Maggie found that her bedroom was a room at the top of the house, very white and clean, with a smell of soot and tallow candle that was new and attractive.There was a large text in bright purple over the bed--"The Lord cometh; prepare ye the way of the Lord." From the window one saw roofs, towers, chimneys, a sweeping arc of sky-lights now spun and sparkled into pathways and out again, driven by the rumble behind them that never ceased, although muffled by the closed window.
They talked together for a little while, standing near the window, the candle wavering in Aunt Elizabeth's unsteady hand.
"We thought you'd like this top room.It's quieter than the rest of the house.Sometimes when the sweep hasn't been the soot tumbles down the chimney.You mustn't mind that.Thomas will push open the door and walk in at times.It's his way.""Thomas?" said Maggie bewildered.
"Our cat.He has been with us for many years now.Those who know say that he might have taken prizes once.I can't tell I'm sure.If you pull that bell when you want anything Martha will come.She will call you at half-past seven; prayers are in the dining-room at a quarter past eight.Sometimes the wind blows through the wall-paper, but it is only the wind."Maggie drew back the curtains that hid the glitter of the lights.
"Were those great friends of yours, those gentlemen this evening?""The one who wears spectacles, Mr.Magnus--yes, he is a very old friend.He is devoted to my sister.He writes stories.""What, in the papers?"
"No, in books.Two every year."
"And the other one?"
"That is young Mr.Warlock--he is the son of our minister.""Does he live near here?"
"He lives just now with his parents.Of late years he has been abroad.""He doesn't look like the son of a minister," said Maggie.
"No, I'm afraid--" Aunt Elizabeth suddenly stopped."His father has been minister of our chapel for twenty years.He is a great and wonderful man.""Where is the chapel?"
"Very near at hand.You will see it to-morrow.To-morrow is Sunday."There was a long pause.Maggie knew that now was the time when she should say something friendly and affectionate.She could say nothing.She stared at her aunt, then at a long mirror that faced her bed, then at the lighted sky.She felt warmly grateful, eager to show all the world that she would do her best, that she was ready to give herself to this new life with all her soul and strength--she could say nothing.
They waited.
At last her aunt said:
"Good-night, dear Maggie."
"Good-night, Aunt Elizabeth."
She stole away, leaving the candle upon the chest of drawers; the cat followed her, swinging his tail.
Left alone, Maggie felt the whole sweep of her excitement.She was exhausted, her body felt as though it had been trampled upon, she was so tired that she could scarcely drag her clothes from her, but the exaltation of her spirit was beyond and above all this.Half undressed she stood before the long mirror.She had never before possessed a long looking-glass, and now she seemed to see herself as she really was for the first time.Was she very ugly and unattractive? Yes, she must be with that stumpy body, those thick legs and arms, that short nose and large mouth.And she did not know what to do to herself to make herself attractive.Other girls knew but she had never had any one who could tell her.Perhaps she would make girl friends now who would show her.
But, after all, she did not care.She was herself.People who did not like her could leave her--yes they could, and she would not stir a finger to fetch them back.
Then, deep down in her soul, she knew that she wanted success, a magnificent life, a great future.Nay more, she expected it.She had force and strength, and she would compel life to give her what she wanted.She laughed at herself in the glass.She was happy, almost triumphant, and for no reason at all.
She went to her windows and opened them; there came up to her the tramping progress of the motor-omnibuses.They advanced, like elephants charging down a jungle, nearer, nearer, nearer.Before the tramp of one had passed another was advancing, and then upon that another--ceaselessly, advancing and retreating.
In her nightdress she leaned out of the window, poised, as it seemed to her, above a swaying carpet of lights.
Life seemed to hold every promise in store for her.
She crossed to her bed, drew the clothes about her and, forgetting her supper, forgetting all that had happened to her, her journey, her fainting, the young man, Edward the parrot, she fell into a slumber as deep, as secure, as death itself.