end me away," she said; "I'm not a success here. You don't
like me."

Aunt Anne looked at Maggie with eyes that were clear and cold like deep
unfriendly waters. "You mustn't say that. We love you, but you have
very much to learn. To-night I shall speak to Miss Avies and arrange
that you go to have a talk with her sometimes. She is a wise woman who
knows many things. My sister and I are not strong enough to deal with
you, and we are weakened perhaps by our love for you."

"I don't want to go to-night," Maggie said, then she burst out: "Oh,
can't I lead an ordinary life like other girls--be free and find things
out for myself, not only go by what older people tell me--earn my
living and be free? I've never lived an ordinary life. Life with Father
wasn't fair, and now--"

Aunt Anne put out her arm and drew her towards her. "Poor Maggie ...
Aren't you unfair to us? Do you suppose really that we don't love you?
Do you think that I don't understand? You shall be free, afterwards, if
you wish--perfectly free--but you must have the opportunity of learning
what this life is first, what the love of God is, what the
companionship of Him is. If after you have seen you still reject it, we
will not try to keep you. But it is God's will that you stay with us
for a time."

"How do you know that it is God's will?" asked Maggie, melted
nevertheless, as she always was by any sign of affection.

"He has told me," Aunt Anne answered, and then closed her eyes.

Maggie went away with a sensation of being tracked by some stealthy
mysterious force that was creeping ever closer and closer upon her,
that she could only feel but not see. For instance, she might have said
that she would not go to Chapel to-night, and she might have taken her
stand upon that. And yet she could not say that. Of course she must go
because she must see Martin, but even if she had known that he would
not be there she would have gone. Was it curiosity? Was it
reminiscence? Was it superstition? Was it cowardice? Was it loneliness?
All these things, perhaps, and yet something more than they ...

All through the afternoon of the lovely November day she anticipated
that evening's services as though it were in some way to be a climax.
She knew that it was to be for all of them an especial affair. She had
heard during the last days much discussion of old Mr. Crashaw. He was
an old man with, apparently, a wonderful history of conversions behind
him. His conversions had