"Maggie, dear," she said, "don't feel lonely any more.Think of me and your Aunt Elizabeth as your friends who will always care for you.You must never be lonely again."Maggie's whole heart responded.She felt its wild beating but she could do nothing, could say nothing.Her body stiffened.In spite of herself she withdrew herself.Her face reddened, then, was pale.
"Thank you, aunt," was all she could say.
Her aunt moved away.Silently they went downstairs together.
At about ten the next morning they were seated in the dining-room--Aunt Anne, Uncle Mathew, Maggie, and Mr.Brassy.Mr.Brassy was speaking:
"I'm afraid, Miss Cardinal, that there can be no question about the legality of this.It has been duly witnessed and signed.I regret extremely...but as you can well understand, I was quite unable to prevent.With the exception of a legacy of 300 Pounds Sterling to Miss Maggie Cardinal everything goes to Miss Ellen Harmer, 'To whom I owe more than I can ever possibly--'""Thank you," interrupted Aunt Anne."This is, I think, the woman who has been cook here during the last four years?""About five, I think," said Mr.Brassy softly.
Uncle Mathew was upon his feet, trembling.
"This is monstrous," he stuttered, "absolutely monstrous.Of course an appeal will be made--undue influence--the most abominable thing."Maggie watched them all as though the whole business were far from herself.She sat there, her hands folded on her lap, looking at the mantelpiece with the ugly marble clock, the letter clip with old soiled letters in it, the fat green vase with dusty everlastings.
Just as on the night when her uncle had come into her room she had fancied that some one spoke to her, so now she seemed to hear:
"Ah, that's a nasty knock for you--a very nasty knock."Her father had left all his money, with the exception of 300, Pounds Sterling to Ellen the cook; Maggie did not, for a moment, speculate as to the probable total amount.Three hundred pounds seemed to her a very large sum--it would at any rate give her something to begin life upon--but the thing that seized and held her was the secret friendship that must have existed between her father and Ellen--secret friendship was the first form that the relationship assumed for her.She saw Ellen, red of face with little eyes and a flat nose upon which flies used to settle, a fat, short neck, the wheezings and the pantings, the stumping walk, the great broad back.And she saw her father--first as the tall, dirty man whom she used to know, with the shiny black trousers, the untidy beard, the frowning eyes, the nails bitten to the quick, the ragged shirt-cuffs--then as that veiled shape below the clothes, the lift of the sheet above the toes, the loins, the stomach, the beard neatly brushed, the closed yellow eyelids, the yellow forehead, the rats with their gleaming eyes.In a kind of terror as though she were being led against her will into some disgusting chamber where the skulls were stale and the sights indecent, she saw the friendship of those two--Ellen the cook and her father.
Young, inexperienced though she was, she was old already in a certain crude knowledge of facts.It could not be said that she traced to their ultimate hiding-place the relations of her father and the woman, but in some relation, ugly, sordid, degraded, she saw those two figures united.Many, many little things came to her mind as she sat there, moments when the cook had breathlessly and in a sudden heat betrayed some unexpected agitation, moments when her father had shown confusion, moments when she had fancied whispers, laughter behind walls, scurrying feet.She entwined desperately her hands together as pictures developed behind her eyes.
Ah! but she was ashamed, most bitterly ashamed!
The rest of the interview came to her only dimly.She knew that Uncle Mathew was still upon his feet protesting, that her aunt's face was cold and wore a look of distressed surprise as though some one had suddenly been rude to her.
From very, very far away came Mr.Brassy's voice: "I was aware that this could not be agreeable, Miss Cardinal.But I am afraid that, under the circumstances, there is nothing to be done.As to undue influence I think that I should warn you, Mr.Cardinal, that there could be very little hope...and of course the expense...if Imay advise you..."
The voice sank away again, the room faded, the air was still and painted; like figures on a stage acting before an audience of one Maggie saw those grotesque persons...
She did not speak one word during the whole affair.
After a time she saw that Mr.Brassy was not in the room.Her aunt was speaking to her:
"Maggie, dear--I'm so very sorry--so very sorry.But you know that you will come to us and find a home there.You mustn't think about the money--"With a sudden impulse she arose, almost brushing her aunt aside.
"Ah! that's not it--that's not it!" she cried.Then, recovering herself a little, she went on--"It's all right, Aunt Anne.I'm all right.I'm going out for a little.If I'm not back for lunch, don't wait.Something cold, anything, tell Ellen--"At the sudden mention of that name she stopped, coloured a little, turned away and left the room.In the hall she nearly ran against the cook.The woman was standing there, motionless, breathing deeply, her eyes fixed upon the dining-room.When she saw Maggie, she moved as though she would speak, then something in the girl's face checked her.She drew back into the shadow.
Maggie left the house.
The brother and sister, remaining in the room, walked towards one another as though driven by some common need of sympathy and protection against an outside power.Mathew Cardinal felt a genuine indignation that had but seldom figured in his life before.He had hated his brother, always, and never so greatly as at the moments of the man's reluctant charity towards him.But now, in the first clean uplift of his indignation, there was no self-congratulation at the justification of his prophecies.