The Cloven Tree
SECRETS are rarely betrayed or discovered acc to any programme our fear has sketched out. Fear is almost always haunted by terrible dramatic ses, which recur in spite of the best argued probabilities against them; and during a year that Maggie had had the burthen of cealment on her mind, the possibility of discovery had tinually preseself uhe form of a suddeing with her father or Tom when she was walking with Philip in the Red Deeps. She was aware that this was not one of the most likely events; but it was the se that most pletely symbolised her inward dread. Those slight i suggestions which are depe on apparently trivial ces and incalculable states of mind are the favourite maery of Fact, but are not the stuff in which imagination is apt to work. Certainly one of the persons about whom Maggies fears were farthest from troubling themselves was her aunt Pullet, on whom, seeing that she did not live in St Oggs, and was her sharp-eyed nor sharp-tempered, it would surely have been quite whimsical of them to fix rather than on aunt Glegg. Ahe el of fatality - the pathway of the lightning - was no other than aunt Pullet. She did not live at St Oggs, but the road from Garum Firs lay by the Red Deeps at the end opposite that by which Maggie entered.
The day after Maggies last meeting with Philip, being a Sunday on which Mr Pullet was bound to appear in funereal hat-band and scarf at St Oggs church, Mrs Pullet made this the occasion of dining with sister Glegg, and taking tea with poor sister Tulliver. Sunday was the one day in the week on whi was at home iernoon; and today the brighter spirits he had been in of late had flowed over in unusually cheerful open chat with his father, and in the invitation, `e, Magsie, you e too! wherolled out with his mother in the garden to see the advang cherry blossoms. He had beeer pleased with Maggie since she had been less odd and ascetic; he was eveing rather proud of her: several persons had remarked in his hearing that his sister was a very fine girl. Today there eculiar brightness in her face, due iy to an under-current of excitement, which had as much doubt and pain as pleasure in it; but it might pass for a sign of happiness.
`You look very well, my dear, said aunt Pullet, shaking her head, sadly, as they sat round the tea-table. `I hought yirl ud be so good-looking Bessy. But you must ink, my dear: that blue thing as your aunt Glegg gave you turns you into a crow-flower. Jane never was tasty. Why dont you wear that gown o mine?
`Its so pretty and so smart, aunt. I think its too showy for me - at least for my other clothes, that I must wear with it.
`To be sure it ud be unbeing if it wasnt well-known youve got them belonging to you, as afford to give you such things, when theyve doh em themselves. It stands to reason I must give my own niece clothes now and then - such things as I buy every year, and never wear anything out. And as for Lucy, theres no giving to her, for shes got everything o the choicest: sister Deane may well hold her head up, though she looks dreadful yallow, poor thing - I doubt this liver-plaint ull carry her off. Thats what this new Vicar, this Dr Kenn, said in the funeral sermon today.
`Ah, hes a wonderful preacher, by all at - isnt he, Sophy? said Mrs Tulliver.
`Why, Lucy had got a collar on this blessed day, tinued Mrs Pullet, with her eyes fixed in a ruminating manner, `as I dont say I havent got as good, but I must