Maggie remembered what Martha had told her about the drops.She found the little green bottle, saw the glass by the side of it.
Suddenly she heard Aunt Anne: "Oh no...Oh no! God I can't...
God, I can't...I can't."
Maggie bent over the bed; she put her hand behind her aunt's back and could feel the whole body quivering, the flesh damp beneath the night-dress.She steadied her, then put the glass to her lips.
The cry was now a little whisper."No more...I can...no more." Then more softly still: "Thy will, oh Lord.As thou wilt--Our Father, which art in Heaven, Hallowed...Hallowed...Hallowed..."She sank down on to her pillows.
"Is it better?" Maggie asked.
Her aunt caught her hand.
"You mustn't leave me.I shan't live long, but you must stay with me until I go.Promise me! Promise me!""No, I can't promise," said Maggie.
"You must stay.You must stay."
"No I can't promise." Then suddenly kneeling down by the bed she put her hand on the other's arm: "Aunt Anne, I'll do anything for you--anything--to make you better--if I can help...but not a promise, I can't promise.""Ah, but you will stay," Aunt Anne's whisper trembled with its certainty.
That seemed the climax of the night to Maggie then.She felt that she was indeed held for eternity by the house, the Chapel, and something beyond the Chapel.The scent of the medicine, the closeness of the room, the darkness and the sickness, seemed to close all about her...She was at the bottom of a deep well, and she would never get out, she would never get out...
The door slowly, very softly opened, and old Martha looked in.
"She's been very bad," whispered Maggie.
"Ay, I heard something.That's why I came.You gave her the drops?""Yes."
"She'll sleep a bit now.I'll take your place, Miss Maggie.It's time you went back to your bed."Maggie crept away.
She came down to breakfast to find the house bathed in sunlight and the parrot singing hoarsely "And her golden hair was hanging down her back." Aunt Elizabeth was there, cheerful and almost merry in her bird-like fashion.The world was normal, ghosts out of fashion, and this morning was the day on which the silver was cleaned.This last was Maggie's business, and very badly she did it, never being "thorough," and having a fatal habit of thinking of other things.
Porridge, eggs and bacon, marmalade--
"And--her golden hair was hanging--" croaked Edward.
"Your aunt won't come down this morning, Maggie.She's much better.
The sun's shining.A little walk will be a good thing.I'll buy the calico that Anne talked about.Your aunt's better."Maggie felt ashamed of herself.What desperate silly feelings had she allowed last night? How much she had made of that service, and how weak she was to give way so easily!
"I'll clean the silver," she thought."I'll do it better than ever"--but unfortunately she had a hole in her stocking, and Aunt Elizabeth, like a sparrow who has found a worm, told her about it.
"Mr.Crashaw's coming to tea this afternoon," she concluded.
"That's why Anne's staying in bed--to be well enough." The stocking and Mr.Crashaw dimmed a little of the morning's radiance, but behind them was the thought, "Martin must come to-day.It was like a message his look last night." She even sang to herself as she scrubbed at the silver.
They spent a domestic morning.Aunt Elizabeth did not go for her walk, but instead stayed in the dining-room and, seated at the end of the long dining-table, her head just appearing above the worn and soiled green table-cloth, tried to discipline the week's household accounts.She worked sucking one finger after another and poking her pencil into her ears.
"One pound, three shillings--ham, ham, ham--?"At one moment she invited the cook to assist her, and that lady, crimson from the kitchen fire, bared arms akimbo, stated that she was not only the most economical woman in London, but was also, thanks to her upbringing, one of the most sober and virtuous, and if Miss Cardinal had anything to say against--Oh no! Aunt Elizabeth had nothing to say against, only this one pound, three shillings--Well, the cook couldn't help that; she wasn't one to let a penny out of her fingers where it shouldn't go.
So the morning hummed along; luncheon-time came, the silver was all cleaned, the stockings changed, and there was roast chicken.Thomas, with his wicked eyes, came slowly, majestically upon the scene--but even he was not sinister to-day, being interested in his own greed rather than other persons' sins.
All this time Maggie refused to think.Martin would come, then she would see.
Martin...Martin...Martin...She went up into her bedroom and whispered the name over and over to herself whilst she tried to mend her stocking.She flung the stocking down and gazed out of the window on to a world that was all golden cloud and racing watery blue.The roofs swam like floating carpets in the sun, detached from the brick and mortar beneath them, carried by the racing clouds.It was only at that sudden gaze that she realised that she was a prisoner.All her alarm came back to her.
"Why can't I go out? I'll put on my hat and just walk out.No one can stop me.No one..."But she knew that she could not.Something more must happen first.
She turned from the window with a little shudder, finished very clumsily her stocking, and as the cuckoo clock struck halfpast three went down to the drawing-room.
There to her surprise, she found Caroline Smith.The events of the last few days had, a little, dimmed Caroline from her memory.She had not seen Caroline for a fortnight.She did not know that she especially wanted to see Caroline now.However, it was very certain that Caroline wanted to see her.The young woman was dressed in rose-coloured silk that stood out from her slim body almost like a crinoline, and she had a straw funnel-shaped hat with roses perched on the side of her lovely head.She kissed Maggie many times, and then sitting down with her little sharp black shoes poked out in front of her, she ran on: