[figure description] Page 240.[end figure description]

One afternoon towards the middle of April, when Maggie
as usual was flying through the woods, she paused for a
moment beneath the shadow of a sycamore, while Gritty
drank from a small running brook. The pony having
quenched his thirst, she gathered up her reins for a fresh
gallop, when her ear caught the sound of another horse's
hoofs; and looking back, she saw approaching her at a
rapid rate a gentleman whom she knew to be a stranger.
Not caring to be overtaken, she chirruped to the spirited
Gritty, who, bounding over the velvety turf, left the unknown
rider far in the rear.

“Who can she be?” thought the young man, admiring
the utter fearlessness with which she rode; then, feeling a
little piqued, as he saw how the distance between them was
increasing, he exclaimed, “be she woman, or be she witch,
I'll overtake her,” and whistling to his own fleet animal, he,
too, dashed on at a furious rate.

“Trying to catch me, are you?” thought Maggie. “I'd
laugh to see you do it,” and entering at once into the spirit
of the race, she rode on for a time with headlong speed—
then, by way of tantalizing her pursuer, she paused for a
moment until he had almost reached her, when at a peculiar
whistle Gritty sprang forward, while Maggie's mocking
laugh was borne back to the discomfited young man, whose

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interest in the daring girl increased each moment. It was
a long, long chase she led him, over hills, across the plains,
and through the grassy valley, until she stopped at last
within a hundred yards of the deep, narrow gorge, through
which the millstream ran.

“I have you now,” thought the stranger, who knew by
the dull, roaring sound of the water, that a chasm lay between
him and the opposite bank.

But Maggie had not yet half displayed her daring feats of
horsemanship, and when he came so near that his waving
brown locks and handsome dark eyes were plainly discernible,
she said to herself, “he rides tolerably well. I'll see
how good he is at a leap,” and, setting herself more firmly
in the saddle, she patted Gritty upon the neck. The well
trained animal understood the signal, and rearing high in
the air, was fast nearing the bank, when the young man,
suspecting her design, shrieked out, “Stop, lady, stop! It's
madness to attempt it.”

“Follow me if you can,” was Maggie's defiant answer,
and the next moment she hung in mid air over the dark
abyss.

Involuntarily the young man closed his eyes, while his ear
listened anxiously for the cry which would come next. But
Maggie knew full well what she was doing. She had leaped
that narrow gorge often, and now when the stranger's eyes
unclosed, she stood upon the opposite bank, caressing the
noble animal which had borne her safely there.

“It shall never be said that Henry Warner was beaten
by a school-girl,” muttered the stranger. “If she can clear
that, I can, bad rider as I am!” and burying his spurs deep
in the sides of his horse, he pressed on while Maggie held
her breath in fear, for she knew that without practice no
one could do what she had done.

[figure description] Page 242.[end figure description]

There was a partially downward plunge—a fierce struggle
on the shelving bank, where the animal had struck a
few feet from the top,—then the steed stood panting on
terra firma, while a piercing shriek broke the deep silence
of the wood, and Maggie's cheeks blanched to a marble hue.
The rider, either from dizziness or fear, had fallen at the
moment the horse first struck the bank, and from the ravine
below there came no sound to tell if yet he lived.

“He's dead; he's dead!” cried Maggie. “'Twas my
own foolishness which killed him,” and springing from Gritty's
back she gathered up her long riding skirt, and glided
swiftly down the bank, until she came to a wide, projecting
rock, where the stranger lay, motionless and still, his white
face upturned to the sunlight, which came stealing down
through the overhanging boughs. In an instant she was
at his side, and his head was restng on her lap, while her
trembling fingers parted back from his pale brow the damp
mass of curling hair.

“The fall alone would not kill him,” she said, as her eye
measured the distance, and then she looked anxiously round
for water, with which to bathe his face.

But water there was none, save in the stream below,
whose murmuring flow fell mockingly on her ears, for it
seemed to say she could not reach it. But Maggie Miller
was equal to any emergency, and venturing out to the very
edge of the rock, she poised herself on one foot, and looked
down the dizzy height, to see if it were possible to descend.

“I can try at least,” she said, and glancing at the pale
face of the stranger, unhesitatingly resolved to attempt it.

The descent was less difficult than she had anticipated,
and in an incredibly short space of time, she was dipping
her tasteful velvet cap in the brook, whose sparkling foam
had never before been disturbed by the touch of a hand as

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soft and fair as hers. To ascend was not so easy a matter;
but chamois-like, Maggie's feet trod safely the dangerous
path, and she soon knelt by the unconscious man, bathing
his forehead in the clear cold water, until he showed signs
of returning life. His lips moved slowly, at last, as if he
would speak; and Maggie, bending low to catch the faintest
sound, heard him utter the name of “Rose.” In Maggie's
bosom, there was no feeling for the stranger, save that
of pity, and yet, that one word “Rose,” thrilled her with a
strange undefinable emotion, awaking at once a yearing
desire to know something of her who bore that beautiful
name, and who, to the young man, was undoubtedly the
one in all the world most dear.

“Rose,” he said again, “is it you?” and his eyes, which
opened slowly, scanned with an eager, questioning look, the
face of Maggie, who, open-hearted and impulsive as usual,
answered somewhat sadly: “I am nobody but Maggie
Miller. I am not Rose, though I wish I was, if you would
like to see her.

The tones of her voice recalled the stranger's wandering
mind, and he answered: “Your voice is like Rose,
but I would rather see you, Maggie Miller. I like your
fearlessness, so unlike most of your sex. Rose is far more
gentle, more feminine than you, and if her very life depended
upon it, she would never dare leap that gorge.”

The young man intended no reproof; but Maggie took his
words as such, and for the first time in her life, began to think
that possibly her manner was not always as womanly as
might be. At all events she was not like the gentle Rose,
whom she instantly invested with every possible grace and
beauty, wishing that she herself was like her, instead of the
wild mad-cap she was. Then thinking her conduct required
some apology, she answered, as none save one as fresh and

[figure description] Page 244.[end figure description]

ingenuous as Maggie Miller would have answered, “I don't
know any better than to behave as I do. I've always lived
in the woods—have never been to school a day in my life—
never been anywhere except to camp meeting, and once to
Douglas's store in Worcester!”

This was entirely a new phase of character to the man of
the world, who laughed aloud, and at the mention of Douglas's
store, started so quickly, that a spasm of pain distorted
his features, causing Maggie to ask if he were badly hurt.

“Nothing but a broken leg,” he answered; and Maggie
to whose mind broken bones conveyed a world of pain and
suffering, replied. “Oh, I am so sorry for you, and it's my
fault, too. Will you forgive me?” and her little chubby
hands clasped his so pleadingly, that raising himself upon
his elbow, so as to obtain a better view of her bright face,
he answered; “I'd willingly break a hundred bones for the
sake of meeting a girl like you, Maggie Miller.”

Maggie was unused to flattery, save as it came from her
grandmother, Theo, or old Hagar, and now paying no heed
to his remark, she said, “Can you stay here alone, while I
go for help? our house is not far away.”

“I'd rather you would remain with me,” he replied; “but
as you cannot do both, I suppose you must go.”

“I shan't be gone long,” said Maggie, “and I'll send
old Hagar to keep you company;” so saying, she climbed
the bank, and mounting Gritty, who stood quietly awaiting
her, she seized the other horse by the bridle, and rode
swiftly away, leaving the young man to meditate upon the
novel situation in which he had so suddenly been placed.

“Ain't I in a pretty predicament?” said he, as he tried in
vain to move his swollen limb, which was broken in two
places, but which being partially benumbed, did not now
pain him much. “But it serves me right for chasing a

[figure description] Page 245.[end figure description]

harum-scarum thing, when I ought to have been minding my
own business, and collecting bills for Douglas & Co. And
she says she's been there, too. I wonder who she is, the
handsome sprite. I believe I made her more than half
jealous, talking of my golden-haired Rose; but she is far
more beautiful than Rose, more beautiful than any one I
ever saw. I wish she'd come back again,” and shutting his
eyes, he tried to recall the bright, animated face, which had
so lately bent anxiously above him. “She tarries long,” he
said, at last, beginning to grow uneasy. “I wonder how
far it is, and where the deuce can this old Hagar be, of
whom she spoke.”

“She's here,” answered a shrill voice, and looking up, he
saw before him the bent form of Hagar Warren, at whose
door Maggie had paused for a moment, while she told of the
accident, and begged of Hagar to hasten.

Accordingly, equipped with a blanket and pillow, a brandy
bottle and the camphor, old Hagar had come, but when she
offered the latter for the young man's acceptance, he pushed
it from him, saying, “Camphor was his detestation, but he
shouldn't object particularly to smelling of the other bottle!”

“No you don't,” said Hagar, who thought him in not
quite so deplorable a condition as she had expected to find
him. “My creed is never to give young folks brandy, except
in cases of emergency; so saying she made him more comfortable
by placing a pillow beneath his head, and then thinking
possibly, that this, to herself, was “a case of emergency,”
she withdrew to a little distance, and sitting down upon the
gnarled roots of an upturned tree, drank a swallow of the
old Cognac, while the young man, maimed and disabled,
looked wistfully at her!

Not that he cared for the brandy, of which he seldom

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tasted; but he needed something to relieve the deathlike
faintness which occasionally came over him, and which old
Hagar, looking only at his mischievous eyes, failed to
observe. Only those who knew Henry Warner intimately
gave him credit for the many admirable qualities he really
possessed; so full was he of fun. It was in his merry eyes,
and about his quizzically-shaped mouth, that the principal
difficulty lay; and most persons, seeing him for the first
time, fancied that, in some way, he was making sport of
them. This was old Hagar's impression, as she sat there in
dignified silence, rather enjoying, than otherwise, the occasional
groans which came from his white lips. There were
intervals, however, when he was comparatively free from
pain, and these he improved by questioning her with regard
to Maggie, asking who she was, and where she lived.

“She is Maggie Miller, and she lives in a house,” answered
the old woman, rather pettishly.

“Ah, indeed—snappish are you?” said the young man,
attempting to turn himself a little, the better to see his companion.
“Confound that leg!” he continued, as a fierce
twinge gave him warning not to try many experiments. “I
know her name is Maggie Miller, and I supposed she lived
in a house; but who is she, any way, and what is she?”

“If you mean is she anybody, I can answer that question
quick,” returned Hagar. “She calls Madam Conway her
grandmother, and Madam Conway came from one of the
best families in England—that's who she is; and as to what
she is, she's the finest, handsomest, smartest girl in
America; and as long as old Hagar Warren lives, no city
chap with strapped down pantaloons and sneering mouth is
going to fool with her either!”

“Confound my mouth! It's always getting me into
trouble,” thought the stranger, trying in vain to smooth

[figure description] Page 247.[end figure description]

down the corners of the offending organ, which in spite of
him would curve with what Hagar called a sneer, and from
which there finally broke a merry laugh, sadly at variance
with the suffering expression of his face.

“Your leg must hurt you mightily, the way you go on,”
muttered Hagar, and the young man answered: “It does
almost murder me, but when a laugh is in a fellow, he can't
help letting it out, can he? But where the plague can
that witch of a—I beg your pardon, Mrs. Hagar,” he
added hastily, as he saw the frown settling on the old
woman's face, “I mean to say where can Miss Miller be? I
shall faint away unless she comes soon, or you give me a
taste of the brandy!”

This time there was something in the tone of his voice
which prompted Hagar to draw near, and she was about to
offer him the brandy, when Maggie appeared, together
with three men, bearing a litter, or small cot-bed. The
sight of her produced a much better effect upon him than
Hagar's brandy would have done, and motioning the old
woman aside, he declared himself ready to be removed.

“Now, John, do pray be careful and not hurt him much,”
cried Maggie, as she saw how pale and faint he was, while
even Hagar forgot the curled lip, which the young man bit
until the blood started through, so intense was his agony
when they lifted him upon the litter. “The camphor,
Hagar, the camphor,” said Maggie, and the stranger did
not push it aside when her hand poured it on his head; but
the laughing eyes, now dim with pain, smiled gratefully upon
her, and the quivering lips once murmured as she walked
beside him, “Heaven bless you, Maggie Miller!”

Arrived at Hagar's cottage, the old woman suggested
that he be carried in there, saying as she met Maggie's
questioning glance, “I can take care of him better than
any one else.”

[figure description] Page 248.[end figure description]

The pain by this time was intolerable, and scarcely knowing
what he said, the stranger whispered, “Yes, yes, leave
me here.”

For a moment the bearers paused, while Maggie, bending
over the wounded man, said softly. “Can't you bear it a
little longer, until our house is reached? You'll be more
comfortable there. Grandma has gone to England, and I'll
take care of you myself!”

This last was perfectly in accordance with Maggie's frank,
impulsive character, and it had the desired effect. Henry
Warner would have borne almost death itself for the sake
of being nursed by the young girl beside him, and he signified
his willingness to proceed, while at the same time his
hand involuntarily grasped that of Maggie, as if in the
touch of her snowy fingers there were a mesmeric power to
soothe his pain. In the meantime a hurried consultation
had been held between Mrs. Jeffrey and Theo, as to the
room suitable for the stranger to be placed in.

“It's not likely he is much,” said Theo, “and if grandma
were here I presume she would assign him the chamber over
the kitchen. The wall is low on one side I know, but I dare
say he is not accustomed to anything better.”

Accordingly several articles of stray lumber were removed
from the chamber, which the ladies arranged with care, and
which, when completed, presented quite a respectable appearance.
But Maggie had no idea of putting her guest, as she
considered him, in the kitchen chamber; and when, as the
party entered the house, Mrs. Jeffrey, from the head of the
stairs, called out, “This way, Maggie, tell them to come
this way,” she waved her aside, and led the way to a large
airy room over the parlor, where, in a high, old fashioned
bed, surrounded on all sides by heavy damask curtains, they
laid the weary stranger. The village surgeon arriving soon

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after, the fractured bones were set, and then, as perfect
quiet seemed necessary, the room was vacated by all save
Maggie, who glided noiselessly around the apartment,
while the eyes of the sick man followed her with eager,
admiring glances, so beautiful she looked to him in her new
capacity of nurse.

Henry Warner, as the stranger was called, was the junior
partner of the firm of Douglas & Co., Worcester, and
his object in visiting the Hillsdale neighborhood was to collect
several bills which for a long time had been due. He
had left the cars at the depot, and hiring a livery horse was
taking the shortest route from the east side of town to the
west, when he came accidentally upon Maggie Miller, and
as we have seen, brought his ride to a sudden close. All
this he told to her on the morning following the accident,
retaining until the last the name of the firm of which he
was a member.

“And you were once there at our store,” he said. “How
long ago?”

“Five years” answered Maggie, “when I was eleven,
and Theo thirteen;” then, looking earnestly at him she
exclaimed, “and you are the very one, the clerk with the
saucy eyes whom grandma disliked so much, because she
thought he made fun of her; but we didn't think so—Theo
and I,” she added hastily, as she saw the curious expression
on Henry's mouth, and fancied he might be displeased. “We
liked them both very much, and knew they must of course be
annoyed with grandma's English whims.”

For a moment the saucy eyes studied intently the fair
girlish face of Maggie Miller, then slowly closed, while a
train of thought something like the following passed through
the young man's mind; “a woman and yet a perfect child,
innocent and unsuspecting as little Rose herself. In one

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respect they are alike, knowing no evil and expecting none;
and if I, Henry Warner, do aught by thought or deed to
injure this young girl, may I never again look on the light
of day or breathe the air of heaven.”

The vow had passed his lips. Henry Warner never broke
his word, and henceforth Maggie Miller was as safe with
him as if she had been an only and well beloved sister.
Thinking him to be asleep, Maggie started to leave the
room, but he called her back, saying. “Don't go; stay
with me, won't you?”

“Certainly,” she answered, drawing a chair to the bedside.
“I supposed you were sleeping.”

“I was not,” he replied. “I was thinking of you and of
Rose. Your voices are much alike. I thought of it yesterday
when I lay upon the rock.”

“Who is Rose?” trembled on Maggie's lips, while at the
sound of that name, she was conscious of the same undefinable
emotion she had once before experienced. But the question
was not asked. “If she were his sister he would tell
me,” she thought; “and if she is not his sister”—

She did not finish the sentence, neither did she understand
that if Rose to him was something dearer than a
sister, she, Maggie Miller, did not care to know it.

“Is she beautiful as her name, this Rose?” she asked at
last.

“She is beautiful, but not so beautiful as you. There are
few who are,” answered Henry; and his eyes fixed themselves
upon Maggie, to see how she would bear the compliment.

But she scarcely heeded it, so intent was she upon knowing
something more of the mysterious Rose. “She is beautiful,
you say. Will you tell me how she looks?” she continued;
and Henry Warner answered, “she is a frail,

[figure description] Page 251.[end figure description]

delicate little creature, almost dwarfish in size, but perfect in
form and feature.”

Involuntarily Maggie shrunk back in her chair, wishing
her own queenly form had been a very trifle shorter, while
Mr. Warner continued, “She has a sweet, angel face, Maggie,
with eyes of lustrous blue, and curls of golden hair.”

“You must love her very dearly,” said Maggie, the tone
of her voice indicating a partial dread of what the answer
might be.

“I do indeed love her,” was Mr. Warner's reply, “love
her better than all the world beside. And she has made me
what I am; but for her, I should have been a worthless
dissipated fellow. It's my natural disposition; but Rose has
saved me, and I almost worship her for it. She is my good
angel—my darling—my”—

Here he paused abruptly, and leaning back upon his pillows
rather enjoyed than otherwise the look of disappointment
plainly visible on Maggie's face. She had fully expected to
learn who Rose was; but this knowledge he purposely kept
from her. It did not need a very close observer of human
nature, to read at a glance the ingenuous Maggie, whose
speaking face betrayed all she felt. She was unused to the
world. He was the first young gentleman whose acquaintshe
had ever made, and he knew that she already felt for
him a deeper interest than she supposed. To increase this
interest was his object, and this he thought to do by withholding
from her, for a time, a knowledge of the relation existing
between him and the Rose of whom he had talked so
much. The ruse was successful, for during the remainder
of the day, thoughts of the golden-haired Rose were running
through Maggie's mind, and it was late that night ere
she could compose herself to sleep, so absorbed was she in
wondering “what Rose was to Henry Warner. Not that

[figure description] Page 252.[end figure description]

she cared particularly,” she tried to persuade herself; “but
she would like to be at ease upon that subject.”

To Theo she had communicated the fact, that their guest
was a partner of Douglas & Co. and this tended greatly to
raise the young man in the estimation of a young lady like
Theo Miller. Next to rank and station money was with her
the one thing necessary to make a person somebody. Douglas,
she had heard, was an immensely wealthy man; possibly
the junior partner was wealthy, too; and if so, the parlor
chamber, to which she had at first objected, was none too
good for his aristocratic bones. She would go herself and
see him in the morning.

Accordingly, on the morning of the second day she went
with Maggie to the sick room, speaking to the stranger for
the first time; but keeping still at a respectful distance,
until she should know something definite concerning him.

“We have met before, it seems,” he said, after the first
interchange of civilities was over; “but I did not think our
acquaintance would be renewed in this manner.”

No answer from Theo, who, like many others, had taken
a dislike to his mouth, and felt puzzled to know whether he
intended ridiculing her or not.

“I have a distinct recollection of your grandmother,” he
continued, “and now I think of it, I believe Douglas has
once or twice mentioned the elder of the two girls. That
must be you?” and he looked at Theo, whose face brightened
perceptibly.

“Douglas,” she repeated. “He is the owner of the
store, and the one I saw, with black eyes and black hair
was only a clerk.”

“The veritable man himself,” cried Mr. Warner. “George
Douglas, the senior partner of the firm, said by some to be
worth two hundred thousand dollars, and only twenty-eight

[figure description] Page 253.[end figure description]

years old, and the best fellow in the world, except that he
pretends to dislike women.”

By this time, Theo's proud blue eyes shone with delight,
and when, after a little further conversation, Mr. Warner
expressed a wish to write to his partner, she brought her
own rose-wood writing-desk for him to use, and then seating
herself by the window, waited until the letter was
written.

“What shall I say for you, Miss Theo?” he asked, near
the close; and coloring slightly, she answered, “Invite him
to come out and see you.”

“Oh, that will be grand!” cried Maggie, who was far
more enthusiastic, though not more anxious than her sister.

Of her, Henry Warner did not ask any message. He
would not have written it had she sent one; and folding
the letter, after adding Theo's invitation, he laid it aside.

“I must write to Rose next,” he said, “'Tis a whole
week since I have written, and she has never been so long
without hearing from me.”

Instantly there came a shadow over Maggie's face, while
Theo, less scrupulous, asked, “who Rose was.”

“A very dear friend of mine,” said Henry, and, as Mrs.
Jeffrey just then sent for Theo, Maggie was left with him
alone.

“Wait one moment,” she said, as she saw him about to
commence the letter. “Wait till I bring you a sheet of
gilt-edged paper. It is more worthy of Rose, I fancy, than
the plainer kind.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I will tell her of your suggestion.”

The paper was brought, and then seating herself by the
window, Maggie looked out abstractedly, seeing nothing,
and hearing nothing save the sound of the pen, as it wrote

[figure description] Page 254.[end figure description]

down words of love, for the gentle Rose. It was not a long
epistle; and, as at the close of the Douglas letter he had
asked a message from Theo, so now at the close of this, he
claimed one from Maggie.

“What shall I say for you?” he asked; and coming toward
him, Margaret answered, “Tell her I love her, though
I don't know who she is!”

“Why have you never asked me?” queried Henry, and
coloring crimson, Maggie answered hesitatingly, “I thought
you would tell me if you wished me to know.”

“Read this letter and that will explain who she is,” the
young man continued, offering the letter to Maggie, who,
grasping it eagerly, sat down opposite, so that every motion
of her face was visible to him.

The letter was as follows:

“My darling little Rose:

“Do you fancy some direful calamity has befallen me,
because I have not written to you for more than a week?
Away with your fears, then, for nothing worse has come
upon me than a badly broken limb, which will probably keep
me a prisoner here for two months or more. Now don't be
frightened, Rosa. I am not crippled for life, and even if I
were, I could love you just the same, while you, I'm sure,
would love me more.

“As you probably know, I left Worcester on Tuesday
morning for the purpose of collecting some bills in this
neighborhood. Arrived at Hillsdale I procured a horse,
and was sauntering leisurely through the woods, when
I came suddenly upon a flying witch in the shape of a beautiful
young girl. She was the finest rider I ever saw, and
such a chase as she led me, until at last, to my dismay, she
leaped across a chasm, down which a nervous little creature

[figure description] Page 255.[end figure description]

like you would be afraid to look. Not wishing to be outdone,
I followed her, and, as a matter of course, broke my
bones.

“Were it not that the accident will somewhat incommode
Douglas, and greatly fidget you, I should not much regret
it, for to me there is a peculiar charm about this old stone
house and its quaint surroundings. But the greatest charm
of all, perhaps, lies in my fair nurse, Maggie Miller, for whom
I risked my neck. You two would be fast friends in a moment,
and yet you are totally dissimilar, save that your
voices are much alike.

“Write to me, soon, dear Rose, and believe me ever

“Oh,” said Maggie, catching her breath, which for a
time had been partially suspended, “Oh;” and in that single
monosyllable, there was to the young man watching her,
a world of meaning. “She's your sister, this little Rose;”
and the soft dark eyes, flashed brightly upon him.

“What did you suppose her to be?” he asked, and Maggie
answered, “I thought she might be your wife, though I
should rather have her for a sister, if I were you.”

The young man smiled involuntarily, thinking to himself
how his fashionable city friends would be shocked at such
perfect frankness, which meant no more than their own
studied airs.

“You are a good girl, Maggie,” he said, at last, “and I
would not for the world deceive you; Rose is my step-sister.
We are in no way connected save by a marriage, still I love
her all the same. We were brought up together by a lady
who is aunt to both, and Rose seems to me like an own
dear sister. She has saved me from almost everything. I

[figure description] Page 256.[end figure description]

once loved the wine cup; but her kindly words and gentle
influence won me back, so that now I seldom taste it. And
once I thought to run away to sea, but Rose found it out,
and meeting me at the gate, persuaded me to return. It is
wonderful, the influence she has over me, keeping my wild
spirits in check, and if I am ever anything, I shall owe it all
to her.”

“Does she live in Worcester?” asked Maggie; and Henry
answered, “No, in Leominster, which is not far distant. I
go home once a month, and I fancy I can see Rose now, just
as she looks when she comes tripping down the walk to
meet me, her blue eyes shining like stars, and her golden
curls blowing over her pale forehead. She is very, very
frail: and sometimes when I look upon her, the dread fear
steals over me, that there will come a time, ere long, when I
shall have no sister.”

There were tears in Maggie's eyes, tears for the fair young
girl whom she had never seen, and she felt a yearning desire
to look once on the beautiful face of her whom Henry Warner
called his sister. “I wish she would come here, I
want to see her,” she said, at last, and Henry replied, “She
does not go often from home. But I have her daguerreotype
in Worcester. I'll write to Douglas to bring it,” and
opening the letter, which was not yet sealed, he added a
few lines. “Come, Maggie,” he said, when this was finished,
“you need exercise. Suppose you ride over to the office
with these letters.”

Maggie would rather have remained with him: but she
expressed her willingness to go, and in a few moments was
seated on Gritty's back, with the two letters clasped firmly
in her hand. At one of these, the one bearing the name of
Rose Warner, she looked often and wistfully; “'twas a most
beautiful name,” she thought, “and she who bore it was

[figure description] Page 257.[end figure description]

beautiful too.” And then there arose within her a wish,
shadowy and undefined to herself, it is true—but still a wish
that she, Maggie Miller, might one day call that gentle
Rose her sister. “I shall see her sometimes, any way, she
thought, “and this George Douglas, too. I wish they'd
visit us together,” and having by this time reached the
post office, she deposited the letters, and galloped rapidly
toward home.

p594-259

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