ce; it was the silence, she was instantly aware, of some one
whose very soul was noise and tumult. She listened, and the sudden
chirping of some sparrows beyond her window only accentuated the sense
of expectation. She had never, in all her days, been so conscious of
Sunday.

She was almost afraid to move lest she should break the spell.

She lay in bed and thought of the preceding evening. Her fainting fit
seemed to her now more than ever unfortunate; it had placed her at a
disadvantage with them all. She could imagine the stout young man
returning to his home and saying: "Their niece has arrived. Seems a
weak little thing. Fainted right off there in the drawing-room." Or her
aunts saying anxiously to one another: "Well, I didn't know she was as
delicate as that. I hope she won't be always ill," ... and she wasn't
delicate--no one stronger. She had never fainted before. The silliness
of it!

The next thing that disturbed her was the comfort and arrangement of
everything. Certainly the drawing-room had not been very orderly, full
of old things badly placed, but this bedroom was clean and tidy, and
the supper last night, so neat on its tray with everything that she
could want! She could feel the order and discipline of the whole house.
And she had never, in all her life, been either orderly or disciplined.
She had never been brought up to be so. How could you be orderly when
there were holes in the bedroom ceiling and the kitchen floor, holes
that your father would never trouble to have mended?

Her aunts would wish her to help in the house and she would forget
things. There passed before her, in that Sunday quiet, a terrible
procession of the things that she would forget. She knew that she would
not be patient under correction, especially under the correction of her
Aunt Anne. Already she felt in her a rebellion at her aunt's aloofness
and passivity. After all, why should she treat every one as though she
were God? Maggie felt that there was in her aunt's attitude something
sentimental and affected. She hated sentiment and affectation in any
one. She was afraid, too, that Anne bullied Aunt Elizabeth. Maggie was
sorry for Aunt Elizabeth but, with all the arrogance of the young, a
little despised her. Why did she tremble and start like that? She
should stand up for herself and not mind what her sister said to her.
Finally, there was something about the house for which Maggie could not
quite account, some uneasiness or