t as you used to do when I was
Maggie Miller."

Towards Arthur Carrollton she from the first manifested fear,
shuddering whenever he approached her, and still exhibiting signs of
uneasiness if he left her sight. "He hates me," she said, "hates me
for what I could not help;" and when, as he often did, he came to her
bedside, speaking words of love, she would answer mournfully: "Don't,
Mr. Carrollton; your pride is stronger than your love. You will hate
me when you know all."

Thus two weeks went by, and then with the first May day reason
returned again, bringing life and strength to the invalid, and joy to
those who had so anxiously watched over her. Almost her first rational
question was for Hagar, asking if she had been there.

"She is confined to her bed with inflammatory rheumatism," answered
Madam Conway; "but she inquires for you every day, they say; and once
when told you could not live she started to crawl on her hands and
knees to see you, but fainted near the gate, and was carried back."

"Poor old woman!" murmured Maggie, the tears rolling down her cheeks,
as she thought how strong must be the love that half-crazed creature
bore her, and how little it was returned, for every feeling of her
nature revolted from claiming a near relationship with one whom she
had hitherto regarded as a servant. The secret, too, seemed harder to
divulge, and day by day she put it off, saying to them when they asked
what had so much affected her that she could not tell them yet--she
must wait till she was stronger.

So Theo went back to Worcester as mystified as ever, and Maggie was
left much alone with Arthur Carrollton, who strove in various ways to
win her from the melancholy into which she had fallen. All day long
she would sit by the open window, seemingly immovable, her large eyes,
now intensely black, fixed upon vacancy, and her white face giving no
sign of the fierce struggle within, save when Madam Conway, coming to
her side, would lay her hand caressingly on her in token of sympathy.
Then, indeed, her lips would quiver, and turning her head away, she
would say, "Don't touch me--don't!"

To Arthur Carrollton she would listen with apparent composure, though
often as he talked her long, tapering nails left their impress in her
flesh, so hard she strove to seem indifferent. Once when they were
left together alone he drew her to his side, and bending very low,
so that his lips almost touched her marble cheek, he told he