Her eyes were like the open eyes of a dead woman; it was as though, with a great effort of almost desperate concentration, she were driving her vision against some obstinate world of opposition, and the whole of life had meanwhile stayed to watch the issue.
A thin pale light from some street lamp lay, a faintly golden shadow, across the white ceiling.
Maggie stood by the door.
"I've come to say good-night, aunt."
"Ah, Maggie dear, is that you?" The pale oval face turned towards her.
"You won't be very late, will you?"
"Hadn't I better have a key, not to bother Martha?""Oh, Martha won't have gone to bed."
Maggie felt as though her whole evening would be spoilt did she know that Martha was waiting for her at the end of it.
"Oh, but it will be such a pity--"
"Martha will let you in, dear.Come and kiss me; I hope that you'll enjoy yourself."And then the strangest thing happened.Maggie bent down.She felt a tear upon her cheek and then the thin strong arms held her, for an instant, in an almost threatening embrace.
"Good-night, dear aunt," she said; but, outside the room, she had to stand for a moment in the dark passage to regain her control; her heart was beating with wild unreasoning terror.Although she had brushed her cheek with her hand the cold touch of the tears still lingered there.
Outside the house they were free.It looked so close and dark behind them that Maggie shivered a little and put her arm through her uncle's.
"That's all right," he said, patting her hand."We're going to enjoy ourselves."She looked up and saw Martin Warlock facing her.The unexpected meeting held both of them silent for a moment.To her it seemed that he had risen out of the very stones of the pavement, at her bidding, to make her evening wonderful.He looked so strong, so square, so solid after the phantom imaginations of the house that she had left, that the sight of him was a step straight into the heart of comfort and reassurance.