greeted her:

"Why, Mathew! You never told us. I would have hurried back, and now
Elizabeth, I'm afraid, has gone on to see some friends. She will be so
disappointed. But at least you've had Maggie to entertain you."

A quick glance was exchanged between uncle and niece.

"Yes," he said, "we've had a talk, Anne, thank you. And it doesn't
matter about Elizabeth, because I'm staying close here in Henrietta
Street, and I'll be in again if I may. I just looked in to ask whether
Maggie might come and have dinner with me at my little place to-night.
It's a most respectable place--I'll come and fetch her, of course, and
bring her back afterwards."

Of course Aunt Anne could not refuse, but oh! how Maggie saw that she
wanted to! The battle that followed was silent. Uncle Mathew's eyes
narrowed themselves to fiery malicious points; he dropped them and
moved his feet restlessly on the soft carpet.

"Quite respectable!" he repeated.

Aunt Anne smiled gently. "Why, of course, Mathew. I know you'll look
after Maggie. It will be a change for her. She's been having rather a
dull time here, I'm afraid."

Then there was silence. Maggie wanted to speak, but the words would not
come, and she had the curious sensation that even if she did find them
no one would hear them.

Then Uncle Mathew suddenly said good-bye, stumbled over his boots by
the door, shot out, "Seven o'clock, Maggie"--and was gone.

"Well, that will be nice for you, Maggie," said Anne, looking at her.

"Yes," said Maggie. "You don't mind, do you?"

"No dear, of course not."

"What do you want me to do?" Maggie broke out desperately. "I know I'm
not satisfying you and yet you won't say anything. Do tell me--and I'll
try--anything--almost anything ..."

Then the sudden memory of her own posted letter silenced her. Was that
readiness to do "anything"? Had that not been rebellion? And had she
not asked Uncle Mathew to help her to escape? The consciousness of her
dishonesty coloured her cheek with crimson. Then Aunt Anne, very
tenderly, put her hand on her shoulder.

"Will you really do anything--for me, Maggie--for me?" Her voice was
gentle and her eyes had tears in them. "If you will--there are things
very close to my heart--"

Maggie turned away, trembling. She hung her head, then with a sudden
movement walked to the door.

"You must tell me," she said, "what you want. I'll try--I don't
understand."

Then as though she was aware that she was fighting th