Maggie, as she sat through service after service, watched one headache race after another.The air was full of headache; she asked once that a window might be kept open."That would mean Death in Skeaton.You don't understand the Skeaton air," said Grace.
"That's because I don't get enough of it," said Maggie.She found herself looking back to the Chapel services with wistful regret.
What had there been there that was not here? Here everything was ordered, arranged, in decent sequence, in regular symmetry and progression.And yet no one seemed to Maggie to listen to what they were saying, and no one thought of the meaning of the words that they used.
And if they did, of what use would it be? The affair was all settled; heaven was arrayed, parcelled out, its very streets and courts mapped and described.It was the destination of every one in the building as surely as though they were travelling to London by the morning express.They were sated with knowledge of their destiny--no curiosity, no wonder, no agitation, no fear.Even the words of the most beautiful prayers had ceased to have any meaning because the matter had been settled so long ago and there was nothing more to be said.How that Chapel had throbbed with expectation, with amaze, with curiosity, with struggle! Foolish much of it perhaps, stifling it had seemed then in its superstition.
Maggie had been afraid then, so afraid that she could not sleep at nights.How she longed now for that fear to return to her!
At this point she would discover that she was beckoning back to her the figures of that other world.They must not come...the two worlds must not join or she was lost...she turned her back from her memories and her desires.
During this winter there were the two affairs of Mr.Toms and Caroline.