But Uncle Mathew
would know. She thought of him standing in the doorway at the hotel,
holding up a glass, then she thought of Martin, and so fell asleep.
She woke suddenly to find some one standing in her open doorway and
holding up a candle. That some one was old Martha, looking strange
enough in a nightdress, her scanty grey hairs untidily about her
neck and a dirty red shawl over her shoulders. Maggie blinked at the
light and sat up in bed.
"What is it?" she asked.
"It's your aunt, Miss--Miss Anne. She's very bad. She wants you to
go to her."
Maggie got out of bed, put on her dressing-gown and slippers and
followed the servant.
As she hurried along the dark passage she was still only half-awake;
her soul had not returned into her body, but her body was awake and
vibrating with the knowledge that the soul was soon coming to it,
and coming to it with great news, with the consciousness of a
marvellous experience. For at the instant when Martha awoke her she
had been dreaming of Martin, dreaming of him physically, so that it
was his body against hers, his hand hot and dry in hers cool and
soft, his cheek rough and strong against hers smooth and pale.
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