She liked Maggie to read the Bible to her, and for an hour of every
evening Maggie did this. For some reason the girl greatly disliked
this hour and dreaded its approach. It was perhaps because it seemed
to bring before her the figure of her father, the words as they fell
from her lips seemed to be repeated by him as he stood behind her.
Nothing was more unexpected by her than the way that those last days
at St. Dreots crowded about her. They should surely have been killed
by the colours and interests of this new life. It appeared that they
were only accentuated by them. Especially did she see that night
when she had watched beside her father's dead body . . . she saw the
stirring of the beard, the shape of the feet beneath the sheet, the
flicker of the candle. Apart from this one hour of the day, however,
she was happy, excited, expectant. What it was that she expected she
did not exactly know, but there were so many things that life might
now do for her. One thing that very evidently it did not intend to
do for her was to make her tidy, careful, and a good manager. Old
Martha, the Cardinal servant, was her sworn enemy, and, indeed, with
reason.
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