marveled greatly, admiring its beauty and wondering for whom it was
intended.

"For me, of course," said Madam Conway. "The hair is Lady
Carrollton's, Arthur's grandmother. I know it by its soft, silky look.
She has sent it as a token of respect, for she was always fond of me;"
and going to the glass she very complacently ornamented her Honiton
collar with Hagar's hair, while Maggie, bursting with fun, beat a
hasty retreat from the room, lest she should betray herself.

Thus the winter passed away, and early in the spring George Douglas,
to whom Madam Conway had long ago sent a favorable answer, came to
visit his betrothed, bringing to Maggie a note from Rose, who had once
or twice sent messages in Henry's letters. She was in Worcester now,
and her health was very delicate. "Sometimes," she wrote, "I fear
I shall never see you, Maggie Miller--shall never look into your
beautiful face, or listen to your voice; but whether in heaven or on
earth I am first to meet with you, my heart claims you as a sister,
the one whom of all the sisters in the world I would rather call my
own."

"Darling Rose!" murmured Maggie, pressing the delicately traced lines
to her lips, "how near she seems to me! nearer almost than Theo;" and
then involuntarily her thoughts went backward to the night when Henry
Warner first told her of his love, and when in her dreams there had
been a strange blending together of herself, of Rose, and the little
grave beneath the pine!

But not yet was that veil of mystery to be lifted. Hagar's secret must
be kept a little longer; and, unsuspicious of the truth, Maggie Miller