he hall, the silvery voice upon
the stairs, was that of the golden-haired Rose, who watched over
Margaret with all a sister's love and a mother's care. The frequent
jokes of the fun-loving Henry, too, were not without their good
effect, and Margaret was better now than she had been for many weeks.

"I can rest here," she said, and a faint color came to her cheeks,
making her look more like herself than at any time since that terrible
night of sorrow in the woods.

And so three days went by, and Mr. Carrollton, on his weary bed,
dreamed not that the slender form which sometimes, through his
half-closed door, cast a shadow in his room, was that of her for whom
he sought. The tripping footsteps, too, went often by, and a merry,
childish voice, which reminded him of Maggie, rang through the
spacious halls, until at last the sick man came to listen for that
party as they passed. They were a merry party, he thought, a very
merry party; and he pictured to himself her of the ringing voice; she
was dark-eyed, he said, with braids of shining hair, and when, as they
were passing once, he asked of his attendant if it were not as he had
fancied, he felt a pang of disappointment at the answer, which was,
"The girl the young gentleman hears so much has yellow curls and dark
blue eyes."

"She is not like Maggie, then," he sighed, and when again he heard
that voice a part of its music was gone. Still, it cheered his
solitude, and he listened for it again, just as he had done before.

Once, when he knew they were going out, he went to the window to see
them, but the large straw hats and close carriage revealed no secret,
and disappointed he turned away.

"It is useless to stay here longer," he said; "I must be about my
work. I am able to leave, and I will go to-morrow. But first I will
visit the Falls once more. I may never see them again."

Accordingly, next morning, after Margaret and Rose had left the house,
he came down the stairs, sprang into an open carriage, and was driven
to Goat Island, which, until his illness, had been his favorite
resort.

* * * * *

Beneath the tall forest trees which grow upon the island there is
a rustic seat. Just on the brink of the river it stands, and the
carriage road winds by. It is a comparatively retired spot, looking
out upon the foaming water rushing so madly on. Here the weary often
rest; here lovers sometimes come to be alone; and here Maggie Miller
sat