I had to absolve my
conscience."
"And you have no idea where he is now?"
"I have no idea. He may be dead for all I know."
Maggie shivered. "If you have any more information you will give it
me?"
"I will give it you."
"This is my address." Maggie gave her a card.
They said good-day, looking for one moment, face to face, eye to
eye.
Then Maggie turned and went. Her eyes were dim so that she stumbled
on the stairs. In the street she walked, caring nothing of her
direction, seeing only Martin.
CHAPTER VIII
DEATH OF UNCLE MATHEW
Grace, during the days that Maggie was in London, regained something
of her old tranquillity. It was wonderful to her to be able to
potter about the house once more mistress of all that she surveyed
and protected from every watching eye. She had had, from her very
earliest years, a horror of being what she called "overlooked."
She had a habit of stopping, when she had climbed halfway upstairs,
of suddenly jerking her head round to see whether any one were
looking at her. You would have sworn, had you seen her, that she was
deeply engaged upon some nefarious and underhand plot; yet it was
not so-she was simply going to dust some of her hideous china
treasures in her bedroom.
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