The Captives [57]
oneself believe in anything. I have believed in all sorts of things. In England, of course, people have believed in nothing except that things will always be as they always have been--a useful belief considering that things have never been as they always were. In the old days, when the Boer War hadn't interfered with tradition, it must have seemed to any one who wasn't a young man pretty hopeless, but now I don't know. Imagination's breaking in . . . Warlock's a prophet. I've got fascinated, sitting round this Chapel, as badly as any of them. Yes, one can be led into belief of anything."
"And what do you believe in, Mr. Magnus?" asked Maggie.
"Well, not in myself anyway, nor Thurston, nor Miss Avies . . . But in your Aunt perhaps, and Warlock. The only thing I'm sure of is that there's something there, but what it is of course I can't tell you, and I don't suppose I shall ever know. The story of Sir Galahad, Miss Cardinal--it seems mid-Victorian to us now--but it's a fine story and true enough."
Maggie, who knew nothing of mid-Victorianism, was silent.
He ended with: "Mind you decide for yourself. That's the great thing in life. Don't you believe anything that any one tells you. See for yourself. And if there's something of great value, don't think the less of it because the people who admire it aren't worth very much. Why should they be? And possibly after all it's only themselves they're admiring . . . There's a fearful lot of nonsense and humbug in this thing, but there's something real too . . ."
He changed his note, suddenly addressing himself intently to her as though he had a message to deliver.
"Don't think me impertinent. But your Aunt Anne. See as much of her as you can. She's devoted to you, Miss Cardinal. You mayn't have seen it--she's a reserved woman and very shy of her feelings, but she's spoken to me . . . I hope I'm not interfering to say this, but perhaps at first you don't understand her. She loves you, you're the first human being I do believe that she's ever loved."
What was there then in Maggie that started up in rebellion at this unexpected declaration? She had been sitting there, tranquil, soothed with a happy sense that her new life was developing securely for her in the way that she would have it. Suddenly she was alert, suspicious, hostile.
"What has she said to you?" she asked quickly, frowning up at him and drawing back as though she were afraid of him. He was startled at the change in her.
"Said?" he repeated, stammering a little. "Why only . . . Nothing . . . except that she cared for you and hoped that you would be happy. She was afraid that it would all be strange for you at first . . . Perhaps I have been interfering . . ."
"No," Maggie interrupted quickly. "Not you. Only I must lead my own life. I must, mustn't I? I don't want to be selfish, but I can begin for myself now. I have a little money of my own--and I MUST make my own way. I don't want to be selfish," she repeated, "but I must be free. I don't understand Aunt Anne. She never seems to care for me. I want to do everything for her I can, but I don't want to be under any one ever any more."
She was so young when she said this that he was suddenly moved to an affectionate fatherly tenderness--but he knew her now too well to show it.
"No, you mustn't be selfish," he answered her almost drily. "We can't lead our lives quite alone, you know--every step we take we affect some one somewhere. Your aunt doesn't want your liberty--she wants your affection."
"She wants to make me religious," Maggie brought out, staring at Mr. Magnus.
"Ah, if you see that, you don't understand her," he answered. "How should you--yet? She cares so deeply for her religion that she wishes naturally any one whom she loves to share it with her. But if you don't--"
"If you don't?" cried Maggie, springing up from her seat and facing him.
"I'm sure she would wish to influence no one," he continued gravely. "You've seen for yourself how apart her life is. She is too conscious of the necessity for her own liberty--"
"It
"And what do you believe in, Mr. Magnus?" asked Maggie.
"Well, not in myself anyway, nor Thurston, nor Miss Avies . . . But in your Aunt perhaps, and Warlock. The only thing I'm sure of is that there's something there, but what it is of course I can't tell you, and I don't suppose I shall ever know. The story of Sir Galahad, Miss Cardinal--it seems mid-Victorian to us now--but it's a fine story and true enough."
Maggie, who knew nothing of mid-Victorianism, was silent.
He ended with: "Mind you decide for yourself. That's the great thing in life. Don't you believe anything that any one tells you. See for yourself. And if there's something of great value, don't think the less of it because the people who admire it aren't worth very much. Why should they be? And possibly after all it's only themselves they're admiring . . . There's a fearful lot of nonsense and humbug in this thing, but there's something real too . . ."
He changed his note, suddenly addressing himself intently to her as though he had a message to deliver.
"Don't think me impertinent. But your Aunt Anne. See as much of her as you can. She's devoted to you, Miss Cardinal. You mayn't have seen it--she's a reserved woman and very shy of her feelings, but she's spoken to me . . . I hope I'm not interfering to say this, but perhaps at first you don't understand her. She loves you, you're the first human being I do believe that she's ever loved."
What was there then in Maggie that started up in rebellion at this unexpected declaration? She had been sitting there, tranquil, soothed with a happy sense that her new life was developing securely for her in the way that she would have it. Suddenly she was alert, suspicious, hostile.
"What has she said to you?" she asked quickly, frowning up at him and drawing back as though she were afraid of him. He was startled at the change in her.
"Said?" he repeated, stammering a little. "Why only . . . Nothing . . . except that she cared for you and hoped that you would be happy. She was afraid that it would all be strange for you at first . . . Perhaps I have been interfering . . ."
"No," Maggie interrupted quickly. "Not you. Only I must lead my own life. I must, mustn't I? I don't want to be selfish, but I can begin for myself now. I have a little money of my own--and I MUST make my own way. I don't want to be selfish," she repeated, "but I must be free. I don't understand Aunt Anne. She never seems to care for me. I want to do everything for her I can, but I don't want to be under any one ever any more."
She was so young when she said this that he was suddenly moved to an affectionate fatherly tenderness--but he knew her now too well to show it.
"No, you mustn't be selfish," he answered her almost drily. "We can't lead our lives quite alone, you know--every step we take we affect some one somewhere. Your aunt doesn't want your liberty--she wants your affection."
"She wants to make me religious," Maggie brought out, staring at Mr. Magnus.
"Ah, if you see that, you don't understand her," he answered. "How should you--yet? She cares so deeply for her religion that she wishes naturally any one whom she loves to share it with her. But if you don't--"
"If you don't?" cried Maggie, springing up from her seat and facing him.
"I'm sure she would wish to influence no one," he continued gravely. "You've seen for yourself how apart her life is. She is too conscious of the necessity for her own liberty--"
"It