The captain went to the wheel again, and the boatswain to the boat.  Majendie stood stock-still by the gangway.  His hands were clenched in his pockets:  his face was drawn and white.  The captain slewed round upon him a small vigilant eye.  “You’d best leave her to Steve, sir.  He’s a good lad and he’ll look after ’er.  He’d give his ’ead to marry her.  Only she wuddn’t look at ’im.”

Majendie said nothing.  And the captain continued his consolation.

“She’s only trying it on, sir,” said he. “I know ’em.  She’ll do nowt.  She’ll do nubbut wet ‘er feet.  She’s afeard o’ cold water.”

But before the boat could put off, Maggie was in again.  This time her feet struck a shelf of hard mud.  She slipped, rolled sideways, and lay, half in and half out of the water.  There she stayed till the boat reached her.

Majendie saw Steve lift her and carry her to the upper bank.  He saw Maggie struggle from his arms and beat him off.  Then he saw Steve seize her by force, and drag her back, over the fields, towards Three Elms Farm.

CHAPTER XXXIV

Majendie landed at the pier and went straight to the office.  There he found a telegram from Anne telling him of his child’s death.

He went to the house.  The old nurse opened the door for him.  She was weeping bitterly.  He asked for Anne, and was told that she was lying down and could not see him.  It was Nanna who told him how Peggy died, and all the things he had to know.  When she left him, he shut himself up alone in his study for the first hour of his grief.  He wanted to go to Anne; but he was too deeply stupefied to wonder why she would not see him.

Later they met.

He knew by his first glance at her face that he must not speak to her of the dead child.  He could understand that.  He was even glad of it.  In this she was like him, that deep feeling left her dumb.  And yet, there was a difference.  It was that he could not speak, and she, he felt, would not.

There were things that had to be done.  He did them all, sparing her as much as possible.  Once or twice she had to be consulted.  She gave him a fact, or an opinion, in a brief methodic manner that set him at a distance from her sacred sorrow.  She had betrayed more emotion in speaking to Dr. Gardner.

But for these things they went through their first day in silence, like people who respect each other’s grief too profoundly for any speech.

In the evening they sat together in the drawing-room.  There was nothing more to do.

Then he spoke.  He asked to see Peggy.  His voice was so low that she did not hear him.

“What did you say, Walter?”

He had to say it again.  “Where is she?  Can I see her?”

His voice was still low, and it was thick and uncertain, but this time she understood.

“In Edie’s room,” she said.  “Nanna has the key.”