And Margaret's position was a trying one, for though Hagar had
been her grandmother she had never regarded her as such, and she could
not now affect a grief she did not feel. Still, from her earliest
childhood she had loved the strange old woman, and she mourned for
her now, as friend mourneth for friend, when there is no tie of blood
between them.
Her promise, too, was kept, and with her own hands she smoothed the
snow-white hair, tied on the muslin cap, folded the stiffened arms,
and then, unmindful who was looking on, kissed twice the placid face,
which seemed to smile on her in death.
* * * * *
By the side of Hester Hamilton they made another grave, and, with
Arthur Carrollton and Rose standing at either side, Margaret looked on
while the weary and worn was laid to rest; then slowly retraced her
steps, walking now with Madam Conway, for Arthur Carrollton and Rose
had lingered at the grave, talking together of a plan which had
presented itself to the minds of both as they stood by the humble
stone which told where Margaret's mother slept. To Margaret, however,
they said not a word, nor yet to Madam Conway, though they both united
in urging the two ladies to accompany Theo to Worcester for a few
days.
"Mrs. Warner will help me keep house," Mr. Carrollton said, advancing
the while so many good reasons why Margaret at least should go, that
she finally consented, and went down to Worcester, together with Madam
Conway, George Douglas, Theo, and Henry, the latter of whom seemed
quite as forlorn as did she herself, for Rose was left behind, and
without her he was nothing.
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