She would never say her prayers again; she would never read
the Bible again to herself or any one else; she would never kneel on
those hard chapel kneelers again; she would never listen to Mr.
Warlock's sermons again--once she had escaped.
Meanwhile she said nothing at all to herself about Martin Warlock,
who was really at the root of the whole matter.
She began at once to take steps. Two years before this a lady had
paid, with her sister, a short visit to St. Dreots and had taken a
great liking to Maggie. They had made friends, and this lady, a Miss
Katherine Trenchard, had begged Maggie to let her know if she came
to London and needed help or advice. Miss Trenchard divided her life
between London and a place called Garth in Roselands in Glebeshire,
and Maggie did not know where she would be now--but, after some
little hesitation, she wrote a letter, speaking of the death of her
father and of her desire to find some work in London, and directed
it to Garth.
Now of course she must post it herself--no allowing it to lie on the
hall-table with old Martha to finger it and the aunts to speculate
upon it and finally challenge her with its destiny.
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