and remorse she still felt in looking back on that unhappy evening when she had denounced her friend only seemed to draw the two girls more closely together.

Molly gave her a joyous hug.

"Oh, Judy, I am so happy. I never dreamed of such a blessing as this.

Even Otoyo is going away this year and hardly half a dozen girls are left in the Quadrangle. I am truly glad I had the courage to decline Millicent's invitation. It was only for one instant I was tempted to go, but she ruined it by a patronizing speech."

"What a singular little creature she is," observed Judy. "She has no charm, if she can beat on silver; and she's so awfully conscious of her wealth. I don't know how I could ever have admired her. I suppose I was lured in the beginning by her fine clothes and her grand way of talking."

"She is very talented," Molly continued, "but, as you say, she lacks charm. Perhaps she would have been different if she had been poor and obliged to turn her gifts to some use. After all, I think we are happier than rich girls. We are not afraid to be ourselves. We wear old clothes and we have an object in view when we work, because we want to earn money."

"Earn money," repeated Judy. "I only wish I could give papa the surprise of his life by earning a copper cent."

Molly was silent. Her own earning capacity had not been great that winter. She had kept herself in pin money by tutoring, but lately she had made an alarming discovery. When she had first started to college, teaching had been the ultimate goal of her ambitions. She intended to be a teacher in a private school and perhaps later have a school of her own, as Nance wished to do.

Now, as her horizon broadened and her tastes and perceptions began taking form and shape, she found herself drifting farther and farther away from her early ambition. Something was waking up in her mind that had been asleep. It was like a voice crying to be heard, still immensely far away and inarticulate, but growing clearer and more insistent all the time.

It made her uneasy and unsettled. She yearned to express herself, but the power had not yet arrived.

The two girls went down to the village that afternoon to see the last trainload of students pull out of Wellington station, and later to make some purchases at the general store. It was Christmas Eve and the streets were filled with shoppers from the country around Wellington.

Molly was trying to recall the words of a poem she had heard ages back, the rhythm of which was beating in her head, and Judy was endeavoring to explain to herself why she felt neither homesick nor blue on this the first Christmas ever spent away from her parents.

They paused to look in at the window of a florist who did a thriving business in Wellington. A motor car was waiting in front of the shop.

"We must have some Christmas decorations, too," exclaimed Judy about to enter, when the way was blocked by a crowd of people coming out. "What pretty girls!" continued Judy in a whisper, looking admiringly at two young women who came first.

The prettiest one, who had red hair not unlike Molly's and brown eyes, called over her shoulder:

"Edwin, I shan't save you a seat beside me unless you're there to claim it."

"I'll be there, Alice, never fear," answered Professor Green, hurrying after her with an armload of holly and cedar garlands.

Molly stood rooted to the spot while the shoppers crowded into the car.

"If I could only tell him how sorry I am for that cruel speech," she thought.

With a sudden determination, she rushed toward the car, calling:

"Professor!"

The girl named Alice looked around quickly, but apparently she did not choose to see Molly, and as the car moved off she began laughing and talking in a very sprightly and vivacious manner.

Molly sighed. The longer an apology is delayed the more trivial and insignificant it becomes.

"He probably has forgotten all about it," she thought. "He seems happy enough with Alice, whoever she is. Perhaps what I said hurt me more than it did him, but, oh, I do wish I had seen him before he went away.

It would have been different then, I'm sure."

She followed Judy into the flower store. Mrs. McLean was there with Andy.

"Why, here are two la.s.sies left over!" cried the good woman.

"What luck, mother!" said Andy. "Now we'll have some fun. We'll give a dinner and a dance, and Larry and Dodo will come over. We will, won't we, mother?"

"What a coaxer you are, Andy. You're still a lad of ten and not nineteen, I'm sure."

"Don't you let him persuade you to give parties when you're not of a mind to do it, Mrs. McLean," put in Judy.

"I wouldn't miss the chance, my dear. I like it as much as he does.

We'll have it to-morrow night and you'll come prepared to be as merry as can be and cheer up the doctor. He has been so busy of late he has forgotten how to enjoy himself."

"It doesn't look as if we were going to spend such a quiet Christmas after all, Judy," laughed Molly, when Mrs. McLean and Andy had gone.

Judy was engaged in selecting all the most branching and leafy boughs of holly she could find, while the florist looked on uneasily.

That afternoon they spent an hour beautifying their yellow sitting room.

And all the time Molly's mind was harking back to Christmas a year ago, when the Greens had busied themselves preparing such a delightful party for Otoyo and her.

"And I said he was not a loyal friend," she said to herself. "Oh, if I could only unsay those words!"

She sat down at her desk and seized a pen.

"What are you going to do?" asked an inner voice.

"I am going to write a note and tell him I'm sorry, and then I'm going over to the cloisters and slip it under his door. It will ease my mind, even if he doesn't get the note until he comes back. He'll know then that I couldn't go to sleep Christmas Eve until I had apologized."

The note finished, she carefully addressed and sealed it. Judy was in her own room composing a joint letter to her mother and father, and did not see Molly when she slipped out of the room and hurried downstairs.

Outside, the pale winter twilight still lingered and the sky was piled high with fleecy white clouds.

"It's going to snow," thought Molly, as she hurried along the arcade and opened the little oak door leading into the cloisters.

CHAPTER XV.

A CHRISTMAS GHOST STORY THAT WAS NEVER TOLD.

It was quite dark in the corridor whereon opened the cloister offices.

All the teachers had gone away for the holidays and the place was as ghostly as a deserted monastery.

"I can't say I'd like to be here alone on a dark night, if it is such a young cloister. It seems to have been born old like some children,"

Molly thought.

She coughed and the sound reverberated in the arched ceiling and came back to her an empty echo.

Pausing at Professor Green's door, she stooped to shove the note underneath, when, to her surprise, the door opened at her touch and swung lightly back.

With an exclamation, Molly started back, leaving the note on the floor.