Maggie turned, with all her new defiant resolution, to face the
world alone with her Aunt Anne. Throughout the next day she was
busied with collecting her few possessions, with her farewells to
the one or two people in the village who had been kind to her, and
with little sudden, almost surreptitious visits to corners of the
house, the garden, the wood where she had at one time or another
been happy.
As the evening fell and a sudden storm of rain leapt up from beneath
the hill and danced about the house, she had a wild longing to stay-
-to stay at any cost and in any discomfort. London had no longer
interest, but only terror and dismay. She ran out into the dark and
rain-drenched garden, felt her way to an old and battered seat that
had seen in older days dolls' tea-parties and the ravages of bad-
temper, stared from it across the kitchen-garden to the lights of
the village, that seemed to rock and shiver in the wind and rain.
She stared passionately at the lights, her heart beating as though
it would suffocate her. At last, her clothes soaked with the storm,
her hair dripping, she returned to the house.
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