Pain, sheer physical, brutal pain, came into the room hulking,
steering behind Aunt Anne's shoulder. It grinned at Maggie and said,
"You haven't begun to feel what I can do yet, but every one has his
turn. You needn't flatter yourself that you're going to escape."
When Aunt Anne moved now it was with infinite caution, as though she
were stalking her enemy and was afraid lest any incautious gesture
should betray her into his ambush. No less marked than her torture
was her courage and the expectation that sustained that courage. She
had her eyes set upon something very sure and very certain. Maggie
was afraid to think what that expectation might be. But Maggie had
grown during these last weeks. She did not now kiss her aunt and try
to show an affection which was not so genuine as she would have
liked it to be by nervous little demonstrations. She said gravely:
"I am so sorry, Aunt Anne, that you have had so bad a night. Shall I
stay this morning and read to you?"
Even as she spoke she realised with sharp pain what giving up her
meeting with Martin meant.
"What were you going to do, dear?" asked Aunt Anne, her eyes seeing
as ever far beyond Maggie and the room and the house.
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