left her for a moment while he went in quest of her shawl. Scarcely
was he gone when a slight, fairy form came flitting through the
moonlight to where Maggie sat, and, twining its snow-white arms around
her neck, looked lovingly into her eyes, whispering soft and low, "My
sister!"

"My sister!" How Maggie's blood bounded at the sound of that name,
which even the night wind, sighing through the trees, seemed to take
up and repeat. "My sister!" What was there in those words thus to
affect her? Was that fair young creature, who hung so fondly over her,
naught to her save a common stranger? Was there no tie between them,
no bond of sympathy and love? We ask this of you, our reader, and not
of Maggie Miller, for to her there came no questioning like this. She
only knew that every pulsation of her heart responded to the name of
sister, when breathed by sweet Rose Warner, and, folding her arms
about her, she pillowed the golden head upon her bosom, and, pushing
back the clustering curls, gazed long and earnestly into a face which
seemed so heavenly and pure.

Few were the words they uttered at first, for a mysterious, invisible
something prompted each to look into the other's eyes, to clasp the
other's hands, to kiss the other's lips, and lovingly to whisper the
other's name.

"I have wished so much to see you, to know if you are worthy of my
noble brother," said Rose at last, thinking she must say something on
the subject uppermost in both their minds.

"And am I worthy?" asked Maggie, the bright blushes stealing over her
cheek. "Will you let me be your sister?"