s intended to hate him, and I
almost know I do; I'm only feeling badly because I won't run away, and
Henry and Rose will go without me so soon!" And fully satisfied at
having discovered the real cause of her grief, she laid her head upon
the bright autumn grass and wept bitterly, holding her breath, and
listening intently as she heard in the distance the sound of the
engine which was bearing Mr. Carrollton away.

It did not occur to her that he could not yet have reached the depot,
and as she knew nothing of a change in the time of the trains she was
taken wholly by surprise when, fifteen minutes later, a manly form
bent over her, as she lay upon the bank, and a voice, earnest and
thrilling in tones, murmured softly, "Maggie, are those tears for me?"

When about halfway to the station Mr. Carrollton had heard of the
change of time, and knowing he should not be in season had turned back
with the intention of waiting for the next train, which would pass in
a few hours. Learning that Maggie was in the woods, he had started in
quest of her, going naturally to the mossy bank, where, as we have
seen, he found her weeping on the grass. She was weeping for him--he
was sure of that. He was not indifferent to her, as he had sometimes
feared, and for an instant he felt tempted to take her in his arms and
tell her how dear she was to him.

"I will speak to her first," he thought, and so he asked if the tears
were for him.

Inexpressibly astonished and mortified at having him see her thus,
Maggie started to her feet, while angry words at being thus intruded
upon trembled on her lips. But winding his arm around her, Mr.
Carrollton drew her to his side, explaining to her in a few words how
he came to be there, and continuing: "I do not regret the delay, if by
its means I have discovered what I very much wish to know. Maggie, do
you care for me? Were you weeping because I had left you?"

He drew her very closely to him--looking anxiously into her face,
which she covered with her hands. She knew he was in earnest, and
the knowledge that he loved her thrilled her for an instant with
indescribable happiness. A moment, however, and thoughts of her
engagement with another flashed upon her. "She must not sit there thus
with Arthur Carrollton--she would be true to Henry," and with
mingled feelings of sorrow, regret, and anger--though why she should
experience either she did not then understand--she drew herself from
him; and when he sai