photograph.

Thus her aunt found her, later in the evening. She was touched by
the figure, the shabby black frock, the white tired face. She had
been honestly disappointed in her niece, disappointed in her
plainness, in her apparent want of heart, in her silence and
moroseness. Mathew had told her of the girl's outburst to him
against her father, and this had seemed to her shocking upon the
very day after that father's death. Now when she saw the photograph
clenched in Maggie's hand tears came into her eyes. She said,
"Maggie! dear Maggie!" and woke her. Maggie, stirring saw her aunt's
slender figure and delicate face standing in the snowlight as though
she had been truly a saint from heaven.

Maggie's first impulse was to rise up, fling her arms around her
aunt's neck and hug her. Had she done that the history of her life
might have been changed. Her natural shyness checked her impulse.
She got up, the photograph dropped from her hand, she smiled a
little and then said awkwardly, "I've been asleep. Do you want me?
I'll come down."

Her aunt drew her towards her.

"Maggie, dear," she said, "don't feel lonely any more. Think of me
and your Aunt Elizabeth as your friends who will always care for
you. You must never be lonely again."

Maggie's whole heart responded. She felt its wild beating but she
could do nothing, could say nothing. Her body stiffened. In spite of
herself she withdrew herself. Her face reddened, then, was pale.