Why was she condemned to wear them now,--she, who delighted in soft laces and dainty embroideries and the clinging draperies which she thought suited her slender, pliant figure so well?
Was it a part of this whole scheme; and was the object of the scheme to humiliate her, to take away her self-respect, her proper pride?
Mechanically, but carefully, as was her wont, Hilda hung the despised frocks in the closet, put away the hats, after trying them on and approving of them, in spite of herself ("Of course," she said, "mamma _could_ not get an ugly hat, if she tried!"), and then proceeded to take out and lay in the bureau drawers the dainty under-clothing which filled the lower part of the trunk.

Under all was a layer of books, at sight of which Hilda gave a little cry of pleasure.

"Ah!" she said, "I shall not be quite alone;" for she saw at a glance that here were some old and dear friends.

Lovingly she took them up, one by one: "Romances of the Middle Ages," Percy's "Reliques," "Hereward," and "Westward, Ho!" and, best-beloved of all, the "Adventures of Robin Hood," by grace of Howard Pyle made into so strong an enchantment that the heart thrills even at sight of its good brown cover.

And here was her Tennyson and her Longfellow, and Plutarch's Lives, and the "Book of Golden Deeds." Verily a goodly company, such as might even turn a prison into a palace.