one 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. Ca