"I daresay you're right.Skeaton's not the place for you.I saw that the first time we met.Well, whatever you do, don't lose your pluck.
You're yourself, you know, and you're as good as anybody else.Don't you forget that.Because a lot of people say a thing it doesn't mean it's true, and because a set of idiots think a thing shocking it doesn't mean that it's shocking.Think how wrong people have always been about everything!"They turned down a side lane and arrived in the High Street.The street was very empty.In the fading light a large pink poster attracted Maggie's attention.She went close to it and read the announcement of the Revival services.
When she read the names of Thurston and Mr.Crashaw and Miss Avies it seemed to her incredible, and then at the same time as something that she had always expected.
"Oh," she cried, "it's coming here!" She was strangely startled as though the sign of Thurston's name was strange forewarning.
"What's coming?" asked Miss Toms.
She read the notice.
"I don't know what you think," said Miss Toms, "but that kind of thing's humbug if you ask me.""Oh!" Maggie cried."It's so strange.I knew those people in London.
I used to go to their services.And now they're coming here!"She could not explain to Miss Toms the mysterious assurance that she had of the way that her former world was drawing near to her again.
She could see now that never for a moment since her arrival in Skeaton had it let her alone, slowly invading her, bit by bit driving in upon her, forcing her to retire...
It was quite dark now.Because it was Sunday evening the shops were closed.Only behind some of the curtained windows dim lights burned.
Very clearly the sea could be heard breaking upon the shore.The last note of the bell from the Methodist Chapel echoed across the roofs and stones.
"Good-night," said Miss Toms.
"Good-night," said Maggie.
She turned back towards home hearing, as she went, Thurston's voice, seeing beyond all the thick shadow of Martin's body, keeping pace with her, as it seemed, step by step with her as she went.
She turned into the Rectory drive.She heard with a startled shiver the long gate swing screaming behind her, she could smell very faintly the leaves of the damp cold laurel bushes that pressed close in upon her.It was as though some one were walking with her and whispering in her ear: "They're coming! They're coming! They've got you! They've got you!"She opened the hall door; the hall was all dark; some one was there.
Maggie gave a little cry.A match was struck and revealed the white face of Grace.The two women stared at one another.
Grace had returned from Church; she was wearing her ugly black hat with the red velvet.
"It's all right," said Maggie, "I've been for a walk.""Oh--I didn't know," gasped Grace, still staring."I thought--yes, of course.Fancy, you've been for a walk!"Still staring as though she could keep Maggie at bay only by the power of her vision she backed on to Paul's study door, turned the handle, and disappeared.The hall was in darkness again.Maggie stumbled her way towards the staircase, then, seeing Grace's terrified eyes, filled with a horror that she, Maggie Cardinal, should cause any one to look at her like that, she ran clumsily upstairs, shutting herself into her bedroom.
During the next fortnight the dominant element in the situation was Grace's terror.Skeaton was already beginning to forget the story of the suicide.Maggie was marked for ever now as "queer and strange,"but Paul was not blamed; he was rather, pitied and even liked the more.But Grace could not forget.Maggie intended perhaps to murder her in revenge for her uncle's death; well, then, she must be murdered...She would not leave her brother.She could not consider the future.She knew that she could not live in the same house with Maggie for long, but she would not go and Maggie would not go...What was to happen?
Poor Grace, the tortures that she suffered during those weeks will not be understood by persons with self-confidence and a hearty contempt for superstition.
She paid the penalty now for the ghosts of her childhood--and no one could help her.
Maggie saw that Paul was, with every day, increasingly unhappy.He had never been trained to conceal his feelings, and although he tried now he succeeded very badly.He would come into her room in the early morning hours and lie down beside her.He would put his arms around her and kiss her, and, desperately, as though he were doing it for a wager, make love to her.She felt, desperate also on her side, that she could comfort and make him happy, if only he would want something less from her than passion.But always after an hour or a little more, he crept away again to his own room, disappointed, angered, frustrated.These hours were the stranger because, during the day, he showed her nothing of this mood, but was kindly and friendly and distant.
She would have done anything for him; she tried sometimes to be affectionate to him, but always, at once, he turned upon her with a hungry, impassioned look...
She knew, without any kind of doubt, that the only way that she could make him happy again was to leave him.His was not a nature to brood, for the rest of his days, on something that he had lost.
Only once did he make any allusion to the coming Revival services.