Part 6 (1/2)

Accordingly, on the last day of June he started for Hillsdale, where he intended to remain until after the Fourth. To find the old house was an easy matter, for almost everyone in town was familiar with its locality, and towards the close of the afternoon he found himself upon its broad steps applying vigorous strokes to the ponderous bra.s.s knocker, and half hoping the summons would be answered by Maggie herself. But it was not, and in the bent, white-haired woman who came with measured footsteps we recognize old Hagar, who spent much of her time at the house, and who came to the door in compliance with the request of the young ladies, both of whom, from an upper window, were curiously watching the stranger.

”Just the old witch one would expect to find in this out-of-the-way place,” thought Mr. Douglas, while at the same time he asked if that were Madam Conway's residence, and if a young man by the name of Warner were staying there.

”Another city beau!” muttered Hagar, as she answered in the affirmative, and ushered him into the parlor. ”Another city beau--there'll be high carryings-on now, if he's anything like the other one, who's come mighty nigh turning the house upside down.”

”What did you say?” asked George Douglas, catching the sound of her muttering, and thinking she was addressing himself.

”I wasn't speaking to you. I was talking to a likelier person,”

answered old Hagar in an undertone, as she shuffled away in quest of Henry Warner, who by this time was able to walk with the help of a cane.

The meeting between the young men was a joyful one, for though George Douglas was a little sore on the subject of Rose, he would not suffer a matter like that to come between him and Henry Warner, whom he had known and liked from boyhood. Henry's first inquiries were naturally of a business character, and then George Douglas spoke of the young ladies, saying he was only anxious to see Maggie, for he knew of course he should dislike the other.

Such, however, is wayward human nature that the fair, pale face, and quiet, dignified manner of Theo Miller had greater attractions for a person of George Douglas' peculiar temperament than had the das.h.i.+ng, brilliant Maggie. There was a resemblance, he imagined, between Theo and Rose, and this of itself was sufficient to attract him towards her. Theo, too, was equally pleased; and when, that evening, Madam Jeffrey faintly interposed her fast-departing authority, telling her quondam pupils it was time they were asleep, Theo did not, as usual, heed the warning, but sat very still beneath the vine-wreathed portico, listening while George Douglas told her of the world which she had never seen. She was not proud towards him, for he possessed the charm of money, and as he looked down upon her, conversing with him so familiarly, he wondered how Henry could have called her cold and haughty--she was merely dignified, high-bred, he thought; and George Douglas liked anything which savored of aristocracy.

Meanwhile Henry and Maggie had wandered to a little summer-house, where, with the bright moonlight falling upon them, they sat together, but not exactly as of old, for Maggie did not now look up into his face as she was wont to do, and if she thought his eye was resting upon her she moved uneasily, while the rich blood deepened on her cheek. A change has come over Maggie Miller; it is the old story, too--old to hundreds of thousands, but new to her, the blus.h.i.+ng maiden. Theo calls her nervous--Mrs. Jeffrey calls her sick--the servants call her mighty queer--while old Hagar, hovering ever near, and watching her with a jealous eye, knows she is in love.

Faithfully and well had Hagar studied Henry Warner, to see if there were aught in him of evil; and though he was not what she would have chosen for the queenly Maggie she was satisfied if Margaret loved him and he loved Margaret. But did he? He had never told her so; and in Hagar Warren's wild black eyes there was a savage gleam, as she thought, ”He'll rue the day that he dares trifle with Maggie Miller.”

But Henry Warner was not trifling with her. He was only waiting a favorable opportunity for telling her the story of his love; and now, as they sit together in the moonlight, with the musical flow of the mill-stream falling on his ear, he essays to speak--to tell how she has grown into his heart; to ask her to go with him where he goes; to make his home her home, and so be with him always; but ere the first word was uttered Maggie asked if Mr. Douglas had brought the picture of his sister.

”Why, yes,” he answered; ”I had forgotten it entirely. Here it is;”

and taking it from his pocket he pa.s.sed it to her.

It was a face of almost ethereal loveliness that through the moonlight looked up to Maggie Miller, and again she experienced the same undefinable emotion, a mysterious, invisible something drawing her towards the original of the beautiful likeness.

”It is strange how thoughts of Rose always affect me,” she said, gazing earnestly upon the large eyes of blue shadowed forth upon the picture. ”It seems as though she must be nearer to me than an unknown friend.”

”Seems she like a sister?” asked Henry Warner, coming so near that Maggie felt his warm breath upon her cheek.

”Yes, yes, that's it,” she answered, with something of her olden frankness. ”And had I somewhere in the world an unknown sister I should say it was Rose Warner!”

There were a few low, whispered words, and when the full moon, which for a time had hidden itself behind the clouds, again shone forth in all its glory, Henry had asked Maggie Miller to be the sister of Rose Warner, and Maggie had answered ”Yes”!

That night in Maggie's dreams there was a strange commingling of thoughts. Thoughts of Henry Warner, as he told her of his love--thoughts of the gentle girl whose eyes of blue had looked so lovingly up to her, as if between them there was indeed a common bond of sympathy--and, stranger far than all, thoughts of the little grave beneath the pine where slept the so-called child of Hester Hamilton--the child defrauded of its birthright, and who, in the misty vagaries of dreamland, seemed to stand between her and the beautiful Rose Warner!

CHAPTER VIII.

STARS AND STRIPES.

On the rude bench by her cabin door sat Hagar Warren, her black eyes peering out into the woods and her quick ear turned to catch the first sound of bounding footsteps, which came at last, and Maggie Miller was sitting by her side.

”What is it, darling?” Hagar asked, and her shriveled hand smoothed caressingly the silken hair, as she looked into the glowing face of the young girl, and half guessed what was written there.

To Theo Maggie had whispered the words, ”I am engaged,” and Theo had coldly answered: ”Pshaw! Grandma will quickly break that up. Why, Henry Warner is comparatively poor! Mr. Douglas told me so, or rather I quizzed him until I found it out. He says, though, that Henry has rare business talents, and he could not do without him.”

To the latter part of Theo's remark Maggie paid little heed; but the mention of her grandmother troubled her. She would oppose it, Maggie was sure of that, and it was to talk on this very subject that she had come to Hagar's cottage.

”Just the way I s'posed it would end,” said Hagar, when Maggie, with blus.h.i.+ng, half-averted face, told the story of her engagement. ”Just the way I s'posed 'twould end, but I didn't think 'twould be so quick.”