the captives-第6章

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dent　that　it　had　been　nothing　very　bad　Maggie　bore　him　no　grudgegood　girl；　Maggie。　He　felt　affectionate　towards　her　and　would　have　told　her　so　had　her　aunt　not　been　present。　These　thoughts　underlay　his　rambling　history。　He　was　aware　suddenly　that　his　audience　was　inattentive。　He　saw；　indeed；　that　his　sister　was　standing　with　her　back　half…turned；　gazing　on　to　the　shining　country　beyond　the　window。　He　ceased　abruptly；　gave　his　niece　a　wink；　and　when　this　was　unsuccessful；　muttering　a　few　words；　stumbled　out　of　the　room。

The　whole　village　attended　the　funeral；　not　because　it　liked　the　Rev。　Charles；　but　because　it　liked　funerals。　Maggie　was；　in　all　probability；　the　only　person　present　who　thought　very　deeply　about　the　late　Vicar　of　St。　Dreot's。　The　Rev。　Tom　Trefusis　who　conducted　the　ceremony　was　a　large　red…faced　man　who　had　played　Rugby　football　for　his　University　and　spent　most　of　his　energy　over　the　development　of　cricket　and　football　clubs　up　and　down　the　county。　He　could　not　be　expected　to　have　cared　very　greatly　for　the　Rev。　Charles；　who　had　been　at　no　period　of　his　life　and　in　no　possible　sense　of　the　word　a　sportsman。　As　he　conducted　the　service　his　mind　speculated　as　to　the　next　vicar　（the　Rev。　Tom　knew　an　excellent　fellow；　stroke　of　the　Cambridge　boat　in　'12；　who　would　be　just　the　man）　the　possibility　of　the　frost　breaking　in　time　for　the　inter…county　Rugby　match　at　Truxe；　the　immediate　return　of　his　wife　from　London　（he　was　very　fond　of　his　wife）；　and；　lastly；　a　certain　cramp　in　the　stomach　that　sometimes　〃bowled　him　over〃　and　of　which　the　taking　of　a　funeral　〃here　to…day　and　gone　to…morrow〃always　reminded　him。

〃Wonder　how　long　I'll　last；〃　he　thought　as　he　stood　over　the　grave　of　the　Rev。　Charles　and　let　his　eyes　wander　over　the　little　white　gravestones　that　ran　almost　into　the　dark　wall　of　St。　Dreot　Woods　as　though　they　were　trying　to　hide　themselves。　〃Wish　the　frost　'ud　breakground'll　be　as　hard　as　nails。〃　The　soil　fell；　thump；　thump　upon　the　coffin。　Rooks　cawed　in　the　trees；　the　bell　tolled　its　cracked　note。　The　Rev。　Charles　was　crammed　down　with　the　soil　by　the　eager　spades　of　the　sexton　and　his　friend；　who　were　cold　and　wanted　a　drink。

Maggie；　meanwhile；　watched　the　final　disappearance　of　her　father　with　an　ever…growing　remorse。　Ever　since　her　declaration　to　her　uncle　during　their　walk　yesterday　this　new　picture　of　her　father　had　grown　before　her　eyes。　She　had　already　forgotten　many；　many　things　that　might　now　have　made　her　resentful　or　at　least　critical。　She　saw　him　as　a　figure　most　disastrously　misunderstood。　Without　any　sentimentality　in　her　vision　she　saw　him　lonely；　proud；　reserved；　longing　for　her　sympathy　which　she　denied　him。　His　greed　for　money　she　saw　suddenly　as　a　determination　that　his　daughter　should　not　be　left　in　want。　All　those　years　he　had　striven　and　his　apparent　harshness；　sharpness；　unkindness　had　been　that　he　might　pursue　his　great　object。

She　did　not　cry　（some　of　the　villagers　curiously　watching　her　thought　her　a　hard…hearted　little　thing）；　but　her　heart　was　full　of　tenderness　as　she　stood　there；　seeing　the　humped　grey　church　that　was　part　of　her　life；　the　green　mounds　with　no　name；　the　dark　wood；　the　grey　roofs　of　the　village　clustered　below　the　hill；　hearing　the　bell；　the　rooks；　the　healthy　voice　of　Mr。　Trefusis；　the　bark　of　some　distant　dog；　the　creak　of　some　distant　wheel。

〃I　missed　my　chance；〃　she　thought。　〃If　only　now　I　could　have　told　him！〃

Her　aunt　stood　at　her　side　and　once　again　Maggie　felt　irritation　at　her　composure。　〃After　all；　he　was　her　brother；〃　she　thought。　She　remembered　the　feeling　and　passion　with　which　her　aunt　had　repeated　the　Twenty…third　Psalm。　She　was　puzzled。

A　moment　of　shrinking　came　upon　her　as　she　thought　of　the　coming　London　life。

Then　the　service　was　over。　The　villagers；　with　that　inevitable　disappointment　that　always　lingers　after　a　funeral；　went　to　their　homes。　The　children　remained　until　night；　under　the　illusion　that　it　was　Sunday。

Maggie　spent　the　rest　of　the　day；　for　the　most　part；　alone　in　her　room　and　thinking　of　her　father。　Her　bedroom；　an　attic　with　a　sloping　roof；　contained　all　her　worldly　possessions。　In　part　because　she　had　always　been　so　reserved　a　child；　in　part　because　there　had　been　no　one　in　whom　she　might　confide　even　had　she　wished　it；　she　had　always　placed　an　intensity　of　feeling　around　and　about　the　few　things　that　were　hers。　Her　library　was　very　small；　but　this　did　not　distress　her　because　she　had　never　cared　for　reading。　Upon　the　little　hanging　shelf　above　her　bed　（deal　wood　painted　white；　with　blue　cornflowers）　were　The　Heir　of　Redclyffe；　a　shabby　blue…covered　copy；　Ministering　Children；　Madame　How　and　Lady　Why；　The　Imitation　of　Christ；　Robinson　Crusoe；　Mrs。　Beeton's　Cookery　Book；　The　Holy　Bible；　and　The　Poems　of　Longfellow。　These　had　been　given　her　upon　various　Christmasses　and　birthdays。　She　did　not　care　for　any　of　them　except　The　Imitation　of　Christ　and　Robinson　Crusoe。　The　Bible　was　spoilt　for　her　by　incessant　services　and　Sunday　School　classes；　The　Heir　of　Redclyffe　and　Ministering　Children　she　found　absurdly　sentimental　and　unlike　any　life　that　she　had　ever　known；　Mrs。　Beeton　she　had　never　opened；　and　Longfellow　and　Kingsley's　Natural　History　she　found　dull。　For　Robinson　Crusoe　she　had　the　intense　human　sympathy　that　all　lonely　people　feel　for　that　masterpiece。　The　Imitation　pleased　her　by　what　she　would　have　called　its　common　sense。　Such　a　passage；　for　example：　〃Oftentimes　something　lurketh　within；　or　else　occurreth　from　without；　which　draweth　us　after　it。　Many　secretly　seek　themselves　in　what　they　do；　and　know　it　not。〃

〃They　seem　also　to　live　in　good　peace　of　mind；　when　things　are　done　according　to　their　will　and　opinion；　but　if　things　happen　otherwise　than　they　desire；　they　are　straightway　moved　and　much　vexed。〃

And　behind　this　common　sense　she　did　seem　to　be　directly　in　touch　with　some　one　whom　she　might　find　had　she　more　time　and　friends　to　advise　her。　She　was　conscious　in　her　lonely　hours；　that　nothing　gave　her　such　a　feeling　of　company　as　did　this　little　battered　red　book；　and　she　felt　that　that　friendliness　might　one　day　advance　to　some　greater　intimacy。　About　these　things　she　was　intensely　reserved　and　she　spoke　of　them　to　no　human　being。

Even　for　the　books　for　whose　contents　she　did　not　care　she　had　a　kindly　feeling。　So　often　had　they　looked　down　upon　her　when　she　sat　there　exasperated；　angry　at　her　own　tears；　rebellious；　after　some　scene　with　her　father。　No　other　place　but　this　room　had　seen　these　old　agonies　of　hers。　She　would　be　sorry　after　all　to　leave　it。

There　were　not　many　things　beside　the　books。　Two　bowls　of　blue　Glebeshire　pottery；　cheap　things　but　precious；　a　box　plastered　with　coloured　shells；　an　amber　bead　necklace；　a　blue　leather　writing…　case；　a　photograph　of　her　father　as　a　young　clergyman　with　a　beard　and　whiskers；　a　faded　daguerreotype　of　her　mother；　last；　but　by　no　means　least；　a　small　black　lacquer　musical…box　that　played　two　tunes；　〃Weel　may　the　Keel　row〃　and　〃John　Peel；〃these　were　her　worldly　possessions。

She　sat　there；　as　the　day　closed　down；　the　trees　were　swept　into　the　night；　the　wind　rose　in　the　dark　wood；　the　winter's　moon　crept　pale　and　cold　into　the　sky；　snow　began　to　fall；　at　first　thinly；　then　in　a　storm；　hiding　the　moon；　flinging　the　fields　and　roads　into　a　white　shining　splendour；　the　wind　died　and　the　stars　peeped　between　the　flakes　of　whirling　snow。

She　sat　without　moving；　accusing　her　heart　of　hardness；　of　unkindness。　She　seemed　to　herself　then　deserving　of　every　punishment。　〃If　I　had　only　gone　to　him；〃　she　thought　again　and　again。　She　remembered　how　she　had　kept　apart　from　him；　enclosed　herself　in　a　reserve　that　he　should　never　break。　She　remembered　the　times　when　he　had　scolded　her；　coldly；　bitterly；　and　she　had　stood；　her　face　as　a　rock；　her　heart　beating　but　her　body　without　movement；　then　had　turned　and　gone　silently　from　the　room。　All　her　wicked；　cold　heart　that　in　some　strange　way　cared　for　love　but　could　not　make　those　movements　towards　others　that　would　show　that　it　cared。　What　was　it　in　her？　Would　she　always；　through　life；　miss　the　things　for　which　she　longed　through　her　coldness　and　obstinacy？

She　took　her　father's　photograph；　stared　at　it；　gazed　into　it；　held　it　in　an　agony　of　remorse。　She　shivered　in　the　cold　of　her　room　but　did　not　know　it。　Her　candle；　caught　in　some　draught；　blew　out；　and　instantly　the　white　world　without　leapt　in　upon　her　and　her　room　was　lit　with　a　strange　unearthly　glow。　She　saw　nothing　but　her　father。　At　last　she　fell　asleep　in　the　chair；　clutching　in　her　hand　the　photograph。

Thus　her　aunt　found　her；　later　in　the　evening。　She　was　touched　by　the　figure；　the　shabby　black　frock；　the　white　tired　face。　She　had　been　honestly　disappointed　in　her　niece；　disappointed　in　her　plainness；　in　her　apparent　want　of　heart；　in　her　silence　and　moroseness。　Mathew　had　told　her　of　the　girl's　outburst　to　him　against　her　father；　and　this　had　seemed　to　her　shocking　upon　the　very　day　after　that　father's　death。　Now　when　she　saw　the　photograph　clenched　in　Maggie's　hand　tears　came　into　her　eyes。　She　said；　〃Maggie！　dear　Maggie！〃　and　woke　her。　Maggie；　stirring　saw　her　aunt's　slender　figure　and　delicate　face　standing　in　the　snowlight　as　though　she　had　been　truly　a　saint　from　heaven。

Maggie's　first　impulse　was　to　rise　up；　fling　her　arms　around　her　aunt's　neck　and　hug　her。　Had　she　done　that　the　history　of　her　life　might　have　been　changed。　Her　natural　shyness　checked　her　impulse。　She　got　up；　the　photograph　dropped　from　her　hand；　she　smiled　a　little　and　then　said　awkwardly；　〃I've　been　asleep。　Do　you　want　me？　I'll　come　down。〃

Her　aunt　drew　her　towards　her。

〃Maggie；　dear；〃　she　said；　〃don't　feel　lonely　any　more。　Think　of　me　and　your　Aunt　Elizabeth　as　your　friends　who　will　always　care　for　you。　You　must　never　be　lonely　again。〃

Maggie's　whole　heart　responded。　She　felt　its　wild　beating　but　she　could　do　nothing；　could　say　nothing。　Her　body　stiffened。　In　spite　of　herself　she　withdrew　herself。　Her　face　reddened；　then；　was　pale。

〃Thank　you；　aunt；〃　was　all　she　could　say。

Her　aunt　moved　away。　Silently　they　went　downstairs　together。

At　about　ten　the　next　morning　they　were　seated　in　the　dining…room　Aunt　Anne；　Uncle　Mathew；　Maggie；　and　Mr。　Brassy。　Mr。　Brassy　was　speaking：

〃I'm　afraid；　Miss　Cardinal；　that　there　can　be　no　question　about　the　legality　of　this。　It　has　been　duly　witnessed　and　signed。　I　regret　extremely　。　。　。　but　as　you　can　well　understand；　I　was　quite　unable　to　prevent。　With　the　exception　of　a　legacy　of　300　Pounds　Sterling　to　Miss　Maggie　Cardinal　everything　goes　to　Miss　Ellen　Harmer；　'To　whom　I　owe　more　than　I　can　ever　possibly'〃

〃Thank　you；〃　interrupted　Aunt　Anne。　〃This　is；　I　think；　the　woman　who　has　been　cook　here　during　the　last　four　years？〃

〃About　five；　I　think；〃　said　Mr。　Brassy　softly。

Uncle　Mathew　was　upon　his　feet；　trembling。

〃This　is　monstrous；〃　he　stuttered；　〃absolutely　monstrous。　Of　course　an　appeal　will　be　madeundue　influencethe　most　abominable　thing。〃

Maggie　watched　them　all　as　though　the　whole　business　were　far　from　herself。　She　sat　there；　her　hands　folded　on　her　lap；　looking　at　the　mantelpiece　with　the　ugly　marble　clock；　the　letter　clip　with　old　soiled　letters　in　it；　the　fat　green　vase　with　dusty　everlasti