Suddenly the noontide stillness was broken by a sound, deafening and
shrill on ordinary occasions, but falling now like music on Madam
Conway's ear, for by that sound she knew that Margaret was near.
Wearily went the half-hour by, and then, from the head of the tower
stairs, Theo cried out, "She is coming!" while the grandmother buried
her face in the pillows of the lounge, and asked to be alone when she
took back to her bosom the child which was not hers.
Earnestly, as if to read the inmost soul, each looked into the other's
eyes--Margaret and Theo--and while the voice of the latter was choked
with tears she wound her arms around the graceful neck, which bent to
the caress, and whispered low, "You are my sister still."
Against the vine-wreathed balustrade a fairy form was leaning, holding
back her breath lest she should break the deep silence of that
meeting. In her bosom there was no pang of fear lest Theo should be
loved the best; and, even had there been, it could not surely have
remained, for stretching out her arm Margaret drew Rose to her side,
and placing her hand in that of Theo said, "You are both my sisters
now," while Arthur Carrollton, bending down, kissed the lips of the
three, saying as he did so, "Thus do I acknowledge your relationship
to me."
"Why don't she come?" the waiting Madam Conway sighed, just as Theo,
pointing to the open door, bade Margaret go in.
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