ARTHUR CARROLLTON AND MAGGIE.
Mr. Carrollton had returned from Boston on Thursday afternoon, and,
finding them all gone from the hotel, had come on to Hillsdale on
the evening train, surprising Maggie as she sat in the parlor alone,
wishing herself in Worcester, or in some place where it was not as
lonely as there. With his presence the loneliness disappeared, and in
making his tea and listening to his agreeable conversation she forgot
everything, until, observing that she looked weary, he said: "Maggie,
I would willingly talk to you all night, were it not for the bad
effect it would have on you to-morrow. You must go to bed now," and he
showed her his watch, which pointed to the hour of midnight.
Exceedingly mortified, Maggie was leaving the room, when, noticing her
evident chagrin, Mr. Carrollton came to her side, and laying his hand
very respectfully on hers, said kindly: "It is my fault, Maggie,
keeping you up so late, and I only send you away now because those
eyes are growing heavy, and I know that you need rest. Good-night to
you, and pleasant dreams."
He went with her to the door, watching her until she disappeared up
the stairs; then, half wishing he had not sent her from him, he too
sought his chamber; but not to sleep, for Maggie, though absent, was
with him still in fancy. For more than a year he had been haunted by a
bright, sunshiny face, whose owner embodied the dashing, independent
spirit and softer qualities which made Maggie Miller so attractive. Of
this face he had often thought, wondering if the real would equal the
ideal, and now that he had met with her, had looked into her truthful
eyes, had gazed upon her sunny face, which mirrored faithfully every
thought and feeling, he was more than satisfied, and to love that
beautiful girl seemed to him an easy matter. She was so childlike, so
artless, so different from anyone whom he had ever known, that he was
interested in her at once. But Arthur Carrollton never did a thing
precipitately. She might have many glaring faults; he must see her
more, must know her better, ere he lavished upon her the love whose
deep fountains had never yet been stirred.
After this manner he reasoned as he walked up and down his chamber,
while Maggie, on her sleepless pillow, was thinking, too, of him,
wondering if she did hate him as much as she intended, and if Henry
would be offended at her sitting up with him until after twelve
o'clock.
It was nearly half-past nine when Maggie awoke next morning, and
making a hasty toilet she descended to the dining room, where she
found Mr. Carrollton awaiting her. He had been up a long time; but
when Anna Jeffrey, blessed with an uncommon appetite, fretted at the
delay of breakfast, and suggested calling Margaret, he objected,
saying she needed rest, and must not be disturbed. So, in something of
a pet, the young lady breakfasted alone with her aunt, Mr. Carrollton
preferring to wait for Maggie.
"I am sorry I kept you waiting," said Maggie, seating herself at the
table and continuing to apologize for her tardiness.
But Mr. Carrollton felt more than repaid by having her thus alone with
him, and many were the admiring glances he cast toward her, as, with
her shining hair, her happy face, her tasteful morning gown of pink,
and her beautiful white hands which handled so gracefully the silver
coffee-urn, she made a living, glowing picture such as any man might
delight to look upon. Breakfast being over, Mr. Carrollton proposed a
ride, and as Anna Jeffrey at that moment entered the parlor he invited
her to accompany them. There was a shadow on Maggie's brow as she left
the room to dress, a shadow which had not wholly disappeared when she
returned; and, observing this, Mr. Carrollton said, "Were I to consult
my own wishes, Maggie, I should leave Miss Jeffrey at home; but she is
a poor girl whose enjoyments are far less than ours, consequently I
invited her for this once, knowing how fond she is of riding."
"How thoughtful you are of other people's happiness!" said Maggie, the
shadow leaving her brow at once.
"I am glad that wrinkle has gone, at all events," returned Mr.
Carrollton laughingly, and laying his hand upon her forehead he
continued: "Were you my sister Helen I should probably kiss you for
having so soon got over your pet; but as you are Maggie Miller, I dare
not," and he looked earnestly at her, to see if he had spoken the
truth.
Coloring crimson, as it became the affianced bride of Henry Warner to
do, Maggie turned away, thinking Helen must be a happy girl, and
half wishing she too were Arthur Carrollton's sister. It was a long,
delightful excursion they took, and Maggie, when she saw how Anna
Jeffrey enjoyed it, did not altogether regret her presence. On their
way home she proposed calling upon Hagar, whom she had not seen for
"three whole days."
"And who, pray, is Hagar?" asked Mr. Carrollton; and Maggie replied,
"She is my old nurse--a strange, crazy creature, whom they say I
somewhat resemble."
By this time they were near the cottage, in the door of which old
Hagar was standing, with her white hair falling round her face.
"I see by your looks you don't care to call, but I shall," said
Maggie; and, bounding from her saddle, she ran up to Hagar, pressing
her hand and whispering that it would soon be time to hear from Henry.
"Kissed her, I do believe!" said Anna Jeffrey. "She must have
admirable taste!"
Mr. Carrollton said nothing, but with a half-comical, half-displeased
expression he watched the interview between that weird old woman and
the fair young girl, little suspecting how nearly they were allied.
"Why didn't you come and speak to her?" said Maggie, as he alighted to
assist her in again mounting Gritty. "She used to see you in England,
when you were a baby, and if you won't be angry I'll tell you what she
said. It was that you were the crossest, ugliest young one she ever
saw! There, there; don't set me down so hard!" and the saucy eyes
looked mischievously at the proud Englishman, who, truth to say, did
place her in the saddle with a little more force than was at all
necessary.
Not that he was angry. He was only annoyed at what he considered
Maggie's undue familiarity with a person like Hagar, but he wisely
forbore making any comments in Anna Jeffrey's presence, except,
indeed, to laugh heartily at Hagar's complimentary description of
himself when a baby. Arrived at home, and alone again with Maggie, he
found her so very good-natured and agreeable that he could not chide
her for anything, and Hagar was for a time forgotten.
That evening, as the reader knows, they went together to the depot,
where they waited four long hours, but not impatiently; for sitting
there in the moonlight, with the winding Chicopee full in view, and
Margaret Miller at his side, Arthur Carrollton forgot the lapse
of time, especially when Maggie, thinking it no harm, gave a most
ludicrous description of her call upon Mrs. Douglas, senior, and of
her grandmother's distress at finding herself so nearly connected with
what she termed "a low, vulgar family."
Arthur Carrollton was very proud, and had Theo been his sister he
might to some extent have shared in Madam Conway's chagrin; and so he
said to Maggie, at the same time fully agreeing with her that George
Douglas was a refined, agreeable man, and as such entitled to respect.
Still, had Theo known of his parentage, he said, it would probably
have made some difference; but now that it could not be helped it was
wise to make the best of it.
These words were little heeded then by Maggie, but with most painful
distinctness they recurred to her in the after time, when, humbled in
the very dust, she had no hope that the highborn, haughty Carrollton
would stoop to a child of Hagar Warren! But no shadow of the dark
future was over her now, and very eagerly she drank in every word and
look of Arthur Carrollton, who, all unconsciously, was trampling on
another's rights and gradually weakening the fancied love she bore for
Henry Warner.
The arrival of the train brought their pleasant conversation to a
close, and for a day or two Maggie's time was wholly occupied with
her grandmother, to whom she frankly acknowledged having told Mr.
Carrollton of Mrs. Douglas and her daughter Betsy Jane. The fact that
he knew of her disgrace and did not despise her was of great benefit
to Madam Conway, and after a few days she resumed her usual spirits,
and actually told of the remarks made by Mrs. Douglas concerning
herself and the "fight" she had been in! As time passed on she became
reconciled to the Douglases, having, as she thought, some well-founded
reasons for believing that for Theo's disgrace Maggie would make
amends by marrying Mr. Carrollton, whose attentions each day became
more and more marked, and were not apparently altogether disagreeable
to Maggie. On the contrary, his presence at Hillsdale was productive
of much pleasure to her, as well as a little annoyance.
From the first he seemed to exercise over her an influence she could
not well resist--a power to make her do whatever he willed that she
should do; and though she sometimes rebelled she was pretty sure in
the end to yield the contest, and submit to one who was evidently
the ruling spirit. As yet nothing had been said of the hair ornament
which, out of compliment to him, her grandmother wore every morning
in her collar, but at last one day Madam Conway spoke of it herself,
asking if it were, as she had supposed, his grandmother's hair.
"Why, no," he answered involuntarily; "it is a lock Maggie sent me in
that wonderful daguerreotype!"
"The stupid thing!" thought Maggie, while her eyes fairly danced with
merriment as she anticipated the question she fancied was sure to
follow, but did not.
One glance at her tell-tale face was sufficient for Madam Conway. In
her whole household there was but one head with locks as white as
that, and whatever her thoughts might have been, she said nothing, but
from that day forth Hagar's hair was never again seen ornamenting her
person! That afternoon Mr. Carrollton and Maggie went out to ride, and
in the course of their conversation he referred to the pin, asking
whose hair it was, and seeming much amused when told that it was
Hagar's.
"But why did you not tell her when it first came?" he said; and Maggie
answered: "Oh, it was such fun to see her sporting Hagar's hair, when
she is so proud! It didn't hurt her either, for Hagar is as good as
anybody. I don't believe in making such a difference because one
person chances to be richer than another."
"Neither do I," returned Mr. Carrollton. "I would not esteem a person
for wealth alone, but there are points of difference which should
receive consideration. For instance, this old Hagar may be well enough
in her way, but suppose she were nearly connected with you--your
grandmother, if you like--it would certainly make some difference in
your position. You would not be Maggie Miller, and I--"
"Wouldn't ride with me, I dare say," interrupted Maggie; to which he
replied, "I presume not," adding, as he saw slight indications of
pouting, "And therefore I am glad you are Maggie Miller, and not
Hagar's grandchild."
Mentally pronouncing him a "proud, hateful thing," Maggie rode on a
while in silence. But Mr. Carrollton knew well how to manage her, and
he too was silent until Maggie, who could never refrain from talking
any length of time, forgot herself and began chatting away as gayly as
before. During their excursion they came near to the gorge of Henry
Warner memory, and Maggie, who had never quite forgiven Mr. Carrollton
for criticising her horsemanship, resolved to show him what she could
do. The signal was accordingly given to Gritty, and ere her companion
was aware of her intention she was tearing over the ground at a speed
he could hardly equal. The ravine was just on the border of the wood,
and without pausing for an instant Gritty leaped across it, landing
safely on the other side, where he stopped, while half fearfully, half
exultingly, Maggie looked back to see what Mr. Carrollton would do.
At first he fancied Gritty beyond her control, and when he saw her
directly over the deep chasm he shuddered, involuntarily stretching
out his arms to save her; but the look she gave him as she turned
around convinced him that the risk she had run was done on purpose.
Still he had no intention of following her, for he feared his horse's
ability as well as his own to clear that pass.
"Why don't you jump? Are you afraid?" and Maggie's eyes looked archly
out from beneath her tasteful riding cap.
For half a moment he felt tempted to join her, but his better judgment
came to his aid, and he answered: "Yes, Maggie, I am afraid, having
never tried such an experiment. But I wish to be with you in some
way, and as I cannot come to you I ask you to come to me. You seem
accustomed to the leap!"
He did not praise her. Nay, she fancied there was more of censure
in the tones of his voice; at all events, he had asked her rather
commandingly to return, and she "wouldn't do it." For a moment she
made no reply, and he said again, "Maggie, will you come?" then half
playfully, half reproachfully, she made answer, "A gallant Englishman
indeed! willing I should risk my neck where you dare not venture
yours. No, I shan't try the leap again to-day, I don't feel like it;
but I'll cross the long bridge half a mile from here--good-by;" and
fully expecting him to meet her, she galloped off, riding ere long
quite slowly, "so he'd have a nice long time to wait for her!"
How, then, was she disappointed, when, on reaching the bridge, there
was nowhere a trace of him to be seen, neither could she hear
the sound of his horse's footsteps, though she listened long and
anxiously!
"He is certainly the most provoking man I ever saw!" she exclaimed,
half crying with vexation. "Henry wouldn't have served me so, and I'm
glad I was engaged to him before I saw this hateful Carrollton, for
grandma might possibly have coaxed me into marrying him, and then
wouldn't Mr. Dog and Mrs. Cat have led a stormy life! No, we
wouldn't," she continued; "I should in time get accustomed to minding
him, and then I think he'd be splendid, though no better than Henry. I
wonder if Hagar has a letter for me!" and, chirruping to Gritty, she
soon stood at the door of the cabin.
"Have you two been quarreling?" asked Hagar, noticing Maggie's flushed
cheeks. "Mr. Carrollton passed here twenty minutes or more ago,
looking mighty sober, and here you are with your face as red--What has
happened?"
"Nothing," answered Maggie, a little testily, "only he's the meanest
man! Wouldn't follow me when I leaped the gorge, and I know he could
if he had tried."
"Showed his good sense," interrupted Hagar, adding that Maggie mustn't
think every man was going to risk his neck for her.
"I don't think so, of course," returned Maggie; "but he might act
better--almost commanded me to come back and join him, as though I was
a little child; but I wouldn't do it. I told him I'd go down to the
long bridge and cross, expecting, of course, he'd meet me there; and
instead of that he has gone off home. How did he know what accident
would befall me?"
"Accident!" repeated Hagar; "accident befall you, who know every crook
and turn of these woods so much better than he does!"
"Well, anyway, he might have waited for me," returned Maggie. "I don't
believe he'd care if I were to get killed. I mean to scare him and
see;" and, springing from Gritty's back, she gave a peculiar whistling
sound, at which the pony bounded away towards home, while she followed
Hagar into the cottage, where a letter from Henry awaited her.
They were to sail for Cuba on the 15th of October, and he now wrote
asking if Maggie would go without her grandmother's consent. But,
though irresolute when he before broached the subject, Maggie was
decided now. She would not run away; and so she said to Hagar, to whom
she confided the whole affair.
"I do not think it would be right to elope," she said. "In three years
more I shall be twenty-one, and free to do as I like; and if grandma
will not let me marry Henry now, he must wait. I can't run away. Rose
would not approve of it, I'm sure, and I almost know Mr. Carrollton
would not."
"I can't see how his' approving or not approving can affect you,"
said Hagar; then bending down, so that her wild eyes looked full in
Maggie's eyes, she said, "Are you beginning to like this Englishman?"
"Why, no, I guess I aint," answered Maggie, coloring slightly. "I
dislike him dreadfully, he's so proud. Why, he did the same as to say
that if I were your grandchild he would not ride with me!"
"My grandchild, Maggie Miller!--my grandchild!" shrieked Hagar. "What
put that into his head?"
Thinking her emotion caused by anger at Arthur Carrollton, Maggie
mentally chided herself for having inadvertently said what she did,
while at the same time she tried to soothe old Hagar, who rocked to
and fro, as was her custom when her "crazy spells" were on. Growing a
little more composed, she said at last, "Marry Henry Warner, by all
means, Maggie; he aint as proud as Carrollton--he would not care as
much if he knew it."
"Knew what?" asked Maggie; and, remembering herself in time, Hagar
answered adroitly: "Knew of your promise to let me live with you. You
remember it, don't you?" and she looked wistfully towards Maggie, who,
far more intent upon something else, answered: "Yes, I remember. But
hush! don't I hear horses' feet coming rapidly through the woods?"
and, running to the window, she saw Mr. Carrollton mounted upon
Gritty, and riding furiously towards the house.
"You go out, Hagar, and see if he is looking for me," whispered
Maggie, stepping back, so he could not see.
"Henry Warner must snare the bird quick, or he will lose it," muttered
Hagar, as she walked to the door, where, evidently much excited, Mr.
Carrollton asked if she knew aught of Miss Miller, and why Gritty had
come home alone. "It is such an unusual occurrence," said he, "that we
felt alarmed, and I have come in quest of her."
From her post near the window Maggie could plainly see his face, which
was very pale, and expressive of much concern, while his voice, she
fancied, trembled as he spoke her name.
"He does care," she thought; woman's pride was satisfied, and ere
Hagar could reply she ran out, saying laughingly: "And so you thought
maybe I was killed, but I'm not. I concluded to walk home and let
Gritty go on in advance. I did not mean to frighten grandma."
"She was not as much alarmed as myself," said Mr. Carrollton, the
troubled expression of his countenance changing at once. "You do not
know how anxious I was when I saw Gritty come riderless to the door,
nor yet how relieved I am in finding you thus unharmed."
Maggie knew she did not deserve this, and blushing like a guilty
child she offered no resistance when he lifted her into the saddle
gently--tenderly--as if she had indeed escaped from some great danger.
"It is time you were home," said he, and throwing the bridle across
his arm he rested his hand upon the saddle and walked slowly by her
side.
All his fancied coldness was forgotten; neither was the leap nor yet
the bridge once mentioned, for he was only too happy in having her
back alive, while she was doubting the propriety of an experiment
which, in the turn matters had taken, seemed to involve deception.
Observing at last that he occasionally pressed his hand upon his side,
she asked the cause, and was told that he had formerly been subject to
a pain in his side, which excitement or fright greatly augmented. "I
hoped I was free from it," he said, "but the sight of Gritty dashing
up to the door without you brought on a slight attack; for I knew if
you were harmed the fault was mine for having rather unceremoniously
deserted you."
This was more than Maggie could endure in silence. The frank
ingenuousness of her nature prevailed, and turning towards him her
dark, beautiful eyes, in which tears were shining, she said: "Forgive
me, Mr. Carrollton. I sent Gritty home on purpose to see if you would
be annoyed, for I felt vexed because you would not humor my whim and
meet me at the bridge. I am sorry I caused you any uneasiness," she
continued, as she saw a shadow flit over his face. "Will you forgive
me?"
Arthur Carrollton could not resist the pleading of those lustrous
eyes, nor yet refuse to take the ungloved hand she offered him;
and if, in token of reconciliation, he did press it a little more
fervently than Henry Warner would have thought at all necessary, he
only did what, under the circumstances, it was very natural he
should do. From the first Maggie Miller had been a puzzle to Arthur
Carrollton; but he was fast learning to read her--was beginning to
understand how perfectly artless she was--and this little incident
increased, rather than diminished, his admiration.
"I will forgive you, Maggie," he said, "on one condition. You must
promise never again to experiment with my feelings in a similar
manner."
The promise was readily given, and then they proceeded on as leisurely
as if at home there was no anxious grandmother vibrating between her
high-backed chair and the piazza, nor yet an Anna Jeffrey watching
them enviously as they came slowly up the road.
That night there came to Mr. Carrollton a letter from Montreal, saying
his immediate presence was necessary there, on a business matter of
some importance; and he accordingly decided to go on the morrow.
"When may we expect you back?" asked Madam Conway, as in the morning
he was preparing for his journey.
"It will, perhaps, be two months at least, before I return," said
he, adding that there was a possibility of his being obliged to go
immediately to England.
In the recess of the window Maggie was standing, thinking how lonely
the house would be without him, and wishing there was no such thing
as parting from those she liked--even as little as she did Arthur
Carrollton.
"I won't let him know that I care, though," she thought, and forcing a
smile to her face she was about turning to bid him good-by, when she
heard him tell her grandmother of the possibility there was that he
would be obliged to go directly to England from Montreal.
"Then I may never see him again," she thought; and the tears burst
forth involuntarily at the idea of parting with him forever.
Faster and faster they came, until at last, fearing lest he should
see them, she ran away upstairs, and, mounting to the roof, sat down
behind the chimney, where, herself unobserved, she could watch him far
up the road. From the half-closed door of her chamber Anna Jeffrey had
seen Maggie stealing up the tower stairs; had seen, too, that she
was weeping, and, suspecting the cause, she went quietly down to the
parlor to hear what Arthur Carrollton would say. The carriage was
waiting, his trunk was in its place, his hat was in his hand; to Madam
Conway he said good-by, to Anna Jeffrey too; and still he lingered,
looking wistfully round in quest of something which evidently was not
there.
"Where's Margaret?" he asked at last, and Madam Conway answered:
"Surely, where can she be? Have you seen her, Anna?"
"I saw her on the stairs some time ago," said Anna, adding that
possibly she had gone to see Hagar, as she usually visited her at this
hour.
A shade of disappointment passed over Mr. Carrollton's face as he
replied, "Tell her I am sorry she thinks more of Hagar than of me."
The next moment he was gone, and leaning against the chimney Maggie
watched with tearful eyes the carriage as it wound up the grassy road.
On the brow of the hill, just before it would disappear from sight, it
suddenly stopped. Something was the matter with the harness, and while
John was busy adjusting it Mr. Carrollton leaned from the window, and,
looking back, started involuntarily as he caught sight of the figure
so clearly defined upon the housetop. A slight suspicion of the truth
came upon him, and kissing his hand he waved it gracefully towards
her. Maggie's handkerchief was wet with tears, but she shook it out in
the morning breeze, and sent to Arthur Carrollton, as she thought, her
last good-by.
Fearing lest her grandmother should see her swollen eyes, she stole
down the stairs, and taking her shawl and bonnet from the table in the
hall ran off into the woods, going to a pleasant, mossy bank not far
from Hagar's cottage, where she had more than once sat with Arthur
Carrollton, and where she fancied she would never sit with him again.
"I don't believe it's for him that I am crying," she thought, as she
tried in vain to stay her tears; "I always intended to hate him, and I
almost know I do; I'm only feeling badly because I won't run away, and
Henry and Rose will go without me so soon!" And fully satisfied at
having discovered the real cause of her grief, she laid her head upon
the bright autumn grass and wept bitterly, holding her breath, and
listening intently as she heard in the distance the sound of the
engine which was bearing Mr. Carrollton away.
It did not occur to her that he could not yet have reached the depot,
and as she knew nothing of a change in the time of the trains she was
taken wholly by surprise when, fifteen minutes later, a manly form
bent over her, as she lay upon the bank, and a voice, earnest and
thrilling in tones, murmured softly, "Maggie, are those tears for me?"
When about halfway to the station Mr. Carrollton had heard of the
change of time, and knowing he should not be in season had turned back
with the intention of waiting for the next train, which would pass in
a few hours. Learning that Maggie was in the woods, he had started in
quest of her, going naturally to the mossy bank, where, as we have
seen, he found her weeping on the grass. She was weeping for him--he
was sure of that. He was not indifferent to her, as he had sometimes
feared, and for an instant he felt tempted to take her in his arms and
tell her how dear she was to him.
"I will speak to her first," he thought, and so he asked if the tears
were for him.
Inexpressibly astonished and mortified at having him see her thus,
Maggie started to her feet, while angry words at being thus intruded
upon trembled on her lips. But winding his arm around her, Mr.
Carrollton drew her to his side, explaining to her in a few words how
he came to be there, and continuing: "I do not regret the delay, if by
its means I have discovered what I very much wish to know. Maggie, do
you care for me? Were you weeping because I had left you?"
He drew her very closely to him--looking anxiously into her face,
which she covered with her hands. She knew he was in earnest, and
the knowledge that he loved her thrilled her for an instant with
indescribable happiness. A moment, however, and thoughts of her
engagement with another flashed upon her. "She must not sit there thus
with Arthur Carrollton--she would be true to Henry," and with
mingled feelings of sorrow, regret, and anger--though why she should
experience either she did not then understand--she drew herself from
him; and when he said again: "Will Maggie answer? Are those tears
for me?" she replied petulantly: "No; can't a body cry without being
bothered for a reason? I came down here to be alone!"
"I did not mean to intrude, and I beg your pardon for having done
so," said Mr. Carrollton sadly, adding, as Maggie made no reply: "I
expected a different answer, Maggie. I almost hoped you liked me, and
I believe now that you do."
In Maggie's bosom there was a fierce struggle of feeling. She did like
Arthur Carrollton--and she thought she liked Henry Warner--at all
events she was engaged to him, and half angry at the former for
having disturbed her, and still more angry at herself for being thus
disturbed, she exclaimed, as he again placed his arm around her:
"Leave me alone, Mr. Carrollton. I don't like you. I don't like
anybody!" and gathering up her shawl, which lay upon the grass, she
ran away to Hagar's cabin, hoping he would follow her. But he did not.
It was his first attempt at love-making, and very much disheartened he
walked slowly back to the house; and while Maggie, from Hagar's door,
was looking to see if he were coming, he, from the parlor window, was
watching, too, for her, with a shadow on his brow and a load upon his
heart. Madam Conway knew that something was wrong, but it was in vain
that she sought an explanation. Mr. Carrollton kept his own secret;
and consoling herself with his volunteered assurance that in case
it became necessary for him to return to England he should, before
embarking, visit Hillsdale, she bade him a second adieu.
In the meantime Maggie, having given up all hopes of again seeing
Mr. Carrollton, was waiting impatiently the coming of Hagar, who was
absent, having, as Maggie readily conjectured, gone to Richland. It
was long past noon when she returned, and by that time the stains had
disappeared from Maggie's face, which looked nearly as bright as ever.
Still, it was with far less eagerness than usual that she took
from Hagar's hand the expected letter from Henry. It was a long,
affectionate epistle, urging her once more to accompany him, and
saying if she still refused she must let him know immediately, as they
were intending to start for New York in a few days.
"I can't go," said Maggie; "it would not be right." And going to the
time-worn desk, where, since her secret correspondence, she had kept
materials for writing, she wrote to Henry a letter telling him she
felt badly to disappoint him, but she deemed it much wiser to defer
their marriage until her grandmother felt differently, or at least
until she was at an age to act for herself. This being done, she went
slowly back to the house, which to her seemed desolate indeed. Her
grandmother saw readily that something was the matter, and, rightly
guessing the cause, she forebore questioning her, neither did she once
that day mention Mr. Carrollton, although Anna Jeffrey did, telling
her what he had said about her thinking more of Hagar than of himself,
and giving as her opinion that he was much displeased with Maggie for
her rudeness in running away.
"Nobody cares for his displeasure," answered Maggie, greatly vexed at
Anna, who took especial delight in annoying her.
Thus a week went by, when one evening, as Madam Conway and Maggie sat
together in the parlor, they were surprised by the sudden appearance
of Henry Warner. He had accompanied his aunt and sister to New York,
where they were to remain for a few days, and then impelled by a
strong desire to see Margaret once more he had come with the vain
hope that at the last hour she would consent to fly with him, or her
grandmother consent to give her up. All the afternoon he had been at
Hagar's cottage waiting for Maggie, and at length determining to see
her he had ventured to the house. With a scowling frown Madam Conway
looked at him through her glasses, while Maggie, half joyfully, half
fearfully, went forward to meet him. In a few words he explained why
he was there, and then again asked of Madam Conway if Margaret could
go.
"I do not believe she cares to go," thought Madam Conway, as she
glanced at Maggie's face; but she did not say so, lest she should
awaken within the young girl a feeling of opposition.
She had watched Maggie closely, and felt sure that her affection
for Henry Warner was neither deep nor lasting. Arthur Carrollton's
presence had done much towards weakening it, and a few months more
would suffice to wear it away entirely. Still, from what had passed,
she fancied that opposition alone would only make the matter worse by
rousing Maggie at once. She knew far more of human nature than either
of the young people before her; and after a little reflection she
suggested that Henry should leave Maggie with her for a year, during
which time no communication whatever should pass between them, while
she would promise faithfully not to influence Margaret either way.
"If at the end of the year," said she, "you both retain for each other
the feelings you have now, I will no longer object to the marriage,
but will make the best of it."
At first Henry spurned the proposition, and when he saw that Margaret
thought well of it he reproached her with a want of feeling, saying
she did not love him as she had once done.
"I shall not forget you, Henry," said Maggie, coming to his side and
taking his hand in hers, "neither will you forget me; and when the
year has passed away, only think how much pleasanter it will be for us
to be married here at home, with grandma's blessing on our union!"
"If I only knew you would prove true!" said Henry, who missed
something in Maggie's manner.
"I do mean to prove true," she answered sadly, though at that moment
another face, another form, stood between her and Henry Warner, who,
knowing that Madam Conway would not suffer her to go with him on
any terms, concluded at last to make a virtue of necessity, and
accordingly expressed his willingness to wait, provided Margaret were
allowed to write occasionally either to himself or Rose.
But to this Madam Conway would not consent. She wished the test to
be perfect, she said, and unless he accepted her terms he must give
Maggie up, at once and forever.
As there seemed no alternative, Henry rather ungraciously yielded
the point, promising to leave Maggie free for a year, while she too
promised not to write either to him or to Rose, except with her
grandmother's consent. Maggie Miller's word once passed, Madam Conway
knew it would not be broken, and she unhesitatingly left the young
people together while they said their parting words. A message of love
from Maggie to Rose--a hundred protestations of eternal fidelity, and
then they parted; Henry, sad and disappointed, slowly wending his way
back to the spot where Hagar impatiently awaited his coming, while
Maggie, leaning from her chamber window, and listening to the sound of
his retreating footsteps, brushed away a tear, wondering the while why
it was that she felt so relieved.