prise that made her heart beat for a
moment with furious leaps, a tapping on the window-pane. Then directly
after that she fancied that there came from her father's room above the
thud of some sudden fall or collapse. She listened. The bell swallowed
all other noise. She thought that she had been mistaken, but the
tapping at the window began again, now insistent; the church bell
suddenly stopped and in the silence that followed one could hear the
slight creak of some bough driven by the sea-wind against the wall.

The curtains were not drawn and where the curve of the hill fell away
the sky was faintly yellow; some cold stars like points of ice pierced
the higher blue; carelessly, as though with studied indifference,
flakes of snow fell, turning grey against the lamp-lit windows, then
vanishing utterly. Maggie, going to the window, saw a dark shapeless
figure beyond the glass. For an instant she was invaded by the terror
of her surprised loneliness, then she remembered her father and the
warm kitchen, then realised that this figure in the dark must be her
Uncle Mathew.

She went out into the hall, pushed back the stiff, clumsy handle of the
door, and stepped on to the gravel path. She called out, laughing:

"Come in! You frightened me out of my life."

As he came towards her she felt the mingled kindness and irritation
that he always roused in her. He stood in the light of the hall lamp, a
fat man, a soft hat pushed to the back of his head, a bag in one hand.
His face was weak and good-tempered, his eyes had once been fine but
now they were dim and blurred; there were dimples in his fat cheeks; he
wore on his upper lip a ragged and untidy moustache and he had two
indeterminate chins. His expression was mild, kindly, now a little
ashamed, now greatly indignant. It was a pity, as he often said, that
he had not more control over his feelings. Maggie saw at once that he
was, as usual, a little drunk.

"Well," she said. "Come in, Uncle. Father is in church, I think," she
added.

Uncle Mathew stepped with careful deliberation into the hall, put his
bag on a chair, and began a long, rambling explanation.

"You know, Maggie, that I would have sent you a post card if I had had
an idea, but, upon my soul, there I was suddenly in Drymouth on
important business. I thought to myself on waking this morning--I took
a room at the 'Three Tuns'--'Why, there are Charles and Maggie whom I
haven't seen for an age.' I'd have sent you