him. No; she
would not write. What they would have to say to each other must be said
face to face. She did not know what she would say.

She dragged herself upstairs to the nursery, where the packing had been
begun. The room was empty. Nanna had gone down to her supper.

Anne's heart melted. Peggy had been playing at packing. The little lamb
had gathered together on the table a heap of her beloved toys, things
which it would have broken her heart to part from.

Her little trunk lay open on the floor, packed already. The embroidered
frock lay uppermost, carefully folded, not to be crushed. At the sight of
it Anne's brain flared in anger.

A bright fire burned in the grate. She picked up the frock; she took a
pair of scissors and cut it in several places at the neck, then tore it
to pieces with strong, determined hands. She threw the tatters on the
fire; she watched them consume; she raked out their ashes with the tongs,
and tore them again. Then she packed Peggy's toys tenderly in the little
trunk, her heart melting over them. She closed the lid of the trunk,
strapped it, and turned the key in the lock.

Then, crawling on slow, quiet feet, she went to bed. Undressing vexed
her. She, once so careful and punctilious, slipped her clothes like a
tired Magdalen, and let them fall from her and lie where they fell. Her
nightgown gaped unbuttoned at her throat. Her long hair lay scattered on
her pillow, unbrushed, unbraided. Her white face stared to the ceiling.
She was too spent to pray.

When she lay down, reality gripped her. And, with it, her imagination
rose up, a thing no longer crude, but full-grown, large-eyed, and
powerful. It possessed itself of her tragedy. She had lain thus, nearly
nine years ago, in that room at Scarby, thinking terrible thoughts. Now
she saw terrible things.

Peggy stirred in her sleep, and crept from her cot into her mother's bed.

"Mummy, I'm so frightened."

"What is it, darling? Have you had a little dream?"

"No. Mummy, let me stay in your bed."

Anne let her stay, glad of the comfort of the little warm body, and
afraid to vex the child. She drew the blankets round her. "There," she
said, "go to sleep, pet."

But Peggy was in no mind to sleep.

"Mummy, your hair's all loose," she said; and her fingers began playing
with her mother's hair.

"Mummy, where's daddy? Is he in his little bed?"

"He's away, darling. Go to sleep."

"Why does he go away? Is he coming back again?"