to think otherwise," she
sighed; and, turning sadly from the window where all the afternoon she
had been sitting, she laid her head wearily upon the lap of Rose.

"Maggie," said Henry, "I am going to Worcester to-morrow, and perhaps
George can tell me something of Mr. Carrollton."

For a moment Maggie's heart throbbed with delight at the thought of
hearing from him, even though she heard that he would leave her. But
anon her pride rose strong within her. She had told Hagar twice of
her destination, Hagar had told him, and if he chose he would have
followed her ere this; so somewhat bitterly she said: "Don't speak to
George of me. Don't tell him I am here. Promise me, will you?"

The promise was given, and the next morning, which was Saturday, Henry
started for Worcester on the early train. The day seemed long to
Maggie, and when at nightfall he came to them again it was difficult
to tell which was the more pleased at his return, Margaret or Rose.

"Did you see Theo?" asked the former; and Henry replied: "George told
me she had gone to Hillsdale. Madam Conway is very sick."

"For me! for me! She's sick with mourning for me!" cried Maggie.
"Darling grandma! she does love me still, and I will go home to her at
once."

Then the painful thought rushed over her: "If she wished for me, she
would send. It's the humiliation, not the love, that makes her sick.
They have cast me off--grandma, Theo, all, all!" and, sinking upon the
lounge, she wept aloud.

"Margaret," said Henry, coming to her side, "but for my promise
I should have talked to George of you, for there was a troubled
expression on his face when he asked me if I had heard from
Hillsdale."

"What did you say?" asked Maggie, holding her breath to catch the
answer, which was, "I told him you had not written to me since my
return from Cuba, and then he looked as if he would say more, but a
customer called him away, and our conversation was not resumed."

For a moment Maggie was silent. Then she said: "I am glad you did not
intrude me upon him. If Theo has gone to Hillsdale, she knows that
I am here, and does not care to follow me. It is the disgrace that
troubles them, not the losing me!" and again burying her head in the
cushions of the lounge, she wept bitterly. It was useless for Henry
and Rose to try to comfort her, telling her it was possible that Hagar
had told nothing. "And if so," said Henry, "you well know that I am
the last one to whom you would be e