intentions. He could not get at the real Maggie at all,
he could not even get at his real feelings about her. He knew that
these letters were not enough for her, he could feel behind her own a
longing for something from him more definite, something that would
bring her closer to him. He was haunted by his picture of her sitting
in that dismal house, a prisoner, waiting for him, and at last, at the
end of the four days, he felt that he must, in some way or other see
her. Then she herself proposed a way.

"To-morrow night (Friday)," she wrote, "the aunts are going to a
meeting. They won't return until after eight o'clock. During most of
that time Martha will be in the kitchen cooking, and Jane (who is
staying late that night) has promised to give me a signal. I could run
out for quarter of an hour and meet you somewhere close by and risk
getting back. Jane will be ready to let me in. Of course, it may fail,
but things can't be worse than they are ... I absolutely forbid you to
come if you think that this can make anything worse for you at home.
But I MUST see you, Martin ... I feel to-night as though I couldn't
stand it any longer (although I've only had five days of it!), but I
think that if I met you, really you, for only five minutes, I could
bear it then for weeks. Let me know if you agree to this, and if so
where we could meet about 7.30."

The mere thought of seeing her was wonderful. He would not have
believed a month ago that it could have come to mean so much to him.

He wrote back:

"Yes. At the corner of Dundas Street, by the Pillar Box, 7.30."

He knew that she had been to that dark little street with her aunts to
see Miss Pyncheon.

The night, when it came, was misty, and when he reached the place she
was at once in his arms. She had been there more than five minutes, she
had thought that he was not coming. Martha had nearly caught her ...

He kissed her hair and her eyes and her mouth, holding her to him,
forgetting everything but her. She stayed, quiet, clinging to him as
though she would never let him go, then she drew away.

"Now we must walk about or some one will see us," she said.

"We've only got five minutes. Martin, what I want to know is, are you
happy?"

"Yes," he said.

They walked like ghosts, in the misty street.

"Well, then I am," she said. "Only your letters didn't sound very
happy."

"Can you hold on till after the New Year?" They were walking hand in
hand, her fingers cur