eproaching herself as
she came for having neglected her so long. "But I'll make amends by
telling her what I'm sure she must have guessed," she thought, as she
entered the cottage, where, to her surprise, she found her weeping.
Thinking the old woman's distress might possibly be occasioned by her
neglect, she spoke again. "Are you crying for me, Hagar?"

"Yes, Maggie Miller, for you--for you!" answered Hagar, lifting up a
face so ghastly white that Maggie started back in some alarm.

"Poor Hagar, you are ill," she said, and advancing nearer she wound
her arms around the trembling form, and, pillowing the snowy head upon
her bosom, continued soothingly: "I did not mean to stay away long. I
will not do it again, but I am so happy, Hagar, so happy that I half
forgot myself."

For a moment Hagar let her head repose upon the bosom of her child,
then murmuring softly, "It will never lie there again," she arose,
and, confronting Maggie, said, "Is it love which makes you so happy?"

"Yes, Hagar, love," answered Margaret, the deep blushes stealing over
her glowing face.

"And is it your intention to marry the man you love?" continued Hagar,
thinking only of Henry Warner, while Margaret, thinking only of Arthur
Carrollton, replied, "If he will marry me, I shall most surely marry
him."

"It is enough. I must tell her," whispered Hagar; while Maggie asked,
"Tell me what?"

For a moment the wild eyes fastened themselves upon her with a look
of yearning anguish, and then Hagar answered slowly, "Tell you what
you've often wished to know--my secret!" the last word dropping from
her lips more like a warning hiss than like a human sound. It was long
since Maggie had teased for the secret, so absorbed had she been in
other matters, but now that there was a prospect of knowing it
her curiosity was reawakened, and while her eyes glistened with
expectation, she said, "Yes, tell it to me, Hagar, and then I'll tell
you mine;" and all over her beautiful face there shone a joyous
light as she thought how Hagar, who had once pronounced Henry Warner
unworthy, would rejoice in her new love.

"Not here, Maggie--not here in this room can I tell you," said old
Hagar; "but out in the open air, where my breath will come more
freely;" and, leading the way, she hobbled to the mossy bank where
Maggie had sat with Arthur Carrollton on the morning of his departure
for Montreal.

Here she sat down, while Maggie threw herself upon the damp ground a