Part 15 (2/2)

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 hus.h.!.+ 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 blus.h.i.+ng 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 das.h.i.+ng 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 s.h.i.+ning, 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 l.u.s.trous 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 circ.u.mstances, 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 wis.h.i.+ng 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 un.o.bserved, 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.

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