"What must I do?" she asked. "What will she want me to do?"
"It's only," said Martha, "if the pains come on very bad, to give her
some drops. They're in a little green bottle by her bed. Five drops ...
yes, miss, five drops in a little green bottle. Only if the pains is
very bad. She's brave--wonderful. I'd 'ave sat up till morning willing,
and so of course would Miss Elizabeth. But she seemed to want you,
miss."
They were like two conspirators whispering there in the dark. The room
within was so still. Maggie very softly pushed back the door and
entered. She walked a few steps inside the room and hesitated. There
was no sound in the room at all, utter stillness so that Maggie could
hear her own breathing as though it were some one else at her side
warning her. Then slowly things emerged, the long white bed first,
afterwards a shaded lamp beside it, a little table with bottles, a
chair--beyond the circle of lighted shadow there were shapes, near the
window a high glass, a dark shade that was the dressing-table, and
faint grey squares where the windows hung.
In the room was a strange scent half wine, half medicine, and beyond
that the plain tang of apples partially eaten, a little smell of oil
too from the lamp--very faintly the figure of the Christ above the bed
was visible. Maggie moved forward to the bed, then stopped again. She
did not know what to do; she could see a dark shadow on the pillow that
must she knew be her aunt's hair, and yet she did not connect that with
her aunt. The room was cold and, she felt, of infinite space. The smell
of the wine and the medicine made her shy and awkward as though she
were somewhere where she should not be.
There came a little sigh, and then a very quiet, tired voice.
"Maggie, is that you?"
"Yes, Aunt Anne."
She came very close to the bed, and suddenly, as though a curtain had
been drawn back, she could see her aunt's large eyes and white sharp
face.
"It was very good of you, dear, to come. I felt ashamed to wake you up
at such an hour, but I wanted you. I felt that only you must be with me
to-night. It was a call from God. I felt that it must be obeyed. Sit
down, dear. There, on that chair. You're not cold, are you?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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