ly gather what happened after the sound of that
fall. There seemed to her to be a long and terrible silence during
which the clock continued remorselessly to strike. The Chapel appeared
to be a place of shadows as though the gas had suddenly died to dim
haloes; she was conscious that people moved about her, that Aunt Anne
had left them, and that Aunt Elizabeth was saying to her again and
again: "How terrible! How terrible! How terrible!"

Then as though it were some other person, Maggie found herself very
calmly speaking to Aunt Elizabeth.

"Are we to wait for Aunt Anne?" she whispered.

"Anne said we were to go home."

"Then let's go," whispered Maggie.

They went to the door, pushing, it seemed, through shadows who
whispered and forms that vanished as soon as one looked at them.

Out in the open air Maggie was aware that she was trembling from head
to foot, but a determined idea that she must get Aunt Elizabeth home at
once drove her like a goad. Very strange it was out here, the air
ringing with the clamour of bells. The noise seemed deafening, whistles
blowing from the river, guns firing and this swinging network of bells
echoing through the fog. Figures, too, ran with lights, men singing,
women laughing, all mysteriously in the tangled darkness.

They were joined at once by Aunt Anne, who said:

"God has called him home," by which Maggie understood that Mr. Warlock
was dead.

They went home in silence. Inside the hall Aunt Elizabeth began to cry.
Aunt Anne put her arm around her and led her away; they seemed
completely to forget Maggie, leaving her standing in the dark hall by
herself.

She found a candle and went up to her room. The noise in the streets
had ceased quite suddenly as though some angry voice had called the
world to order.

Maggie undressed and lay down in her bed. She lay there staring in
front of her without closing her eyes. She watched the grey dawn, then
the half-light, then, behind her blind, bright sunshine. The fog was no
more.

The strangest fancies and visions passed through her brain during that
time. She saw Mr. Warlock hanging forward like a sack of clothes, the
blood trickling stealthily across his beard. Poor old man! What were
the others all thinking now? Were they sorry or glad? Were they
disappointed or relieved? After all, he had, perhaps, spoken the truth
so far as he was himself concerned. God had come for him. He was now it
might be happy somewhere at peace and at