rm clothes beside the
fire, drinking whisky if he liked, and she would give him all the money
she possessed.

She had still touched very little of her own three hundred pounds. He
should have as much of that as he liked. The death of Aunt Anne had
shown her how few people in the world there were for her to love. After
all, the aunts and Uncle Mathew had needed her as no one else had done.
She made little plans; she would, perhaps, go back with him to London
for a little time. There was, after all, no reason why she should
remain in this horrible place for ever. And Paul now seemed not to care
whether she went or stayed.

She ran out into the wind and the rain. She was surprised by the force
and fury of it. It would take time and strength to battle down the High
Street. Poor Uncle Mathew! To walk all the way in the rain and then to
be told that she would not see him! She could imagine him turning away
down the drive, bitterly disappointed ...

Probably he had come to borrow money, and she had promised that she
would not fail him. When she reached the High Street she was soaked.
She felt the water dripping down her neck and in her boots. At the
corner of the High Street by the bookseller's she was forced to pause,
so fiercely did the wind beat up from the Otterson Road, that runs
openly to the sea. Maggie had not even in Glebeshire known so furious a
day and hour when the winds tossed and raged but never broke into real
storm. It was the more surprising. She had to pause for a moment to
remember where Turnstall's the butcher was, then, suddenly recalling
it, she turned off the High Street and found her way to the mean
streets that ran behind the Promenade. Still she met no one. It might
have been a town abandoned by all human life and given over to the wind
and rain and the approaching absorption of the sea. It was now dark and
the lamp at the end of the street blew gustily and with an uncertain
flare.

Maggie found Turnstall's, its shop lit and Mr. Turnstall himself, stout
and red-faced, behind his bloody counter. She went in and asked him
where "The Sea Dog" might be. He explained to her that it was close at
hand, on the right, looking over the Promenade. She found it at last
because it had an old-fashioned creaking wooden sign with a blue sailor
painted on it. Timidly she stepped into the dark uneven passage. To the
right of her she could see a deserted room with wooden trestles and a
table. The bar must be near b