who might have been
lovers; there had been from the very first moment of this meeting a
romantic link between them which had never been defined. They had never
had it out with one another, and they were not going to have it out
now; but Maggie, who was never sentimental, wondered at the strange
mixture of tenderness, pity, affection, irritation and hostility that
she felt.

"Aunt Anne, I'm going away to-morrow," said Maggie.

"To-morrow!" Aunt Anne looked up with her strange hostile arrogance.
"Oh no, Maggie. You're not well yet."

"Mrs. Mark," said Maggie, "the lady I told you about, is coming in a
motor to fetch me. She will take me straight to her house, and then I
shall go to bed."

Aunt Anne said nothing.

"You know that it's better for me to go," said Maggie. "We can't live
together any more after what happened. You and Aunt Elizabeth have been
very very good to me, but you know now that I'm a disappointment. I
haven't ever fitted into the life here. I never shall."

"The life here is over," said Aunt Anne. "Everything is over--the house
is dead. Of course you must go. If you feel anger with me now or
afterwards remember that I have lost every hope or desire I ever had. I
don't want your pity. I want no one's pity. I wanted once your
affection, but I wanted it on my own terms. That was wrong. I do not
want your affection any longer; you were never the girl I thought you.
You're a strange girl, Maggie, and you will have, I am afraid, a very
unhappy life."

"No, I will not," said Maggie. "I will have a happy life."

"That is for God to say," said Aunt Anne.

"No, it is not," said Maggie. "I can make my own happiness. God can't
touch it, if I don't let Him."

"Maggie, you're blasphemous," said Aunt Anne, but not in anger.

"I'm not," said Maggie. "When I came here first I didn't believe in
God, but now--I'm not sure. There's something strange, which may be God
for all I know. I'm going to find out. If He has the doing of
everything then He's taken away all I cared for, and I'm not going to
give Him the satisfaction of seeing that it hurt; if He didn't do it,
then it doesn't matter."

"You'll believe in Him before you die, Maggie," said Aunt Anne. "It's
in you, and you won't escape it. I thought it was I who was to bring
you to Him, but I was going too fast. The Lord has His own time. You'll
come to Him afterwards."

"Oh," cried Maggie. "I'm so glad I'm going somewhere where it won't be
always relig