She waited breathless.
"Yes, miss. It is a Mr. Cathcart. He said he would wait for you."
Maggie nodded.
"I will go," she said. "Remember, please do not say a word to anyone.
It may be bad news, as I said."
* * * * *
As she walked through the hamlet three minutes later, she began to
recognize that the news must be really serious; and that beneath all
her serenity she had been aware of its possibility. So intense now was
that anxiety--though perfectly formless in its details--that all other
faculties seemed absorbed into it. She could not frame any imagination
as to what it meant; she could form no plan, alternative or absolute,
as to what must be done. She was only aware that something had
happened, and that she would know the facts in a few seconds.
About fifty yards up the turning she saw the old gentleman waiting.
He was in his London clothes, silk-hatted and spatted, and made a
curiously incongruous picture there in the deep-banked lane that led
upwards to the village. On either side towered the trees, still
leafless, yet bursting with life; and overhead chattered the birds
against the tender midday sky of spring.
He lifted his hat as she came to him; but they spoke no word of
greeting.
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