s
eyes sought the face of Maggie, who, in her joyful surprise, dropped
the knife with which she was helping herself to butter; while Anna
Jeffrey, quite as much astonished, upset her coffee, exclaiming: "Not
going home! What has changed your mind?"

Mr. Carrollton made her no direct reply, and she continued her
breakfast in no very amiable mood; while Maggie, too much overjoyed
to eat, managed ere long to find an excuse for leaving the table. Mr.
Carrollton wished to do everything honorably, and so he decided to say
nothing to Maggie of the cause of this sudden change in his plan until
Henry Warner's answer was received, as she would then feel freer to
act as she felt. His resolution, however, was more easily made than
kept, and during the succeeding weeks, by actions, if not by words,
he more than once told Maggie Miller how much she was beloved; and
Maggie, trembling with fear lest the cup of happiness just within her
grasp should be rudely dashed aside, waited impatiently for the letter
which was to set her free. But weeks went by, and Maggie's heart grew
sick with hope deferred, for there came to her no message from the
distant Cuban shore, which in another chapter we shall visit.

CHAPTER XVII.

BROTHER AND SISTER.

Brightly shone the moonlight on the sunny isle of Cuba, dancing
lightly on the wave, resting softly on the orange groves, and stealing
gently through the casement, into the room where a young girl
lay, whiter far than the flowers strewn upon her pillow. From the
commencement of the voyage Rose had drooped, growing weaker every day,
until at last all who looked upon her felt that the home of which she
talked so much would never again be gladdened by her presence. Very
tenderly Henry Warner nursed her, bearing her often in his arms up on
the vessel's deck, where she could breathe the fresh morning air as it
came rippling o'er the sea. But neither the ocean breeze, nor yet the
fragrant breath of Florida's aromatic bowers, where for a time they
stopped, had power to rouse her; and when at last Havana was reached
she laid her weary head upon her pillow, whispering to no one of the
love which was wearing her life away. With untold anguish at their
hearts, both her aunt and Henry watched her, the latter shrinking ever
from the thought of losing one who seemed a part of his very life.

"I cannot give you up, my Rose. I cannot live without you," he said,
when once she talked to him of death. "You a