"I can make amends for it, though," thought Rose, returning with
Maggie to the parlor. Then, seeking out her husband, she held with him
a whispered consultation, the result of which was that on the morrow
there was a rummaging in the garret, an absence from home for an
hour or two, and when about noon she returned there was a pleased
expression on her face, as if she had accomplished her purpose,
whatever it might have been.
All that morning Maggie had been restless and uneasy, wandering
listlessly from room to room, looking anxiously down the street,
starting nervously at the sound of every footstep, while her cheeks
alternately flushed and then grew pale as the day passed on. Dinner
being over she sat alone in the parlor, her eyes fixed upon the
carpet, and her thoughts away with one who she vaguely hoped would
have followed her ere this. True, she had added no postscript to tell
him of her new discovery; but Hagar knew, and he would go to her for a
confirmation of the letter. She would tell him where Maggie was
gone, and he, if his love could survive that shock, would follow her
thither; nay, would be there that very day, and Maggie's heart grew
wearier, fainter, as time wore on and he did not come. "I might have
known it," she whispered sadly. "I knew that he would nevermore think
of me," and she wept silently over her ruined love.
"Maggie, sister," came to her ear, and Rose was at her side.
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