Her head nodded; her hands and feet were cold; the candle-light jumped, the rats scampered ...

she slept.
When it was quite dark beyond the windows and the candles were low Maggie came downstairs, stiff, cold, and very hungry.

She felt that it was wrong to have slept and very wrong to be hungry, but there it was; she did not pretend to herself that things were other than they were.
In the dining-room she found supper laid out upon the table, cold beef, potatoes in their jackets, cold beetroot, jelly, and cheese, and her uncle playing cards on the unoccupied end of the table in a melancholy manner by himself.

She felt that it was wrong of him to play cards on such an occasion, but the cards were such dirty grey ones and he obtained obviously so little pleasure from his amusement that he could not be considered to be wildly abandoning himself to riot and extravagance.
She felt pleasure in his company; for the first time since her father's death she was a little frightened and uneasy.

She might even have gone to him and cried on his shoulder had he given her any encouragement, but he did not speak to her except to say that he had already eaten.