She was in Worcester now,
and her health was very delicate. "Sometimes," she wrote, "I fear
I shall never see you, Maggie Miller--shall never look into your
beautiful face, or listen to your voice; but whether in heaven or on
earth I am first to meet with you, my heart claims you as a sister,
the one whom of all the sisters in the world I would rather call my
own."
"Darling Rose!" murmured Maggie, pressing the delicately traced lines
to her lips, "how near she seems to me! nearer almost than Theo;" and
then involuntarily her thoughts went backward to the night when Henry
Warner first told her of his love, and when in her dreams there had
been a strange blending together of herself, of Rose, and the little
grave beneath the pine!
But not yet was that veil of mystery to be lifted. Hagar's secret must
be kept a little longer; and, unsuspicious of the truth, Maggie Miller
must dream on of sweet Rose Warner, whom she hopes one day to call her
sister!
There was also a message from Henry, and this George Douglas delivered
in secret, for he did not care to displease his grandmother-elect, who
viewing him through a golden setting, thought he was not to be equaled
by anyone in America. "So gentlemanly," she said, "and so modest too,"
basing her last conclusion upon his evident unwillingness to say
very much of himself or his family. Concerning the latter she had
questioned him in vain, eliciting nothing save the fact that they
lived in the country several miles from Worcester, and that his father
always stayed at home, and consequently his mother went but little
into society.
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