"It's late," she said, shivering under the first sensation that reached
her of the rising breeze. "Come home; you want your tea." They walked
home in silence.
"Don't be angry with me for asking," said Mrs. Wragge, as they sat
together at the tea-table. "Are you troubled, my dear, in your mind?"
"Yes," replied Magdalen. "Don't notice me. My trouble will soon be
over."
She waited patiently until Mrs. Wragge had made an end of the meal, and
then went upstairs to her own room.
"Monday!" she said, as she sat down at her toilet-table. "Something may
happen before Monday comes!"
Her fingers wandered mechanically among the brushes and combs, the tiny
bottles and cases placed on the table. She set them in order, now in one
way, and now in another--then on a sudden pushed them away from her in a
heap. For a minute or two her hands remained idle. That interval passed,
they grew restless again, and pulled the two little drawers backward and
forward in their grooves. Among the objects laid in one of them was a
Prayer-book which had belonged to her at Combe-Raven, and which she had
saved with her other relics of the past, when she and her sister had
taken their farewell of home.
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