and watching her with a jealous eye, knows she is in love.

Faithfully and well had Hagar studied Henry Warner, to see if there
were aught in him of evil; and though he was not what she would have
chosen for the queenly Maggie she was satisfied if Margaret loved him
and he loved Margaret. But did he? He had never told her so; and
in Hagar Warren's wild black eyes there was a savage gleam, as she
thought, "He'll rue the day that he dares trifle with Maggie Miller."

But Henry Warner was not trifling with her. He was only waiting a
favorable opportunity for telling her the story of his love; and now,
as they sit together in the moonlight, with the musical flow of the
mill-stream falling on his ear, he essays to speak--to tell how she
has grown into his heart; to ask her to go with him where he goes; to
make his home her home, and so be with him always; but ere the first
word was uttered Maggie asked if Mr. Douglas had brought the picture
of his sister.

"Why, yes," he answered; "I had forgotten it entirely. Here it is;"
and taking it from his pocket he passed it to her.

It was a face of almost ethereal loveliness that through the moonlight
looked up to Maggie Miller, and again she experienced the same
undefinable emotion, a mysterious, invisible something drawing her
towards the original of the beautiful likeness.

"It is strange how thoughts of Rose always affect me," she said,
gazing earnestly upon the large eyes of blue shadowed forth upon the
picture. "It seems as though she must be nearer to me than an unknown
friend."