ething nearer;" and, slowly rising up, George Douglas retired to
dream of a calm, almost heavenly face which but the day before had
been bathed in tears as he told to Rose Warner the story of his love.
Mingled, too, with that dream was another face, a laughing, sparkling,
merry face, upon which no man ever yet had looked and escaped with a
whole heart.

The morning light dispelled the dream, and when in the store old
Safford inquired, "What news from the boy?" the senior partner
answered gravely that he was lying among the Hillsdale hills, with a
broken leg caused by a fall from his horse.

"Always was a careless rider," muttered old Safford, mentally
deploring the increased amount of labor which would necessarily fall
upon him, but which he performed without a word of complaint.

The fair May blossoms were faded, and the last June roses were
blooming ere George Douglas found time or inclination to accept the
invitation indirectly extended to him by Theo Miller. Rose Warner's
refusal had affected him more than he chose to confess, and the wound
must be slightly healed ere he could find pleasure in the sight of
another. Possessed of many excellent qualities, he had unfortunately
fallen into the error of thinking that almost anyone whom he should
select would take him for his money. And when Rose Warner, sitting by
his side in the shadowy twilight, had said, "I cannot be your wife,"
the shock was sudden and hard to bear. But the first keen bitterness
was over now, and remembering "the wild girls of the woods," as he
mentally styled both Theo and Maggie, he determined at last to see
them for himself.

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 brass
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 sa