the captives-第98章

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Already　here；　just　as　before　in　London；　she　was　complaining　and　angry；　and　unsympathetic。　She　did　care　for　Paulshe　could　even　love　Grace　if　she　would　let　her。　She　would　make　everything　right　this　summer　and　try　and　be　a　better；　kinder　woman。

Then；　one　morning；　she　found　a　letter　on　the　breakfast　table。　She　did　not　recognise　the　handwriting；　when　she　opened　it　and　saw　the　signature　at　the　end　for　a　moment　she　also　did　not　recognise　that。　〃William　Magnus。〃　。　。　。　Thenwhy；　of　course！　Mr。　Magnus！　She　saw　him　standing　looking　down　at　her　with　his　mild　eyes；　staring　through　his　large　spectacles。

Her　heart　beat　furiously。　She　waited　until　breakfast　was　over；　then　she　took　it　up　to　her　bedroom。

The　letter　was　as　follows：

Dear　Miss　Maggie；

I　know　you　are　not　〃Miss　Maggie〃　now；　but　that　is　the　only　way　that　I　can　think　of　you。　I　expect　that　you　have　quite　forgotten　me；　and　perhaps　you　don't　want　to　hear　from　me；　but　I　must　not　lose　sight　of　you　altogether。　I　haven't　so　many　friends　that　I　can　lose　one　without　a　word。　I　don't　know　quite　what　to　begin　by　telling　you。　I　ought　to　ask　you　questions　about　yourself；　I　suppose；　but　I　know　that　your　aunts　hear　from　you　from　time　to　time　and　they　give　me　news　from　your　letters。　I　hear　that　you　are　happily　married　and　are　quite　settled　down　to　your　new　life。　I'm　very　glad　to　hear　that；　although　it　isn't　quite　the　life　that　I　would　have　prophesied　for　you。　Do　you　like　Skeaton？　I've　never　cared　much　for　seaside　resorts　myself；　but　then　I'm　a　queer　cranky　old　man；　and　I　deserve　all　I　get。　I　wish　I　could　tell　you　something　cheerful　about　all　your　friends　here；　but　I'm　afraid　I　can't。　Your　aunt　is　so　brave　and　plucky　that　probably　she　said　nothing　to　you　in　her　last　letter　about　how　ill　she　has　been；　but　she's　just　had　a　very　bad　bout；　and　at　one　time　we　were　afraid　that　we　were　going　to　lose　her。　You　can　imagine　how　anxious　we　all　were。　But　she　is　better　again　now；　although　very　much　shattered。　The　Chapel　is　closed。　There's　a　piece　of　news　for　you！　It　never　recovered　from　poor　Warlock's　death；　he　was　the　spirit　that　gave　it　life；　and　although　he　may　have　had　his　dreams　and　imaginations　that　deceived　him；　there　was　some　life　in　that　building　that　I　have　never　found　anywhere　else　and　shall　never　find　again。　You　remember　that　Amy　Warlock　married　that　scamp　Thurston。　Well；　she　has　left　him　and　has　come　back　to　live　with　her　mother。　She　had　a　rather　bad　experience；　I'm　afraid；　poor　woman；　but　she　says　nothing　to　any　one　about　it。　She　and　the　old　lady　have　moved　from　this　part　of　London　and　have　gone　to　live　somewhere　in　Kensington。　Some　one　saw　Martin　Warlock　in　Paris　the　other　day。　I　hear　that　he　has　been　very　seriously　ill　and　is　greatly　changed；　looking　years　older。　I　can　say；　now　that　you　are　happily　married；　that　I　am　greatly　relieved　that　you　were　not　engaged　to　him。　You　won't　think　this　presumptuous　of　a　man　old　enough　to　be　your　father；　will　you？　I　am　sure　he　had　many　good　things　in　him；　but　he　was　very　weak　and　not　fitted　to　look　after　you。　But　he　had　a　good　heart；　I'm　sure；　and　his　father's　death　was　a　great　shock　to　him。　Thurston；　I　hear；　is　having　revival　meetings　up　and　down　the　country。　Miss　Avies；　I　believe；　is　with　him。　You　remember　Miss　Pyncheon？　She　and　many　other　regular　attendants　at　the　Chapel　have　left　this　neighbourhood。　The　Chapel　is　to　be　a　cinematograph　theatre；　I　believe。　There！　I　have　given　you　all　the　gossip。　I　have　not　said　more　about　your　aunts　because　I　want　you　to　come　up　one　day　to　London；　when　you　have　time；　and　see　them。　You　will　do　that；　won't　you？　I　expect　you　are　very　busyI　hope　you　are。　I　would　like　to　have　a　line　from　you；　but　please　don't　bother　if　you　have　too　much　to　do。

Always　your　friend；

WILLIAM　MAGNUS。

When　Maggie　saw　Martin's　name　the　other　writing　on　the　page　transformed　itself　suddenly　into　a　strange　pattern　of　webs　and　squares。　Nevertheless　she　pursued　her　way　through　this；　but　without　her　own　agency；　as　though　some　outside　person　were　reading　to　her　and　she　was　not　listening。

She　repeated　the　last　words　〃Always　your　friend；　William　Magnus〃　aloud　solemnly　twice。　Her　thoughts　ran　in　leaps　and　runs；　hurdle…　race…wise　across　the　flat　level　of　her　brain。　Martin。　Old。　Ill。　Paris。　Those　walls　out　there　and　the　road…man　with　a　spadelittle　boy　walking　with　himchatteringit's　going　to　be　hot。　The　light　across　the　lawn　is　almost　blue　and　the　beds　are　dry。　His　room。　The　looking…glass。　Always　tilts　back　when　one　tries　to　see　one's　hair。　Meant　to　speak　about　it。　Martin。　Ill。　Paris。　Paris。　Trains。　Boats。　How　quickly　could　one　be　there？　No　time　at　all。　Paris。　Never　been　to　Paris。　Perhaps　he　isn't　there　now　。　。　。

At　that　definite　picture　she　controlled　her　mind　again。　She　pulled　it　up　as　a　driver　drags　back　a　restive　horse。　Her　first　real　thought　was：　〃How　hard　that　this　letter　should　have　come　now　when　I　was　just　going　to　put　everything　right　with　Paul。〃　Her　next：　〃Poor　Paul！　But　I　don't　care　for　him　a　bit　。　。　。　I　don't　care　for　any　one　but　Martin。　I　never　did。〃　Her　next：　〃Why　did　I　ever　think　I　did？〃　And　her　next：　〃Why　did　I　ever　do　this？〃　She　knew　with　a　strange　calm　certainty　that　from　this　moment　she　would　never　be　rid　of　Martin's　presence　again。　She　had　maintained　for　more　than　a　year　a　wonderful　make…believe　of　indifference。　She　had　fancied　that　by；　pushing　furiously　with　both　hands　one　could　drive　things　into　the　past。　But　Fate　was　cleverer　than　that。　What　he　wanted　to　keep　he　kept　for　you…　…the　weaving　of　the　pattern　in　the　carpet　might　be　your　handiwork；　but　the　final　design　was　settled　before　ever　the　carpet　was　begun。　Not　that　any　of　these　fine　thoughts　ever　entered　Maggie's　head。　All　that　she　thought　was　〃I　love　Martin。　I　want　to　go　to　him。　He's　ill。　I've　got　to　do　my　duty　about　Paul。〃　She　settled　upon　that　last　point。　She　bound　her　mind　around　it；　fast　and　secure　like　thick　cord。　She　put　Mr。　Magnus'　letter　away　in　the　shell…covered　box；　the　wedding…present　from　the　aunts；　in　this　box　were　the　programme　of　the　play　that　she　had　been　to　with　Martin；　the　ring　with　the　three　pearls；　Martin's　few　letters；　and　some　petals　of　the　chrysanthemum；　dry　and　faded；　that　she　had　worn　on　the　great　day　of　the　matinee。　Something　had　warned　her　that　it　was　foolish　to　keep　Martin's　letters；　but　why　should　she　not？　She　had　never　hidden　her　love　for　Martin。　Then；　standing　in　the　middle　of　the　room；　close　beside　the　large　double…bed；　with　a　football…group　and　〃The　Crucifixion〃　staring　down　upon　her；　she　had　her　worst　hour。　Nothing　in　all　life　could　have　moved　her　as　did　that　picture　of　Martin's　loneliness　and　sickness。　Wave　after　wave　of　persuasion　swept　over　her：　〃Go！　Go　now！　Take　the　train　to　Paris。　You　can　find　out　from　Mr。　Magnus　where　he　was　living。　He　is　sick。　He　needs　you。　You　swore　to　him　that　you　would　never　desert　him；　and　you　have　deserted　him。　They　don't　want　you　here。　Grace　hates　you；　and　Paul　is　too　lazy　to　care！〃

At　the　thought　of　Paul　resolution　came　to　her。　She　looked　up　at　the　rather　fat；　amiable　youth　with　the　stout　legs　and　the　bare　knees　in　the　football　photograph；　and　prayed　to　it：　〃Paul；　I'm　very　lonely　and　tempted。　Care　for　me　even　though　I　can't　love　you　as　you　want。　Don't　give　me　up　because　I　can't　let　you　have　what　some　one　else　has　got。　Let's　be　happy；　Paulplease。〃

She　was　shivering。　She　looked　back　with　a　terrified；　reluctant　glance　to　the　drawer　where　Mr。　Magnus'　letter　was；　then　she　went　downstairs。

Soon　after　they　started　for　Little　Harben。　The　last　days　in　Skeaton　had　scarcely　been　happy　ones。　Grace　had　erected　an　elaborate　scaffolding　of　offended　dignity　and　bitter　misery。　She　was　not　bitterly　miserable；　indeed　she　enjoyed　her　game；　but　it　was　depressing　to　watch　Paul　give　way　to　her。　He　was　determined　to　leave　her　in　a　happy　mind。　Any　one　could　have　told　him　that　the　way　to　do　that　was　to　leave　her　alone　altogether。　Instead　he　petted　her；　persuading　her　to　eat　her　favourite　pudding；　buying　her　a　new　work…　box　that　she　needed；　dismissing　a　boy　from　the　choir　（the　only　treble　who　was　a　treble）　because　he　was　supposed　to　have　made　a　long…nose　at　Grace　during　choir…practice。

Ht　adopted　also　a　pleading　line　with　her。　〃Now；　Grace　dear；　don't　you　think　you　could　manage　a　little　bit　more？〃

〃Do　you　think　you　ought　to