Nearly every one in the village, of course, remembered Maggie, and
they could not see that she was "any changed." "Cut 'er 'air short--
London fashion" they supposed. They had liked her as a child and
they liked her now. She was more cheerful and friendly, they
thought, then she used to be.
Nevertheless all the village awaited, with deep interest, for what
they felt would be a very moving climax. The young man was "fey."
God had set His mark upon him, and nothing that any human being
could do would save him. In old days they would have tried to come
near him and touch him to snatch some virtue from the contact. They
did not do that, but they felt when they had spoken to him that they
had received some merit or advantage. The new parson came to call
upon Martin and Maggie, but he got very little from his visit.
"Poor fellow," he said to his wife on his return. "His days are
numbered, I fear."
To every one it was as though Martin and Maggie were enclosed in
some world of their own. No one could come near them, no one could
tell of what they were really thinking, of their hopes or fears,
past or future.
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