"It's nice and strong," she said. "Drink it. It'll do your head good."

And she sat down opposite him, and watched him drink it.

Maggie's watching face was luminous and tender. In her eyes there was the
look that love gives for his signal--love that, in that moment, was pure
and sweet as a mother's. She was glad to think that the coffee was
strong, and would do his head good. She had no other thought in her mind,
at that moment.

After the coffee she brought matches and cigarettes, which she offered
shyly. Nature had given her an immortal shyness, born of her extreme
humility.

"They're all right," she said, "Charlie smoked them." (Charlie was at
times a useful memory.)

She struck a match and prepared to light the cigarette. This she did
gravely and efficiently, with no sign of feminine consciousness or
coquetry. It was part of the solemn evening service of the god. And, as
he smoked, the devotee retreated to her chair and watched him.

"Maggie," he said, "supposing Mr. Mumford was to come in?"

"He won't. Sunday's _his_ day; or would be, if I let him 'ave a day."

"Why don't you?"

She shook her head. "I've seen nobody."

There was silence for five minutes.

"Mr. Magendy--"

"Majendie, Maggie, Majendie."

"Mr. Mashendy--I'm beginning to be afraid."

"What are you afraid of?"

"What I've always told you about. That awful feeling. It's coming on
again, I think."

"It won't come, Maggie, it won't come. Don't think about it, and it won't
come."

He didn't understand very clearly what Maggie was talking about; but he
remembered that, last September, after her illness, she had been afraid
of something. And he remembered that he had comforted her with some such
words as these.

"Yes," said she, "but I feel it coming."

"Maggie, you oughtn't to live alone like this. See here, you ought to
marry. You ought to marry Mr. Mumford. Why don't you?"

"I don't want to marry anybody. And I don't love him."

"Well, don't think about that other thing. Don't think about it. You'll
be all right."

"I won't think," said Maggie, and thought profoundly.

"Mr. Majendie," she said suddenly.

"Madam."

"You mustn't be afraid. I shall never do anything I know you wouldn't
like me to."

"All right. Only don't think too much about that, either."

"I can't help thinking. You've been so good to me."

"I should try and forget that, too, a little more, if I were you. I'm
only paying some of Mr. Gorst's debts fo