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They were； all three； in that ugly house； figures moving in the dark。 Grace simply knew； as the months passed； that she disliked and feared Maggie more and more； Paul knew that as the months passed… well； what he knew will appear in the following pages。 And Maggie？ She only knew that it needed all her endurance and stubborn will to force herself to accept this life as her life。 She must…she must。 To give way meant to run away； and to run away meant to long for what she could not have； and loneliness and defeat。 She would make this into a success； she would care for Paul although she could not give him all that he needed。 She would and she could 。 。 。 Every morning as she lay awake in the big double…bed with the brass knobs at the bed…foot winking at her in the early light she vowed that she would justify her acceptance of the man who lay sleeping so peacefully beside her。 Poor child； her battle with Grace was to teach her how far her will and endurance could carry her 。 。 。
Grace； on her side； was not a bad woman； she was simply a stupid one。 She disliked Maggie for what seemed to her most admirable reasons and； as that dislike slowly； slowly turned into hatred； her self…justification only hardened。
Until that moment； when she saw a faded patch of wall…paper on the wall instead of her mother's portrait； she had no doubts whatever about the success of what she considered her choice。 Maggie was a 〃dear；〃 young； ignorant； helpless； but the very wife for Paul。 Then slowly； slowly； the picture changed。 Maggie was obstinate； Maggie was careless； Maggie was selfish； idle； lazy； irreligious…at last； Maggie was 〃queer。〃
Then； when in the dusk of that summer evening； she saw Paul kiss Maggie； as the moths blundered about her lamp； her stolid unimaginative heart was terrified。 This girl； who was she？ What had she been before they found her？ What was this strange passion in Paul isolating him from her； his sister？ This girl was dangerous to them all…a heathen。 They had made a terrible mistake。 Paul had been from the first bewitched by some strange spell； and the； his sister； had aided the witch。
And yet； to her credit be it remembered； for two years； she fought her fears； superstitions； jealousies； angers。 That can have been no easy thing for a woman who had always had her own way。 But Maggie helped her。 There were many days during that first year at any rate when Grace thought that the girl was； after all； only the simple harmless child that she had first found her。
It was so transparently clear that Maggie bore no malice against any one in the world； that when she angered Grace she did so always by accident； never by plan…it was only unfortunate that the accidents should occur so often。
Maggie's days were from the very first of the utmost regularity。 Breakfast at 8。30； then an interview with the cook （Grace generally in attendance here）； then shopping （with Grace）； luncheon at 1。30； afternoon； paying calls or receiving them； dinner 7。45； and after dinner； reading a book while Paul and Grace played bezique； or； if Paul was busy upon a sermon or a letter （he wrote letters very slowly）； patience with Grace。 This regular day was varied with meetings； choir practices； dinner…parties； and an occasional Penny Reading。
In this framework of the year it would have appeared that there was very little that could breed disturbance。 There were； however； little irritations。 Maggie would have given a great deal could she have been allowed to interview the cook in the morning alone。
It would seem impossible to an older person that Grace's presence could so embarrass Maggie； it embarrassed her to the terrible extent of driving every idea out of her head。
When Maggie had stammered and hesitated and at last allowed； the cook to make a suggestion； Grace would say。 〃You mustn't leave it all to cook； dear。 Now what about a nice shepherd's pie？〃
The cook； who hated Grace； would toss her head。
〃Impossible to…day； Mum 。 。 。 Quite impossible。〃
〃Oh； do you think so？〃 Maggie would say。
This was the cook's opportunity。
〃Well； for you； Mum； I'll see if it can't be managed。 Difficult as it is。〃
Grace's anger boiled over。
〃That woman must go；〃 she insisted。
〃Very well；〃 said Maggie。
Cook after cook appeared and vanished。 They all hated Grace。
〃You're not very good at keeping servants； are you； Maggie； dear？〃 said Grace。
Then there was the shopping。 Grace's conversation was the real trouble here。 Grace's stories had seemed rather a joke in London； soon； in Skeaton； they became a torture。 From the vicarage to the High Street was not far； but it was far enough for Grace's narrative powers to stretch their legs and get a healthy appetite for the day's work。 Grace walked very slowly； because of her painful breathing。 Her stout stolid figure in its stiff clothes （the skirt rather short； thick legs in black stockings and large flat boots）； marched along。 She had a peculiar walk； planting each foot on the ground with deliberate determination as though she were squashing a malignant beetle； she was rather short…sighted； but did not wear glasses； because； as she said to Maggie； 〃one need not look peculiar until one must。〃 Her favourite head…gear was a black straw hat with a rather faded black ribbon and a huge pin stuck skewer…wise into it。 This pin was like a dagger。
She peered around her as she walked； and for ever enquired of Maggie； 〃who that was on the other Bide of the road。〃 Maggie； of course； did not know； and there began then a long cross…questioning as to colour； clothes； height； smile or frown。 Nothing was too small to catch Grace's interest but nothing caught it for long。 Maggie； at the end of her walk felt as though she were beset by a whirl of little buzzing flies。 She noticed that Paul had； from； long habit； learnt to continue his own thoughts during Grace's stories； and she also tried to do this； but she was not clever at it because Grace would suddenly stop and say； 〃Where was I； Maggie？〃 and then when Maggie was confused regard her suspiciously； narrowing her eyes into little thin points。 The shopping was difficult because Grace would stand at Maggie's elbow and say： 〃Now； Maggie； this is your affair； isn't it？ You decide what you want；〃 and then when Maggie had decided； Grace simply； to show her power； would say： 〃Oh； I don't think we'd better have that 。 。 。 No； I don't think we'll have that。 Will you show us something else； please？〃…and so they had to begin all over again。
Nevertheless； throughout their first summer Maggie was almost happy； not QUITE happy； some silent but persistent rebellion at the very centre of her heart prevented her complete happiness。 What she really felt was that half of her…the rebellious； questioning； passionate half of her…was asleep； and that at all costs； whatever occurred； she must keep it asleep。 That was her real definite memory of her first year…that； through it all； she was wilfully； deliberately drugged。
Every one thought Paul very strange that summer。 Mr。 Flaunders； the curate； told Miss Purves that he was very 〃odd。〃 〃He was always the most tranquil man…a sunny nature； as you know； Miss Purves。 Well now； I assure you； he's never the same from one minute t