mind, he walked away. Still the names haunted him, and
thinking at last that if Mr. Warner were now in Montreal he would
like to see him, he returned to the office, asking the clerk if the
occupants of Nos. ---- were there still.

"Left this morning for the Falls," was the laconic answer; and,
without knowing why he should particularly wish to do so, Mr.
Carrollton resolved to follow them.

He would as soon be at the Falls as in Montreal, he thought.
Accordingly he left the next morning for Niagara, taking the shortest
route by river and lake, and arriving there on the evening of the
second day after his departure from the city. But nowhere could a
trace be found of Henry Warner, and determining now to wait until he
came Mr. Carrollton took rooms at the International, where after a day
or two, worn out with travel, excitement, and hope deferred, he became
severely indisposed, and took his bed, forgetting entirely both Henry
Warner and the sister, whose name he had seen upon the hotel register.
Thoughts of Maggie Miller, however, were constantly in his mind, and
whether waking or asleep he saw always her face, sometimes radiant
with healthful beauty, as when he first beheld her, and again, pale,
troubled, and sad, as when he saw her last.

"Oh, shall I ever find her?" he would sometimes say, as in the dim
twilight he lay listening to the noisy hum which came up from the
public room below.

And once, as he lay there thus, he dreamed, and in his dreams there
came through the open window a clear, silvery voice, breathing the
loved name of Maggie. Again he heard it on the stairs, then little
tripping feet went past his door, followed by a slow, languid tread,
and with a nervous start the sick man awoke. The day had been cloudy
and dark, but the rain was over now, and the room was full of
sunshine--sunshine dancing on the walls, sunshine glimmering on the
floor, sunshine everywhere. Insensibly, too, there stole over Mr.
Carrollton's senses a feeling of quiet, of rest, and he slept ere long
again, dreaming this time that Margaret was there.

Yes, Margaret was there--there, beneath the same roof which sheltered
him and the same sunshine which filled his room with light had bathed
her white brow, as, leaning from her window, she listened to the roar
of the falling water. They had lingered on their way, stopping at the
Thousand Isles, for Margaret would have it so; but they had come at
last, and the tripping footsteps in t