bbery, and other
things worse than they. He knew that he was very near; he peered over
into the pit and did not wish to descend. He was not a bad man, and had
he not believed himself to be a clever one all might yet have been
well. The temptation of his cleverness lured him on. A stroke of the
pen was a very simple thing...

To save his soul he thought that he would go and see Maggie. His
affection for her, conceited and selfish though it was, was the most
genuine thing in him. For three-quarters of the year he forgot her, but
when life went badly he thought of her again--not that he expected to
get anything out of her, but she was good to him and she knew nothing
about his life, two fine bases for safety.

"What have they been doing to her, those damned hypocrites, I wonder,"
was his thought. He admired, feared, and despised his sisters. "All
that stuff about God" frightened him in spite of himself, and he knew,
in his soul, that Anne was no hypocrite.

He rang the bell and faced Martha. He had dressed himself with some
care and was altogether more tidy just then, having a new mistress who
cared about outside appearances. Also, having been sober for nearly two
months, he looked a gentleman.

"Is my niece at home?" he asked, blinking because he was frightened of
Martha.

She did not seem to be prepared to let him in.

"Miss Maggie has been very ill," she said, frowning at him.

"Ill?" That really hurt him. He stammered, "Why? ... When?"

She moved aside then for him to pass into the hall. He came into the
dark stuffy place.

"Yes," said Martha. "Just after Christmas. Brain-fever, the doctors
said. They thought she'd die for weeks. Had two doctors ... You can't
see her, sir," she ended grumpily.

Then Aunt Anne appeared, coming through the green-baize door.

"Why, Mathew," she said. Mathew thought how ill she looked.

"They're all ill here," he said to himself.

"So Maggie's ill," he said, dropping his eyes before her as he always
did.

"Yes," Aunt Anne answered. "She was very ill indeed, poor child. I'm
glad to see you, Mathew. It's a long time since you've been."

He thought she was gentler to him than she had been, so, mastering his
fear of her, fingering his collar, he said:

"Can't I see her?"

"Well, I'm not ... I think you might. It might do her good. She wants
taking out of herself. She comes down for an hour or two every day now.
I'll go and see." She left him standing alone there. He looke