ittered in the woods; the
green arc of the hill against the evening sky had a great majesty of
repose and rest. "Now, Paul!" said Maggie.

"What is it, dear?" but he slowly changed colour and looked away from
her, out into the wood.

"We've got to face it some time," she said. "The sooner, then, the
better--"

"Face what?" he asked, dropping his voice as though he were afraid that
some one would overhear.

"You and me." Maggie gathered her resources together. "Before we were
married we were great friends. You were the greatest friend I ever had
except Uncle Mathew. And now I don't know what we are."

"Whose fault is that?" he asked huskily. "You know what the matter is.
You don't love me. You never have ... Have you?" He suddenly ended,
turning towards her.

She saw his new eagerness and she was frightened, but she looked at a
little bunch of stars that twinkled at her above the dark elms and took
courage.

"I'm very bad at explaining my feelings," she said. "And you're not
very good either, Paul. I know I am very fond of you, and I feel as
though it ought to be so simple if I were wiser or kinder. I've been
thinking for weeks about this, and I want to say that I'm ready to do
anything that will make you happy."

"You'll love me?" he asked.

"I'm very fond of you, and I always will be."

"No, but love."

"A word like that isn't important. Affection--"

"No. It's love I want."

She turned away from him, pressing her hands together, staring into the
wood that was sinking into avenues of dark. She couldn't answer him. He
came over to her. He knelt on the dry grass, took her head between his
hands, and kissed her again and again and again.

She heard him murmur: "Maggie ... Maggie ... Maggie. You must love
me. You must. I've waited so long. I didn't know what love was. God in
His Mercy forgive me for the thoughts I've had this year. You've
tormented me. Tantalised me. You're a witch. A witch. You're so
strange, so odd, so unlike any one. You've enchanted me. Love me.
Maggie ... Love me ... Love me."

She caught his words all broken and scattered. She felt his heart
beating against her body, and his hands were hot to the touch of her
cold cheek. She felt that he was desperate and ashamed and pitiful. She
felt, above all else, that she must respond--and she could not. She
strove to give him what he needed. She caught his hands, and then,
because she knew that she was acting falsely and the whole of her