on that summer morning, living over again the past, which to her
had been so bright, and musing sadly on the future, which would bring
her she knew not what.

She had struggled to overcome her pride, nor deemed it now a disgrace
that she was not a Conway. Of Hagar, too, she often thought, pitying
the poor old half-crazed woman who for her sake had borne so much. But
not of her was she thinking now. Hagar was shriveled and bent and old,
while the image present in Margaret's mind was handsome, erect, and
young, like the gentleman riding by--the man whose carriage wheels,
grinding into the gravelly road, attracted no attention. Too intent
was she upon a shadow to heed aught else around, and she leaned
against a tree, nor turned her head aside, as Arthur Carrollton went
by!

A little further on, and out of Maggie's sight, a fairy figure was
seated upon the grass; the hat was thrown aside, and her curls fell
back from her upturned face as she spoke to Henry Warner. But the
sentence was unfinished, for the carriage appeared in view, and
with woman's quick perception Rose exclaims, "'Tis surely Arthur
Carrollton!"

Starting to her feet, she sprang involuntarily forward to meet him,
casting a rapid glance around for Margaret. He observed the
movement, and knew that somewhere in the world he had seen that face
before--those golden curls--those deep blue eyes--that childish
form--they were not wholly unfamiliar. Who was she, and why did she
advance towards him?

"Rose," said Henry, who would call her back, "Rose!" and looking
towards the speaker Mr. Carrollton knew at once that Henry Warner and
his bride were standing there before him.

In a moment he had joined them, and though he knew that Henry Warner
had once loved Maggie Miller he spoke of her without reserve, saying
to Rose, when she asked if he were there for pleasure: "I am looking
for Maggie Miller. A strange discovery has been made of late, and
Margaret has left us."

"She is here--here with us!" cried Rose; and in the exuberance of
her joy she was darting away, when Henry held her back until further
explanations were made.

This did not occupy them long, for sitting down again upon the bank
Rose briefly told him all she knew; and when with eager joy he asked
"Where is she now?" she pointed towards the spot, and then with Henry
walked away, for she knew that it was not for her to witness that glad
meeting.

The river rolls on with its heaving swell, and the