n, when, with a loud voice, she cried, "Let
me die, oh, let me die, and it will never be known!" Then, as she
reflected upon the terrible consequence which would ensue were she to
die and make no sign, she wrung her hands despairingly, crying: "Life,
life--yes, give me life to tell her of my guilt; and then it will be
a blessed rest to die. Oh, Margaret, my precious child, I'd give my
heart's blood, drop by drop, to save you; but it can't be; you must
not wed your father's son; oh, Maggie, Maggie, Maggie!"

Fainter and fainter grew each succeeding word, and when the last was
spoken she fell again upon her face, unconscious and forgetful of her
woe. Higher and higher in the heavens rose the morning sun, stealing
across the window sill, and shining aslant the floor, where Hagar
still lay in a deep, deathlike swoon. An hour passed on, and then the
wretched woman came slowly back to life, her eyes lighting up with
joy, as she whispered, "It was a dream, thank Heaven, 'twas a dream!"
and then growing dim with tears, as the dread reality came over her.
The first fearful burst of grief was passed, for Hagar now could weep,
and tears did her good, quelling the feverish agony at her heart. Not
for herself did she suffer so much as for Maggie, trembling for the
effect the telling of the secret would have on her. For it must be
told. She knew that full well, and as the sun fast neared the western
horizon, she murmured, "Oh, will she come to-night, will she come
to-night?"

Yes, Hagar, she will. Even now her feet, which, when they backward
turn, will tread less joyously, are threading the woodland path. The
halfway rock is reached--nearer and nearer she comes--her shadow
falls across the floor--her hand is on your arm--her voice in your
ear--Maggie Miller is at your side--Heaven help you both!

CHAPTER XIX.

THE TELLING OF THE SECRET.

"Hagar! Hagar!" exclaimed Maggie, playfully bounding to her side, and
laying her hand upon her arm. "What aileth thee, Hagar?"

The words were meet, for never Hagar in the desert, thirsting for the
gushing fountain, suffered more than did she who sat with covered face
and made no word of answer. Maggie was unusually happy that day, for
but a few hours before she had received Henry's letter making her
free--free to love Arthur Carrollton, who she well knew only waited a
favorable opportunity to tell her of his love; so with a heart full of
happiness she had stolen away to visit Hagar, r