a torturer whose powers were almost
omniscient--almost, but not quite. Pain, sheer physical, brutal pain,
came into the room hulking, steering behind Aunt Anne's shoulder. It
grinned at Maggie and said, "You haven't begun to feel what I can do
yet, but every one has his turn. You needn't flatter yourself that
you're going to escape."

When Aunt Anne moved now it was with infinite caution, as though she
were stalking her enemy and was afraid lest any incautious gesture
should betray her into his ambush. No less marked than her torture was
her courage and the expectation that sustained that courage. She had
her eyes set upon something very sure and very certain. Maggie was
afraid to think what that expectation might be. But Maggie had grown
during these last weeks. She did not now kiss her aunt and try to show
an affection which was not so genuine as she would have liked it to be
by nervous little demonstrations. She said gravely:

"I am so sorry, Aunt Anne, that you have had so bad a night. Shall I
stay this morning and read to you?"

Even as she spoke she realised with sharp pain what giving up her
meeting with Martin meant.

"What were you going to do, dear?" asked Aunt Anne, her eyes seeing as
ever far beyond Maggie and the room and the house. As she spoke Thomas,
the cat, came forward and began rubbing himself very gently, as though
he were whispering something to his mistress, against her dress. Maggie
had an impulse, so strong that it almost defeated her, to burst out
with the whole truth. She almost said: "I'm going out to meet Martin
Warlock, whom I love and with whom I'm going to live." She hated
deceit, she hated lies. But this was some one else's secret as well as
her own, and telling the truth now would only lead to much pain and
distress, and then more lies and more deceit.

So she said:

"I'm going to Piccadilly to get some things for Aunt Elizabeth."

"Yes," said Aunt Elizabeth, "she saves me a great deal of trouble.
She's a good girl."

"I know she's a good girl," said Aunt Anne softly.

It was strange to remember the time not so long ago when to run out of
the house and post a letter had seemed a bold defiant thing to do
threatened with grave penalties. The aunts had changed their plans
about her and had given her no reasons for doing so. No reasons were
ever given in that house for anything that was done. The more Maggie
went out, the more she was drawn in.

On her way to Martin that mornin