She hesitated, clinging to the draper's shop; then, suddenly catching sight of the pillar-box a few yards down the street, she let herself go, had a momentary sensation of swimming in a sea desperately crowded with other bodies, fought against the fierce gaze of lights that beat straight upon her eyes, found the box, slipped in the letter, and then, almost at once, was back in her quiet quarters again.
She turned and, her heart beating, hurried home.The house door was still ajar.She pushed it back, slipped inside, caught her breath and listened.Then she closed the door softly behind her, and with that little act of attempted secrecy realised that she was now a rebel, that things could never be, for her, the same again as they had been a quarter of an hour ago.That glittering crowd, the lamps, the smells, the sounds, had concentrated themselves into a little fiery charm that held her heart within a flaming circle.She felt the most audacious creature in the world--and also the most ignorant.Not helpless--no, never helpless--but so ignorant that all her life that had seemed to her, a quarter of an hour ago, so tensely crowded with events and crises was now empty and barren like the old straw-smelling cab at home.She did not want to offend her aunts and hurt their feelings, but she was a living, breathing, independent creature and she must go her own way.Neither they nor their chapel should stop her--no, not the chapel nor any one in it.
She was standing, motionless, in the dark cold hall, wondering whether any one had heard her enter, when she was suddenly conscious of two eyes that watched her--two steady fiery eyes suspended as it seemed in mid air.She realised that it was the cat.The cat hated her and she hated it.She had not realised that before, but now with the illumination of the lighted street behind her she realised it.
The cat was the spirit of the chapel watching her, spying upon her tc see that she did not escape.The cat knew that she had posted her letter and to whom she had posted it.She advanced to the bottom of the stair and said: "Brr.You horrid thing! I hate you!" and instantly the two fiery eyes had vanished, but now in their place the whole house seemed to be watching, so silent and attentive was it--and the odour of damp biscuits and wet umbrellas seemed to be everywhere.
Just then old Martha came out with a lamp in her hand, and standing upon a chair, lit the great ugly gas over the middle of the door.
"Why, Miss Maggie," she said in her soft, surprised whisper, looking as she always did, beyond the girl, into darkness.
"I've been out," said Maggie, defiantly.
"Not all alone, miss?"
"All alone," said Maggie."Why not? I can look after myself.""Well, there's your uncle waiting in the drawing-room--just come,"said the old woman, climbing down from the chair with that silent imperturbable discontent that always frightened Maggie.
"Uncle Mathew! Here! in this house!" Maggie, even in the moment of her first astonishment, was amazed at her own delight.That she should ever feel THAT about Uncle Mathew! Truly it showed how unhappy she had been, and she ran upstairs, two steps at a time, and pushed back the drawing-room door.
"Uncle Mathew!" she cried.
Then at the sight of him she stood where she was.The man who faced her, with all his old confusion of nervousness and uneasy geniality, was, indeed, Uncle Mathew, but Uncle Mathew glorified, shabbily glorified and at the same time a little abashed as though she had caught him in the act of laying a mine that would blow up the whole house.He was wearing finer clothes than she had ever seen him in before--a frock coat, quite new but fitting him badly, so that it was buttoned too tightly across his stomach and loose across the back.He had a white flower in his button-hole, and a rather soiled white handkerchief protruded from his breast-pocket.One leg of his dark grey trousers had been creased in two places, and there were little spots of blood on his high white collar because he had cut himself shaving.His complexion was of the same old suppressed purple, but his little eyes were bright and shining and active; they danced towards Maggie.His scanty locks had been carefully brushed over his bald head, and his hands, although they were still puffed and swollen, were whiter than Maggie had ever seen them.
But it was in the end his attitude of confused defiance that made her pause.What had he been doing, or what did he intend to do? He was prosperous, she could see, and knowing him as she did, she was afraid of his prosperity.She had never in her life realised so clearly as she did now that he was a wicked old man--and still she was glad to see him.He was an odd enough creature in that room, and that, she was aware, pleased her.
"Well, my dear," he said very genially, as though they met again after an hour's parting, "how are you? I'm very glad to see you--looking so well too.And quite smart.Your aunts dressed you up.Ithought I must look at you.I'm staying just round the corner, and my first thought was 'I wonder how she's getting on in all that tom-foolery.You bet she's keeping her head.' And so you are.One can see at a glance."She went up to him, kissed him, and smelt whisky and some scent that had geraniums in it.He put his arm round her, with his old unsteady gesture, and held her to him for a moment, then patted her back with his large, soft hand.
"Your aunt's a long time.I've been waiting half an hour.""They've been to some meeting." She stood looking at him with her fine steady gaze that had always made him afraid of her, and did so, to his own surprise, again now.He had thought that his clothes would have saved him from that; his fingers felt at his button-hole.
Looking at him she said:
