"Yes, dear, thank you--I will," said Miss Cardinal. They moved from the
room, Aunt Anne walking with a strange, almost clumsy uncertainty,
halting from one foot to the other as though she had never learnt to
trust her legs, a movement with which Maggie was to become intensely
familiar. It was as though her aunt had flown in some earlier
existence, and had never become accustomed to this clumsier earthly
fashion.

The spare bedroom was a bright room with a broad high window. The view
was magnificent, looking over the hill that dropped below the vicarage
out across fields and streams to Cator Hill, to the right into the
heart of the St. Dreot Woods, to the left to the green valley through
whose reeds and sloping shadows the Lisp gleamed like a burnished wire
threading its way to the sea. There was a high-backed old-fashioned
chair by the window. Against this Miss Cardinal stood, her thin body
reflected, motionless, as though it had been painted in a long glass
behind her. She gazed before her.

Maggie saw that she was agitated, passionately moved. The sun catching
the hoar-frost on the frozen soil turned the world to crystal, and in
every field were little shallows of blue light; the St. Dreot Woods
were deep black with flickering golden stars.

She tried to speak. She could not. Tears were in her eyes. "It is so
long ... since I ... London," she smiled at Maggie. Then Maggie heard
her say:

The Lord is my shepherd; therefore can I lack nothing.

He shall feed me in a green pasture; and lead me forth beside the
waters of comfort.

He shall convert my soul, and bring me forth in the paths of
righteousness, for His Name's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will
fear no evil; for thou art with me, they rod and thy staff comfort me.

Thou shalt prepare a table before me against them that trouble me: thou
hast anointed my head with oil, and my cup shall be full.

But thy loving--kindness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my
life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

There was a pause--then Maggie said timidly, "Won't you take off your
bonnet? It will be more comfortable." "Thank you, my dear." She took
off her bonnet and laid it on the bed. Then she resumed her stand at
the window, her eyes lost in the sunny distance. "I did wrong," she
said, as though she were speaking to herself. "I should not have
allowed that quarrel with your father. I regret it now v