But she listened in vain. With lightning rapidity Arthur Carrollton
read what Maggie had written--read that she, his idol, the chosen
bride of his bosom, was the daughter of a servant, the grandchild of
old Hagar! And for this she had fled from his presence, fled because
she knew of the mighty pride which now, in the first bitter moment
of his agony, did indeed rise up, a barrier between himself and the
beautiful girl he loved so well. Had she lain dead before him, dead
in all her youthful beauty, he could have folded her in his arms, and
then buried her from his sight, with a feeling of perfect happiness
compared to that which he now felt.
"Oh, Maggie, my lost one, can it be!" he whispered to himself, and
pressing his hand upon his chest, which heaved with strong emotion, he
staggered to a seat, while the perspiration stood in beaded drops upon
his forehead and around his lips.
"What is it, Mr. Carrollton? 'Tis something dreadful, sure," said Mrs.
Jeffrey, appearing in the door, but Madam Conway motioned her away,
and, tottering to his side, said, "Read it to me--read."
The Sound of her voice recalled his wandering mind, and covering his
face with his hands he moaned in anguish; then, growing suddenly calm,
he snatched up the letter, which had fallen to the floor, and read it
aloud; while Madam Conway, stupefied with horror, sank at his feet,
and clasping her hands above her head, rocked to and fro, but made no
word of comment.
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