Part 23 (1/2)

Still the suggestion haunted him, and on the Monday following Henry Warner's first visit to Worcester, he, too, went down to talk with Mr.

Douglas, asking him if it were possible that Maggie was in Leominster.

”I know she is not,” said George, repeating the particulars of his interview with Henry, who, he said, was at the store on Sat.u.r.day.

”Once I thought of telling him all,” said he, ”and then, considering the relation which formerly existed between them, I concluded to keep silent, especially as he manifested no desire to speak of her, but appeared, I fancied, quite uneasy when I casually mentioned Hillsdale.”

Thus was that matter decided, and while not many miles away Maggie was watching hopelessly for the coming of Arthur Carrollton, he, with George Douglas, was devising the best means for finding her, George generously offering to a.s.sist in the search, and suggesting finally that he should himself go to New York City, while Mr. Carrollton explored Boston and its vicinity. It seemed quite probable that Margaret would seek some of the large cities, as in her letter she had said she could earn her livelihood by teaching music; and quite hopeful of success, the young men parted, Mr. Carrollton going immediately to Boston, while Mr. Douglas, after a day or two, started for New York, whither, as the reader will remember, he had gone at the time of Henry's last visit to Worcester.

Here for a time we leave them, Hagar raving mad, Madam Conway in strong hysterics, Theo wis.h.i.+ng herself anywhere but at Hillsdale, Mrs.

Jeffrey ditto, George Douglas threading the crowded streets of the noisy city, and Mr. Carrollton in Boston, growing paler and sadder as day after day pa.s.sed by, bringing him no trace of the lost one. Here, I say, we leave them, while in another chapter we follow the footsteps of her for whom this search was made.

CHAPTER XXIII.

NIAGARA.

From the seaside to the mountains, from the mountains to Saratoga, from Saratoga to Montreal, from Montreal to the Thousand Isles, and thence they scarce knew where, the travelers wended their way, stopping not long at any place, for Margaret was ever seeking change.

Greatly had she been admired, her pale, beautiful face attracting attention at once; but from all flattery she turned away, saying to Henry and Rose, ”Let us go on.”

So onward still they went, pausing longest at Montreal, for it was there Arthur Carrollton had been, there a part of his possessions lay, and there Margaret willingly lingered, even after her companions wished to be gone.

”He may be here again,” she said; and so she waited and watched, scanning eagerly the pa.s.sers-by, and noticing each new face as it appeared at the table of the hotel where they were staying. But the one she waited for never came. ”And even if he does,” she thought, ”he will not come for me.”

So she signified her willingness to depart, and early one bright July morning she left, while the singing birds from the treetops, the summer air from the Canada hills, and, more than all, a warning voice within her, bade her ”Tarry yet a little, stay till the sun was set,” for far out in the country, and many miles away, a train was thundering on. It would reach the city at nightfall, and among its jaded pa.s.sengers was a worn and weary man. Hopeless, almost aimless now, he would come, and why he came he scarcely knew. ”She would not be there, so far from home,” he felt sure, but he was coming for the sake of what he hoped and feared when last he trod those streets.

Listlessly he entered the same hotel from whose windows, for five long days, a fair young face had looked for him. Listlessly he registered his name, then carelessly turned the leaves backward--backward--backward still, till only one remained between his hand and the page bearing date five days before. He paused and was about to move away, when a sudden breeze from the open window turned the remaining leaf, and his eye caught the name, not of Maggie Miller, but of ”Henry Warner, lady, and sister.”

Thus it stood, and thus he repeated it to himself, dwelling upon the last word ”sister,” as if to him it had another meaning. He had heard from Madam Conway that neither Henry Warner nor Rose had a sister, but she might be mistaken; probably she was; and dismissing the subject from his mind, he walked away. Still the names haunted him, and thinking at last that if Mr. Warner were now in Montreal he would like to see him, he returned to the office, asking the clerk if the occupants of Nos. ---- were there still.

”Left this morning for the Falls,” was the laconic answer; and, without knowing why he should particularly wish to do so, Mr.

Carrollton resolved to follow them.

He would as soon be at the Falls as in Montreal, he thought.

Accordingly he left the next morning for Niagara, taking the shortest route by river and lake, and arriving there on the evening of the second day after his departure from the city. But nowhere could a trace be found of Henry Warner, and determining now to wait until he came Mr. Carrollton took rooms at the International, where after a day or two, worn out with travel, excitement, and hope deferred, he became severely indisposed, and took his bed, forgetting entirely both Henry Warner and the sister, whose name he had seen upon the hotel register.

Thoughts of Maggie Miller, however, were constantly in his mind, and whether waking or asleep he saw always her face, sometimes radiant with healthful beauty, as when he first beheld her, and again, pale, troubled, and sad, as when he saw her last.

”Oh, shall I ever find her?” he would sometimes say, as in the dim twilight he lay listening to the noisy hum which came up from the public room below.

And once, as he lay there thus, he dreamed, and in his dreams there came through the open window a clear, silvery voice, breathing the loved name of Maggie. Again he heard it on the stairs, then little tripping feet went past his door, followed by a slow, languid tread, and with a nervous start the sick man awoke. The day had been cloudy and dark, but the rain was over now, and the room was full of suns.h.i.+ne--suns.h.i.+ne dancing on the walls, suns.h.i.+ne glimmering on the floor, suns.h.i.+ne everywhere. Insensibly, too, there stole over Mr.

Carrollton's senses a feeling of quiet, of rest, and he slept ere long again, dreaming this time that Margaret was there.

Yes, Margaret was there--there, beneath the same roof which sheltered him and the same suns.h.i.+ne which filled his room with light had bathed her white brow, as, leaning from her window, she listened to the roar of the falling water. They had lingered on their way, stopping at the Thousand Isles, for Margaret would have it so; but they had come at last, and the tripping footsteps in the hall, the silvery voice upon the stairs, was that of the golden-haired Rose, who watched over Margaret with all a sister's love and a mother's care. The frequent jokes of the fun-loving Henry, too, were not without their good effect, and Margaret was better now than she had been for many weeks.