But all I ask is that you should make Paul happy.That is enough for me.I care for nothing else.He isn't very happy just now.What Imean is that any one can see he isn't eating his meals properly.""Oh, Grace," cried Maggie."I didn't mean that you were ridiculous.
I meant that any one being frightened of me was ridiculous.Anyway, I'm very sorry that I've made you and Paul unhappy.That's all."She turned and went.
It was the most lovely of April days, soft, primrose-coloured, the sea-breeze gently tempered by mist-veiled sun.Maggie sat at her bedroom window overlooking the drive and the blue-grey field that ran to the woods.She knew that there would be no difficulty about her escape to the Revival meeting.Paul had arranged that there should be an evening service at the Church at the same hour, an act of rather Un-Christian defiance.Maggie sat there, looking down in a condition of strange bewildering excitement on to the laurel bushes.
It was wonderful to think that in another half-hour she would see Miss Avies once more, hear those wild hymns again, catch the stridency of Thurston's voice; all these things spoke of Martin.She felt as though he were stealing towards her out of the dusk, it was as though, without any reason, she expected to find him at the service...although she knew that he could not be there.
She heard the Church bell begin to ring, then the hall-door opened and Paul came out.He had on his soft black hat, he was carrying his Bible and prayer-book under his arm.He stood, for a moment, beside the hall-door as though he were listening or expecting something.
She had a strange impulse to run down to him; so strong was it that she got up and moved to the door.Then slowly she came back to the window and stood looking down upon him.Suddenly, as though he felt her gaze, he glanced up, saw her, and waved to her.She waved back to him.He turned and walked quickly away, she heard the gate swing, screaming behind him.
She waited for a little, then put on her hat and coat and went out.
She knew the Flower Street Hall, a place occasionally used by touring Companies, Wandering Lecturers, Charitable Concerts, and other casual festivals.It was at the far end of the town towards the end of the Promenade.
The town, dim in the first dusk, hummed with loiterers, girls released from the shops walking with their young men, middle-aged couples sauntering out to take a last whiff of the sea before going in to the evening meal, one or two visitors from the Hotel strolling across to the beach to watch the first evening stars and the rising moon.Pianos were playing, children shouting over the last game of the day; all hushed into a coloured mild tranquillity.In the fields beyond the houses the quiet was absolute.
Maggie found the building.The facade was blazing with electric light.A huge poster, of the now familiar pink, declared:
GRAND RELIGIOUS FESTIVAL.All are invited.IS ALL WELL WITH YOU, BROTHER?
There was a crowd about the doors, and continually, with giggles and shamefaced laughter, couples broke away and climbed the steps into the Hall.Maggie, feeling that all eyes were upon her, entered the building.In the vestibule two grave-faced women in black bonnets handed papers with prayers and hymns to every newcomer.Maggie took hers, a door was opened in front of her, and she went in.The auditorium was a large one, semicircular in shape, with tiers of seats rising circus-fashion to a ceiling decorated with silver stars and pink naked cherubs.The stage had upon it a table, some chairs, and a reading-desk draped in crimson cloth.Below the stage was a small orchestra, consisting of two fiddles, a cornet, drum, and a piano.There was also what seemed to Maggie a small choir, some women dressed in white and some men in black coats and white bow ties.Across the stage were suspended broad white bands of cloth with "Come to Jesus!" "Come now!" "He is waiting for you!" in big black letters.
The hall seemed very full, and was violently illuminated with electric light.Maggie took this in as she stood very timidly just inside the door.A steward came forward and showed her a corner-seat.She saw, then, with a dramatic flash of recognition, Thurston and Mr.Crashaw sitting behind the table; then, with a still stranger emotion, Miss Avies as one of the white-robed choir.The sight of those three familiar faces seemed to close, finally and definitely, the impression that she had had during all those last weeks.They had "got" her again, and yet not they, but the power behind them.It seemed only five minutes ago that she had sat in the London Chapel and heard old Crashaw scream "Punishment! Punishment!
Punishment!" She turned half in her seat as though she expected to see Aunt Anne and Aunt Elizabeth sitting one on either side of her.
She looked at Thurston; he had coarsened very much since she had seen him last.He was fatter, his cheeks stained with an unnaturally high colour, his eyes brighter and sharper and yet sensual too.He was smarter than he had been, his white bow tie stiff and shapely, his cuffs clean and shining, his hair very carefully brushed back from his high and bony forehead.His sharp eyes darted all over the building, and Maggie felt as though at any moment she would be discovered.Crashaw looked more like a decrepit monkey than ever, huddled up in his chair, his back bow-shaped.He breathed into his hands as though he wanted to warm them, and looked at nobody.Miss Avies Maggie could not see clearly.
Her eyes wandered over the audience.She saw many townspeople whom she knew, and she realised, for the first time, that tomorrow everywhere it would be said that the Rector's wife had been at the Revival meeting.
