dded. She got up. "I won't wait for
your aunt," she said, "I've left a note downstairs ... You clear out as
soon as you can, that's my advice to you."

She said good-bye, looking into Maggie's clear eyes. She was suddenly
less inhuman, the touch of her hand was warmer.

"Don't you cheat yourself into believing in the Deity," she said, and
was gone.

When Friday arrived Maggie had not seen Caroline again, and she could
not tell whether the note had been safely delivered or no. She was not
sure what she had better do. Caroline might hare done anything with the
note, torn it up, burnt it, lost it, forgotten it altogether. Well,
that was a risk that Maggie must take. If he did not appear she would
wait a little while and then come away. They must soon meet in any
case. They had all their lives before them.

Aunt Anne was up again--very, very pale now and so thin that the light
seemed to shine through her making her more of a stained window saint
than ever.

Maggie told her about the visit, Aunt Anne looked at her curiously. She
seemed so weak and frail that Maggie suddenly felt warm maternal love.
Rather shyly she put her hand upon her aunt's: "I won't go away until
you're better--"

Aunt Anne nodded her head.

"I know you won't, dear," she said. "Don't be out late to-day. We shall
be anxious about you."

Maggie had made a promise and was terrified when she thought of it.
Suppose her aunt did not get better for years and years?

People often had long lingering illnesses with no apparent change in
their condition. To Maggie a promise was an utterly final thing. She
could not dream that one ever broke one's word. She trembled now when
she thought of what she had done. She had been entrapped after all and
by her own free will.

In her little room as she was putting on her hat she suddenly prayed to
a God, of whom she knew nothing, that her aunt might get better soon.

She started out on her great adventure with a strange self-assurance as
though loving Martin had given her the wisdom of all the ages.

Turning down the street towards the Strand she found almost at once a
taxi-cab drawn up, as though it had been waiting there especially for
her like an eloping coach in a romantic tale. A fat red-faced fellow
with a purple nose, a cloth cap and a familiar vague eye, as though he
always saw further than he intended, waited patiently for her to speak.

Boldly, as though she had done such things all her life, she sai