She waddled away to another green door always left open o’ nights, and which led to the wing reserved entirely for the girls of the Upper Sixth; and where each one revelled in her own dainty separate bedroom.

“The young ladies will retire to their bedrooms and close their doors.  Mademoiselle, I depend upon you!” With one hand on the banisters and one foot poised for descent, the Principal pitted her will against overwhelming curiosity and won.

Backing like a flock of sheep before the sheep-dog, they slowly retired and shut the doors, only to fling them wide open and rush to the balustrade in time to see the Principal, followed by Miss Primstinn, hurrying down the stairs to meet Cookie, who had run back into the hall shouting at the top of her voice.

“Come along, Mum!  Quick!  Miss Jessica’s dead and Miss Gertrude dying.  And where’s Miss Lee-onny—­fetch her someone—­it’s ’er friend, little Miss Jessica, wots—­wots——­”

The Principal, whose face looked suddenly livid and old, laid a hand on Cookie’s shoulder.

“Run and fetch the doctor, Cook, please, it will be quicker than the telephone!  I can trust you to keep your head.  Dr. Mumford is too far away, fetch the new one at the end of the road.”

“Please to send Brown, Mum, she’s younger an’ quicker at runnin’ than me.  An’ I think I can ’elp you, Mum,” said Cookie quietly, unconsciously responding to the strength of her mistress’s character.  “An’ I’d like to fetch Miss Lee-onny, Mum, she’s that to be depended h’on an’ clear’eaded.”

The Principal sighed under the sudden inrush of relief which had come to her at the mention of her favourite pupil.

She loved Leonie with a love quite separate from her affection for all the young souls in her charge, and secretly admired the strength of will which more than once had been pitted against her own; moreover, accustomed to the quiet monotonous passage of time, she suddenly realised that she needed someone young and energetic in this emergency.

And the girl she needed in her distress was kneeling on her bed with arms upraised above her head.

The dying moon was slowly withdrawing her waning silvery light from the billowing mass of tawny hair, tumbling in lavender-scented masses around the girl; lingering for a moment on the eyes staring from under the unblinking eyelids, and for a second upon the glint of even teeth showing through the lips moving in prayer.

And then she spoke, in the eerie tones of those who talk in their sleep; and the words were even those of India’s most holy writ, sonorous and full of a surpassing dignity, rising and falling as she knelt motionless, her eyelids slowly closing upon the terrible staring eyes.

“The sacrifice . . .” she chanted monotonously, “with voice, hearing, mind, I make oblation.  To this sacrifice . . . let the gods come well willing!”

And as the moon sank to rest there was no sound save for a little sigh as Leonie, with closed eyes and white hands clasped upon her breast, stretched herself upon the bed, then with a violent movement sat up, and wide awake stared about the room.