e, I want you to forgive me for all my wickedness. I didn't
mean to be wicked, but I just couldn't say my feelings out loud. I was
shy of them somehow. I still am, perhaps. Maybe I always will be. But I
just want to say that I know now how good you were to me all that time
and I'm grateful from my heart."

"You'll get better won't you, Aunt Anne, and then I'll come often? I'm
shy to say my feelings, but I love you. Aunt Anne, for what you've been
to me."

She stopped. There was a deathly stillness in the chamber. The lamp had
sunk low and the fire was a gold cavern. Dusk stole on stealthy feet
from wall to wall. Aunt Anne did not, it seemed, breathe. Her hands had
dropped from Maggie's and her arms lay straight upon the sheet. Her
eyes were closed.

Suddenly she whispered:

"Dear Maggie ... Maggie ... My Lord and my God ... My Master ..."

Then very faintly: "The Lord is my Shepherd ... My Shepherd ... He
shall lead me forth ... beside the pastures ... my rod and my staff ...
The Lord ..."

She gave a little sigh and her head rolled to one side.

Maggie, with a startled fear, was suddenly conscious that she was alone
in the room. She went to the door and called for the doctor. As they
gathered about the bed the caverns of the fire fell with the sharp
sound of a closing door.

Next morning Maggie wrote to Paul telling him that her aunt was dead,
that the funeral would be in two days' time, and that she would stay in
London until that was over. She had not very much time just then to
think of the house and the dead woman in it, because on the
breakfast-table there was this letter for her.

23 CROMWELL RD., KENSINGTON, March 12, 1912.

DEAR MRS. TRENCHARD,

I hear that you have come to London to visit your aunt. I have been
hoping for some time past to have an opportunity of seeing you. I am
sure that you will have no wish at all to see me; at the same time I do
beg you to give me half an hour at the above address. Five o'clock
to-morrow would be a good time. Please ask for Miss Warlock.

Believe me, Yours faithfully, AMY WARLOCK.

Maggie stared at the signature, then, with a thickly beating heart,
decided that of course she would go. She was not afraid but--Martin's
sister! What would come of it? The house was strangely silent; Aunt
Elizabeth sniffed into her handkerchief a good deal; Mr. Magnus, his
face strained with a look of intense fatigue, went out about some
business. The blinds of the house wore d