"Oh, shall I ever find her?" he would sometimes say, as in the dim
twilight he lay listening to the noisy hum which came up from the
public room below.
And once, as he lay there thus, he dreamed, and in his dreams there
came through the open window a clear, silvery voice, breathing the
loved name of Maggie. Again he heard it on the stairs, then little
tripping feet went past his door, followed by a slow, languid tread,
and with a nervous start the sick man awoke. The day had been cloudy
and dark, but the rain was over now, and the room was full of
sunshine--sunshine dancing on the walls, sunshine glimmering on the
floor, sunshine everywhere. Insensibly, too, there stole over Mr.
Carrollton's senses a feeling of quiet, of rest, and he slept ere long
again, dreaming this time that Margaret was there.
Yes, Margaret was there--there, beneath the same roof which sheltered
him and the same sunshine which filled his room with light had bathed
her white brow, as, leaning from her window, she listened to the roar
of the falling water. They had lingered on their way, stopping at the
Thousand Isles, for Margaret would have it so; but they had come at
last, and the tripping footsteps in the 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.
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