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 made--undue influence--the 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 everlastings. Just as on
the night when her uncle had come into her room she had fancied that
some one spoke to her, so now she seemed to hear:

"Ah, that's a nasty knock for you--a very nasty knock."

Her father had left all his money, with the exception of 300, Pounds
Sterling to Ellen the cook; Maggie did not, for a moment, speculate as
to the probable total amount. Three hundred pounds seemed to her a very
large sum--it would at any rate give her something to begin life
upon--but the thing that seiz