[figure description] Page 372.[end figure description]

Half in sorrow, half in joy, old Hagar listened to the
story which Henry told her, standing at her cottage door.
In sorrow, because she had learned to like the young man,
learned to think of him as Maggie's husband, who would
not wholly cast her off, if her secret should chance to be
divulged; and in joy, because her idol would be with her yet
a little longer.

“Maggie will be faithful quite as long as you,” she said,
when he expressed his fears of her forgetfulness; and trying
to console himself with this assurance, he sprang into the
carriage in which he had come, and was driven rapidly
away.

He was too late for the night express, but taking the
early morning train, he reached New York just as the sun
was setting.

“Alone! my brother, alone?” queried Rose, as he entered
the private parlor of the hotel where she was staying with
her aunt.

“Yes, alone, just as I expected,” he answered, somewhat
bitterly.

Then very briefly he related to her the particulars of his
adventure, to which she listened eagerly, one moment chiding
herself for the faint, shadowy hope which whispered that

[figure description] Page 373.[end figure description]

possibly Maggie Miller would never be his wife, and again
sympathizing in his disappointment.

“A year would not be very long,” she said “and in the
new scenes to which he was going,” a part of it would pass
rapidly away;” and then in her childlike, guileless manner,
she drew a glowing picture of the future, when, her own
health restored, they would return to their old home in
Leominster, where, after a few months more, he would bring
to them his bride.

“You are my comforting angel, Rose,” he said, folding her
lovingly in his arms, and kissing her smooth white cheek.
“With such a treasure as you for a sister, I ought not to
repine, even though Maggie Miller should never be mine.”

The words were lightly spoken, and by him soon forgotten,
but Rose remembered them long, dwelling upon them
in the wearisome nights, when in her narrow berth, she
listened to the swelling sea, as it dashed against the vessel's
side. Many a fond remembrance, too, she gave to Maggie
Miller, who, in her woodland home, thought often of the
travellers on the sea, never wishing that she was with them;
but experiencing always a feeling of pleasure in knowing
that she was Maggie Miller yet, and should be until next
year's autumn leaves were falling.

Of Arthur Carrollton she thought frequently, wishing she
had not been so rude that morning in the woods, and feeling
vexed because in his letters to her grandmother, he merely
said, Remember me to Margaret.”

“I wish he would write something besides that,” she
thought, “for I remember him now altogether too much for
my own good;” and then she wondered “what he would have
said that morning, if she had not been so cross.”

Very little was said to her of him by Madam Conway,
who, having learned that he was not going to England, and

[figure description] Page 374.[end figure description]

would ere long return to them, concluded for a time to let
the matter rest, particularly as she knew how much Maggie
was already interested in one whom she had resolved to
hate. Feeling thus confident that all would yet end well,
Madam Conway was in unusually good spirits, save when
thoughts of Mrs. Douglas senior obtruded themselves upon
her. Then, indeed, in a most unenviable state of mind, she
repined at the disgrace which Theo had brouht upon them,
and charged Maggie repeatedly to keep it a secret from
Mrs. Jeffrey and Anna, the first of whom made many
inquiries concerning the family, which she supposed of course
was very aristocratic.

One day towards the last of November, there came to
Madam Conway a letter from Mrs. Douglas senior, wonderful
alike in composition and appearance. Directed wrong
side up, sealed with a wafer, and stamped with a thimble, it
bore an unmistakable resemblance to its writer, who expressed
many regrets that “she had not known in the time on't,
who her illustrious visitors were.”

“If I had known,” she wrote, “I should have sot the
table in the parlor certing, for though I'm plain and homespun,
I know as well as the next one what good manners is,
and do my endeavors to practise it. But do tell a body,”
she continued, “where you was, muster day in Wooster.
I knocked and pounded enough to raise the dead, and
nobody answered. I never noticed you was deaf when you
was here, though Betsey Jane thinks she did. If you be,
I'll send you up a receipt for a kind of intment which Miss
Sam Babbit invented, and which cures everything.

“Theodoshy has been to see us, and though in my way
of thinkin', she ain't as handsome as Margaret, she looks as
well as the ginerality of women. I liked her, too, and as

[figure description] Page 375.[end figure description]

soon as the men's winter clothes is off my hands, I calkerlate
to have a quiltin', and finish up another bedquilt to
send her, for manlike, George has furnished up his rooms
with all sorts of nicknacks, and got only two blankets, and
two Marsales spreads for his bed. So I've sent 'em down
the herrin'-bone and risin' sun quilts for every day wear, as
I don't believe in usin' your best things all the time. My
old man says I'd better let 'em alone; but he's got some
queer ideas, thinks you'll sniff your nose at my letter, and
all that, but I've more charity for folks, and well I might
have, bein' that's my name.

To this letter were appended three different postscripts.
In the first Madam Conway and Maggie were cordially
invited to visit Charlton again; in the second Betsey Jane
sent her regrets; while in the third Madam Conway was
particularly requested to excuse haste and a bad pen.

“Disgusting creature!” was Madam Conway's exclamation,
as she finished reading the letter, then tossing it into
the fire she took up another one, which had come by the
same mail, and was from Theo herself.

After dwelling at length upon the numerous calls she
made, the parties she attended, the compliments she received,
and her curiosity to know why her grandmother came back
that day, she spoke of her recent visit in Charlton.

“You have been there, it seems,” she wrote, “so I need
not particularize, though I know how shocked and disappointed
you must have been; and I think it very kind in
you not to have said anything upon the subject, except that
you had called there, for George reads all my letters, and I
would not have his feelings hurt. He had prepared me in
a measure for the visit, but the reality was even worse than

[figure description] Page 376.[end figure description]

I anticipated. And still they are the kindest hearted people
in the world, while Mr. Douglas is a man, they say, of
excellent sense. George never lived at home much, and
their heathenish ways mortify him I know, though he never
says a word, except that they are his parents.

“People here respect George, too, quite as much as if he
were a Conway, and I sometimes think they like him all the
better for being so kind to his old father, who comes frequently
to the store. Grandma, I begin to think differently
of some things from what I did. Birth and blood do not
make much difference in this country, at least; and still I
must acknowledge that I should feel dreadfully if I did not
love George and know that he is the kindest husband in the
world.”

The letter closed with a playful insinuation that as Henry
Warner had gone, Maggie might possibly marry Arthur
Carrollton, and so make amends for the disgrace which
Theo had unwittingly brought upon the Conway line.

For a long time after finishing the above, Madam Conway
sat rapt in thought. Could it be possible that during all
her life, she had labored under a mistake? Were birth and
family rank really of no consequence? Was George just
as worthy of respect as if he had descended directly from
the Scottish race of Douglas, instead of belonging to that
vulgar woman? “It may be so in America,” she sighed;
“but it is not true of England,” and sincerely hoping that
Theo's remark concerning Mr. Carrollton might prove true,
she laid aside the letter, and for the remainder of the day,
busied herself with preparations for the return of Arthur
Carrollton, who had written that he should be with them
on the first of December.

The day came, and, unusually excited, Maggie flitted from

[figure description] Page 377.[end figure description]

room to room, seeing that everything was in order, wondering
how he would meet her and if he had forgiven her
for having been so cross at their last interview in the woods.
The effect of every suitable dress in her wardrobe was tried,
and she decided at last upon a crimson and black merino,
which harmonized well with her dark eyes and hair. The
dress was singularly becoming, and feeling quite well satisfied
with the face and form reflected by her mirror, she
descended to the parlor, where any doubts she might have
had concerning her personal appearance were put to flight
by Anna Jeffrey, who, with a feeling of envy, asked “if she
had the scarlet fever!” referring to her bright color, and
saying, she “did not think too red a face becoming to any
one, particularly to Margaret, to whom it gave a blowsy
look, such as she had more than once heard Mr. Carrollton
say he did not like to see!”

Margaret knew well that the dark-browed girl would give
almost anything for the roses blooming on her cheeks; so
she made no reply, but simply wished Anna would return to
England, as for the last two months she had talked of doing.
It was not quite dark, and Mr. Carrollton, if he came that
night, would be with them soon. The car whistle had
sounded some time before, and Maggie's quick ear caught at
last the noise of the bells in the distance. Nearer and
nearer they came; the sleigh was at the door, and forgetting
everything but her own happiness, Maggie ran out to
meet their guest, nor turned her glowing face away when he
stooped down to kiss her. He had forgiven her ill-nature,
she was certain of that, and very joyfully she led the way
to the parlor, where as the full light of the lamp fell upon
him she started involuntarily, he seemed so changed.

“Are you sick?” she asked, and her voice expressed the
deep anxiety she felt.

[figure description] Page 378.[end figure description]

Forcing back a slight cough and smiling down upon her,
he answered cheerfully, “Oh no, not sick. Canada air
does not agree with me; that's all. I took a severe cold,
soon after my arrival in Montreal,” and the cough he had
attempted to stifle, now burst forth, sounding to Maggie,
who thought only of consumption, like an echo from the
grave.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” she answered sadly, and her eyes
filled with tears, which she did not try to conceal, for looking
through the window across the snow-clad field on which
the winter moon was shining, she saw instinctively another
grave beside that of her mother.

Madam Conway had not yet appeared, and as Anna Jeffrey
just then left the room, Mr. Carrollton was for some
moments alone with Maggie. Winding his arm around her
waist, and giving her a most expressive look, he said, “Maggie,
are those tears for me?”

Instantly the bright blushes stole over Maggie's face and
neck, for she remembered the time when once before he had
asked her a similar question. Not now, as then, did she
turn from him away, but she answered frankly, “Yes, they
are. You look so pale and thin, I'm sure you must be very
ill.”

Whether Mr. Carrollton liked blowsy complexions or not,
he certainly admired Maggie's at that moment, and drawing
her closer to his side, he said, half playfully, half earnestly,
“To see you thus anxious for me, Maggie, more than atoues
for your waywardness when last we parted. You are forgiven,
but you are unnecessarily alarmed. I shall be better
soon. Hillsdale air will do me good, and I intend remaining
here until I am well again. Will you nurse me, Maggie,
just as my sister Helen would do, were she here?”

The right chord was touched, and all the soft, womanly

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qualities of Maggie Miller's nature were called forth by Arthur-Carrollton's
failing health. For several weeks after his
arrival at Hillsdale he was a confirmed invalid, lying all
day upon the sofa in the parlor, while Maggie read to him
from books which he selected, partly for the purpose of
amusing himself, and more for the sake of benefiting her and
improving her taste for literature. At other times, he would
tell her of his home beyond the sea, and Maggie, listening
to him while he described its airy halls, its noble parks, its
shaded walks and musical fountains, would sometimes wish
aloud that she might one day see that spot which seemed to
her so much like paradise. He wished so; too, and oftentimes
when, with half-closed eyes, his mind was wandering
amid the scenes of his youth, he saw at his side a queenly
figure with features like those of Maggie Miller, who each
day was stealing more and more into his heart, where
love for other than his nearest friends had never before
found entrance. She had many faults, he knew, but these
he possessed both the will and the power to correct, and as
day after day she sat reading at his side, he watched her
bright, animated face, thinking what a splendid woman she
would make, and wondering if an American rose like her
would bear transplanting to English soil.

Very complacently Madam Conway looked on, reading
aright the admiration which Arthur Carrollton evinced for
Margaret, who in turn was far from being uninterested in
him. Anna Jeffrey, too, watched them jealously, pondering
in her own mind some means by which she could, if possible,
annoy Margaret. Had she known how far matters had
gone with Henry Warner, she would unhesitatingly have
told it to Arthur Carrollton; but so quietly had the affair
been managed that she knew comparatively but little. This
little, however, she determined to tell him, together with

[figure description] Page 380.[end figure description]

any embellishments she might see fit to use. Accordingly
one afternoon, when he had been there two months or more,
and Maggie had gone with her grandmother to ride, she
went down to the parlor under pretence of getting a book
to read. He was much better now, but feeling somewhat
fatigued from a walk he had taken in the yard, he was reclining
upon the sofa. Leaning over the rocking-chair
which stood near by, Anna inquired for his health, and then
asked how long since he had heard from home.

He liked to talk of England, and as there was nothing
to him particularly disagreeable in Anna Jeffrey, he bade
her be seated. Very willingly she complied with his request,
and after talking awhile of England, announced her intention
of returning home the last of March. “My aunt prefers
remaining with Madam Conway, but I don't like America,”
said she, “and I often wonder why I am here.”

“I supposed you came to be with your aunt, who, I am
told, has been to you a second mother,” answered Mr. Carrollton;
and Anna replied, “You are right. She could not
be easy until she got me here, where I know I am not
wanted; at least one would be glad to have me leave.”

Mr. Carrollton looked inquiringly at her, and Anna continued:
“I fully supposed I was to be a companion for Margaret;
but instead of that she treats me with the utmost
coolness, making me feel keenly my position as a dependent.”

“That does not seem at all like Maggie,” said Mr. Carrollton,
and with a meaning smile far more expressive than
words, Anna answered, “She may not always be alike, but
hush! don't I hear bells?” and she ran to the window, saying
as she resumed her seat, “I thought they had come,
but I was mistaken. I dare say Maggie has coaxed her
grandmother to drive by the post office, thinking there
might be a letter from Henry Warner.

[figure description] Page 381.[end figure description]

Her manner affected Mr. Carrollton perceptibly, but he
made no reply; and Anna asked “if he knew Mr. Warner?”

“I saw him in Worcester, I believe,” he said, and Anna
continued, “Do you think him a suitable husband for a girl
like Maggie?”

There was a deep flush on Arthur Carrollton's cheek, and
his lips were whiter than their wont as he answered, “I
know nothing of him, neither did I suppose Miss Miller ever
thought of him for a husband.”

“I know she did at one time,” said his tormentor, turning
the leaves of her book, with well feigned indifference.
“It was not any secret, or I should not speak of it; of
course Madam Conway was greatly opposed to it, too, and
forbade her writing to him; but how the matter is now, I
do not positively know, though I am quite sure they are engaged.”

“Isn't it very close here? Will you please to open the hall
door?” said Mr. Carrollton, suddenly panting for breath;
and satisfied with her work, Anna did as desired and then
left him alone.

“Maggie engaged!” he exclaimed, “engaged, when I
was hoping to win her for myself!” and a sharp pang shot
through his heart as he thought of giving to another the
beautiful girl who had grown so into his love. “But I am
glad I learned it in time,” he continued, hurriedly walking
the floor, “knew it ere I had done Henry Warner a wrong,
by telling her of my love, and asking her to go with me to
my English home, which will be desolate without her. This
is why she repulsed me in the woods. She knew I
ought not to speak of love to her. Why didn't I see it before,
or why has not Madam Conway told me the truth?
She at least has deceived me,” and with a feeling of keen

[figure description] Page 382.[end figure description]

disappointment, he continued to pace the floor, one moment
resolving to leave Hillsdale at once, and again thinking how
impossible it was to tear himself away.

Arthur Carrollton was a perfectly honorable man, and
once assured of Maggie's engagement, he would neither by
word or deed do aught to which the most fastidious lover
could object, and Henry Warner's rights were as safe with
him as with the truest of friends. But was Maggie really
engaged? Might there not be some mistake? He hoped
so at least, and alternating between hope and fear, he
waited impatiently the return of Maggie, who, with each
thought of losing her, seemed tenfold dearer to him than
she had ever been before; and when at last she came bounding
in, he could scarcely refrain from folding her in his arms,
and asking of her to think again ere she gave another than
himself the right of calling her his bride. But she is not
mine, he thought, and so he merely took her cold hands
within his own, rubbing them until they were warm. Then
seating himself by her side upon the sofa, he spoke of her
ride, asking casually if she called at the post office.

“No, we did not drive that way,” she answered readily,
adding that the post office had few attractions for her now,
as no one wrote to her save Theo.

She evidently spoke the truth, and with a feeling of relief
Mr. Carrollton thought that possibly Miss Jeffrey might
have been mistaken; but he would know at all hazards,
even though he ran the risk of being thought extremely
rude. Accordingly that evening, after Mrs. Jeffrey and
Anna had retired to their room, and while Madam Conway
was giving some household directions in the kitchen, he
asked her to come and sit by him as he lay upon the sofa,
himself placing her chair where the lamp light would fall
fully upon her face and reveal its every expression. Closing

[figure description] Page 383.[end figure description]

the piano, she complied with his request, and then awaited
in silence for what he was to say.

“Maggie,” he began, “you may think me bold, but there
is something I very much wish to know, and which you, if
you choose, can tell me. From what I have heard, I am
led to think you are engaged. Will you tell me if this is
true?”

The bright color faded out from Maggie's cheek, while
her eyes grew darker than before, and still she did not
speak. Not that she was angry with him for asking her
that question; but because the answer, which, if made at
all, must be yes, was hard to utter. And yet why should
she hesitate to tell him the truth at once?

Alas, for thee, Maggie Miller! The fancied love you feel
for Henry Warner is fading fast away. Arthur Carrollton
is a dangerous rival, and even now, you cannot meet the
glance of his expressive eyes without a blush! Your better
judgment acknowledged his superiority to Henry long
ago, and now in your heart there is room for none save
him.

“Maggie,” he said, again stretching out his hand to take
the unresisting one which lay upon her lap, “you need not
make me other answer save that so plainly written on your
face. You are engaged, and may heaven's blessing attend
both you and yours.”

At this moment Madam Conway appeared, and fearing
her inability to control her feelings longer, Maggie precipitately
left the room. Going to her chamber, she burst into
a passionate fit of weeping, one moment blaming Mr. Carrollton
for having learned her secret, and the next chiding
herself for wishing to withhold from him a knowledge of her
engagement.

“It is not that I love Henry less, I am sure,” she thought,

[figure description] Page 384.[end figure description]

and laying her head upon her pillow, she recalled everything
which had passed between herself and her affianced husband,
trying to bring back the olden happiness with which
she had listened to his words of love. But it would not
come; there was a barrier in the way, Arthur Carrollton as
he looked when he said so sadly, “You need not tell me,
Maggie.”

“Oh, I wish he had not asked me that question,” she
sighed. “It has put such dreadful thoughts into my head.
And yet I love Henry as well as ever; I know I do, I am
sure of it, or if I do not, I will,” and repeating to herself
again and again the words, “I will, I will,” she fell
asleep.

Will, however, is not always subservient to one's wishes,
and during the first few days succeeding the incident of that
night, Maggie often found herself wishing Arthur Carrollton
had never come to Hillsdale, he made her so wretched, so
unhappy. Insensibly, too, she became a very little unamiable,
speaking pettishly to her grandmother, disrespectfully
to Mrs Jeffrey, haughtily to Anna, and rarely to Mr. Carrollton,
who, after the lapse of two or three weeks, began
to talk of returning home in the same vessel with Anna
Jeffrey, at which time his health would be fully restored.
Then, indeed, did Maggie awake to the reality that while
her hand was plighted to one, she loved another—not as
in days gone by she had loved Henry Warner, but with a
deeper, more absorbing love. With this knowledge, too,
there came the thought that Arthur Carrollton had once
loved her, and but for the engagement now so much regretted,
he would ere this have told her so. But it was too late,
too late. He would never feel toward her again as he once
had felt, and bitter tears she shed as she contemplated the
fast coming future, when Arthur Carrollton would be gone,

[figure description] Page 385.[end figure description]

or shudderingly thought of the time when Henry Warner
would return to claim her promise.

“I cannot, cannot marry him,” she cried, “until I've torn
that other image from my heart,” and then for many days
she strove to recall the olden love in vain; for, planted on
the sandy soil of childhood, as it were, it had been out-grown,
and would never again spring into life. “I will
write to him exactly how it is,” she said at last; “will tell him
that the affection I felt for him, could not have been what
a wife should feel for her husband. I was young, had seen
nothing of the world, knew nothing of gentlemen's society,
and when he came with his handsome face, and winning
ways, my interest was awakened. Sympathy, too, for his
misfortune, increased that interest, which grandma's opposition
tended in no wise to diminish. But it has died out,
that fancied love, and I cannot bring it back. Still, if he
insists, I will keep my word, and when he comes next
autumn, I will not tell him, No.”

Maggie was very calm when this decision was reached,
and opening her writing desk she wrote just as she said she
would, begging of him to forgive her if she had done him
wrong, and beseeching Rose to comfort him as only a sister
like her could do. “And remember,” she wrote at the close,
“remember that sooner than see you very unhappy, I will
marry you, will try to be a faithful wife; though, Henry, I
would rather not—oh, so much rather not.”

The letter was finished, and then Maggie took it to her
grandmother, who read it eagerly, for in it she saw a fulfillment
of her wishes. Very closely had she watched both
Mr. Carrollton and Maggie, readily divining the truth, that
something was wrong between them. But from past experience,
she deemed it wiser not to interfere directly. Mr.
Carrollton's avowed intention of returning to England,

[figure description] Page 386.[end figure description]

however, startled her, and she was revolving some method of
procedure when Margaret brought to her the letter.

“I am happier than I can well express,” she said, when
she had finished reading it. “Oh course you have my permission
to send it. But what has changed you, Maggie?
Has another taken the place of Henry Warner?”

“Don't ask me, grandma,” cried Mag, covering her face
with her hands, “don't ask me, for indeed I can only tell
you that I am very unhappy.”

A little skillful questioning on Madam Conway's part,
sufficed to explain the whole—how constant association with
Arthur Carrollton had won for him a place in Maggie's
heart, which Henry Warner had never filled; how the
knowledge that she loved him as she could love no other
one had faintly revealed itself to her, on the night when he
asked if she were engaged, and had burst upon her with
overwhelming power, when she heard that he was going
home.

“He will never think of me again, I know,” she said;
“but, with my present feelings, I cannot marry Henry,
unless he insists upon it.”

“Men seldom wish to marry a woman who says she does
not love them, and Henry Warner will not prove an exception,”
answered Madam Conway; and, comforted with this
assurance, Mag folded up her letter, which was soon on its
way to Cuba.

The next evening, as Madam Conway sat alone with Mr.
Carrollton, she spoke of his return to England, expressing
her sorrow, and asking why he did not remain with them
longer.

“I will deal frankly with you, Madam,” said he, “and
say that if I followed my own inclination I should stay, for
Hillsdale holds for me an attraction which no other spot

[figure description] Page 387.[end figure description]

possesses. I refer to your grand-daughter, who, in the little
time I have known her, has grown very dear to me; so
dear, that I dare not stay longer where she is, lest I should
love her too well, and rebel against yielding her to
another.”

For a moment, Madam Conway hesitated; but thinking
the case demanded her speaking, she said, “Possibly, Mr.
Carrollton, I can make an explanation which will show
some points in a different light from that in which you now
see them. Margaret is engaged to Henry Warner, I will
admit; but the engagement has become irksome, and yesterday
she wrote, asking a release, which he will grant, of
course.”

Instantly, the expression of Mr. Carrollton's face was
changed, and very intently he listened, while Madam Conway
frankly told him the story of Margaret's engagement
up to the present time, withholding from him nothing, not
even Mag's confession of the interest she felt in him, an interest
which had weakened her girlish attachment for Henry
Warner.

“You have made me very happy,” Mr. Carrollton said to
Madam Conway, as, at a late hour, he bade her good night,
“happier than I can well express; for, without Margaret,
life to me would be dreary, indeed.”

The next morning, at the breakfast table, Anna Jeffrey,
who was in high spirits with the prospect of having Mr.
Carrollton for a fellow-traveller, spoke of their intended
voyage, saying she could hardly wait for the time to come,
and asking if he were not equally impatient to leave so horrid
a country as America.

“On the contrary,” he replied, “I should be sorry to
leave America just yet. I have, therefore, decided to
remain a little longer,” and his eyes sought the face of Mag,

[figure description] Page 388.[end figure description]

who, in her joyful surprise, dropped the knife with which
she was helping herself to butter; while Anna Jeffrey, quite
as much astonished, upset her coffee, exclaiming, “Not
going home! What has changed your mind?”

Mr. Carrollton made her no direct reply, and she continued
her breakfast in no very amiable mood; while Maggie,
too much overjoyed to eat, managed, ere long, to find
an excuse for leaving the table. Mr. Carrollton wished to
do everything honorably, and so he decided to say nothing
to Mag of the cause of this sudden change in his plan, until
Henry Warner's answer was received, as she would then
feel freer to act as she felt. His resolution, however, was
more easily made than kept, and during the succeeding
weeks, by actions, if not by words, he more than once told
Maggie Miller how much she was beloved; and Maggie,
trembling with fear lest the cup of happiness just within her
grasp should be rudely dashed aside, waited impatiently for
the letter which was to set her free. But weeks went by,
and Maggie's heart grew sick with hope deferred, for there
came to her no message from the distant Cuban shore,
where, in another chapter, we will for a moment go.

p594-390

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