. .
"Maggie!" said the clear faint voice that she knew so well. Her
terror left her. She did not notice Aunt Elizabeth, who was seated
close to the bed, nor Mr. Magnus, nor the nurse, nor the doctor. She
went forward unafraid.
"Doctor, would you mind . . ." the voice went on. "Three minutes
alone with my niece . . ." The doctor, a stout red-faced man, said
something, the figures, all shadowy in the dim light, withdrew.
Maggie was aware of nothing except that there was something of the
utmost urgency that she must say. She came close to the bed, found a
chair there, sat down and bent forward. There her aunt was lying,
the black hair in a dark shadow across the pillow, the face white
and sharp, and the eyes burning with a fierce far-seeing light.
They had the intense gaze of a blind man to whom sight has suddenly
been given: he cries "I see! I see!" stretching out his arms towards
the sun, the trees, the rich green fields. She turned her head and
put both her hands about Maggie's; she smiled.
Maggie said, "Oh, Aunt Anne, do you feel bad?"
"No dear. I'm in no pain at all. Now that you've come I'm quite
happy.
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