our finding it; her espionage of thehouse by means of the telephone; the doctor's night visit in search ofthe confession; the daily penance for five years of the dead woman'sphotograph in her room--all of these--and her occasional weakenings,poor soul, when she tried to change her handwriting against discovery,and refused to allow the second telephone to be installed.
How clear it was! How, in a way, inevitable! And, too, how reallybest for her it had turned out. For she had made a pact, and she diedbelieving that discovery here had come, and would take the place ofpunishment beyond.
Martin Sprague came the next day. I was in the library alone, and he waswith Anne in the garden, when Maggie came into the room with a saucer ofcrab-apple jelly.
"I wish you'd look at this," she said. "If it's cooked too much, it getstough and--" She straightened suddenly and stood staring out through awindow.
"I'd thank you to look out and see the goings-on in our garden," shesaid sharply. "In broad daylight, too. I--"
But I did not hear what else Maggie had to say. I glanced out, andMartin had raised the girl's face to his and was kissing her, gently andvery tenderly.
And then--and again, as with fear, it is hard to put into words--I feltcome over me such a wave of contentment and happiness as made me closemy eyes with the sheer relief and joy of it. All was well. The past waspast, and out of its mistakes had come a beautiful thing. And, like thefear, this joy was not mine. It came to me. I picked it up--a thoughtwithout words.
Sometimes I think about it, and I wonder--did little Miss Emily know?
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