Still the suggestion haunted him, and on the Monday following Henry Warner"s first visit to Worcester, he, too, went down to talk with Mr.
Douglas, asking him if it were possible that Maggie was in Leominster.
"I know she is not," said George, repeating the particulars of his interview with Henry, who, he said, was at the store on Sat.u.r.day.
"Once I thought of telling him all," said he, "and then, considering the relation which formerly existed between them, I concluded to keep silent, especially as he manifested no desire to speak of her, but appeared, I fancied, quite uneasy when I casually mentioned Hillsdale."
Thus was that matter decided, and while not many miles away Maggie was watching hopelessly for the coming of Arthur Carrollton, he, with George Douglas, was devising the best means for finding her, George generously offering to a.s.sist in the search, and suggesting finally that he should himself go to New York City, while Mr. Carrollton explored Boston and its vicinity. It seemed quite probable that Margaret would seek some of the large cities, as in her letter she had said she could earn her livelihood by teaching music; and quite hopeful of success, the young men parted, Mr. Carrollton going immediately to Boston, while Mr. Douglas, after a day or two, started for New York, whither, as the reader will remember, he had gone at the time of Henry"s last visit to Worcester.
Here for a time we leave them, Hagar raving mad, Madam Conway in strong hysterics, Theo wishing herself anywhere but at Hillsdale, Mrs.
Jeffrey ditto, George Douglas threading the crowded streets of the noisy city, and Mr. Carrollton in Boston, growing paler and sadder as day after day pa.s.sed by, bringing him no trace of the lost one. Here, I say, we leave them, while in another chapter we follow the footsteps of her for whom this search was made.
CHAPTER XXIII.
NIAGARA.
From the seaside to the mountains, from the mountains to Saratoga, from Saratoga to Montreal, from Montreal to the Thousand Isles, and thence they scarce knew where, the travelers wended their way, stopping not long at any place, for Margaret was ever seeking change.
Greatly had she been admired, her pale, beautiful face attracting attention at once; but from all flattery she turned away, saying to Henry and Rose, "Let us go on."
So onward still they went, pausing longest at Montreal, for it was there Arthur Carrollton had been, there a part of his possessions lay, and there Margaret willingly lingered, even after her companions wished to be gone.
"He may be here again," she said; and so she waited and watched, scanning eagerly the pa.s.sers-by, and noticing each new face as it appeared at the table of the hotel where they were staying. But the one she waited for never came. "And even if he does," she thought, "he will not come for me."
So she signified her willingness to depart, and early one bright July morning she left, while the singing birds from the treetops, the summer air from the Canada hills, and, more than all, a warning voice within her, bade her "Tarry yet a little, stay till the sun was set," for far out in the country, and many miles away, a train was thundering on. It would reach the city at nightfall, and among its jaded pa.s.sengers was a worn and weary man. Hopeless, almost aimless now, he would come, and why he came he scarcely knew. "She would not be there, so far from home," he felt sure, but he was coming for the sake of what he hoped and feared when last he trod those streets.
Listlessly he entered the same hotel from whose windows, for five long days, a fair young face had looked for him. Listlessly he registered his name, then carelessly turned the leaves backward--backward--backward still, till only one remained between his hand and the page bearing date five days before. He paused and was about to move away, when a sudden breeze from the open window turned the remaining leaf, and his eye caught the name, not of Maggie Miller, but of "Henry Warner, lady, and sister."
Thus it stood, and thus he repeated it to himself, dwelling upon the last word "sister," as if to him it had another meaning. He had heard from Madam Conway that neither Henry Warner nor Rose had a sister, but she might be mistaken; probably she was; and dismissing the subject from his mind, he walked away. Still the names haunted him, and thinking at last that if Mr. Warner were now in Montreal he would like to see him, he returned to the office, asking the clerk if the occupants of Nos. ---- were there still.
"Left this morning for the Falls," was the laconic answer; and, without knowing why he should particularly wish to do so, Mr.
Carrollton resolved to follow them.
He would as soon be at the Falls as in Montreal, he thought.
Accordingly he left the next morning for Niagara, taking the shortest route by river and lake, and arriving there on the evening of the second day after his departure from the city. But nowhere could a trace be found of Henry Warner, and determining now to wait until he came Mr. Carrollton took rooms at the International, where after a day or two, worn out with travel, excitement, and hope deferred, he became severely indisposed, and took his bed, forgetting entirely both Henry Warner and the sister, whose name he had seen upon the hotel register.
Thoughts of Maggie Miller, however, were constantly in his mind, and whether waking or asleep he saw always her face, sometimes radiant with healthful beauty, as when he first beheld her, and again, pale, troubled, and sad, as when he saw her last.
"Oh, shall I ever find her?" he would sometimes say, as in the dim twilight he lay listening to the noisy hum which came up from the public room below.
And once, as he lay there thus, he dreamed, and in his dreams there came through the open window a clear, silvery voice, breathing the loved name of Maggie. Again he heard it on the stairs, then little tripping feet went past his door, followed by a slow, languid tread, and with a nervous start the sick man awoke. The day had been cloudy and dark, but the rain was over now, and the room was full of sunshine--sunshine dancing on the walls, sunshine glimmering on the floor, sunshine everywhere. Insensibly, too, there stole over Mr.
Carrollton"s senses a feeling of quiet, of rest, and he slept ere long again, dreaming this time that Margaret was there.
Yes, Margaret was there--there, beneath the same roof which sheltered him and the same sunshine which filled his room with light had bathed her white brow, as, leaning from her window, she listened to the roar of the falling water. They had lingered on their way, stopping at the Thousand Isles, for Margaret would have it so; but they had come at last, and the tripping footsteps in the hall, the silvery voice upon the stairs, was that of the golden-haired Rose, who watched over Margaret with all a sister"s love and a mother"s care. The frequent jokes of the fun-loving Henry, too, were not without their good effect, and Margaret was better now than she had been for many weeks.
"I can rest here," she said, and a faint color came to her cheeks, making her look more like herself than at any time since that terrible night of sorrow in the woods.
And so three days went by, and Mr. Carrollton, on his weary bed, dreamed not that the slender form which sometimes, through his half-closed door, cast a shadow in his room, was that of her for whom he sought. The tripping footsteps, too, went often by, and a merry, childish voice, which reminded him of Maggie, rang through the s.p.a.cious halls, until at last the sick man came to listen for that party as they pa.s.sed. They were a merry party, he thought, a very merry party; and he pictured to himself her of the ringing voice; she was dark-eyed, he said, with braids of shining hair, and when, as they were pa.s.sing once, he asked of his attendant if it were not as he had fancied, he felt a pang of disappointment at the answer, which was, "The girl the young gentleman hears so much has yellow curls and dark blue eyes."
"She is not like Maggie, then," he sighed, and when again he heard that voice a part of its music was gone. Still, it cheered his solitude, and he listened for it again, just as he had done before.
Once, when he knew they were going out, he went to the window to see them, but the large straw hats and close carriage revealed no secret, and disappointed he turned away.
"It is useless to stay here longer," he said; "I must be about my work. I am able to leave, and I will go to-morrow. But first I will visit the Falls once more. I may never see them again."
Accordingly, next morning, after Margaret and Rose had left the house, he came down the stairs, sprang into an open carriage, and was driven to Goat Island, which, until his illness, had been his favorite resort.
Beneath the tall forest trees which grow upon the island there is a rustic seat. Just on the brink of the river it stands, and the carriage road winds by. It is a comparatively retired spot, looking out upon the foaming water rushing so madly on. Here the weary often rest; here lovers sometimes come to be alone; and here Maggie Miller sat on that summer morning, living over again the past, which to her had been so bright, and musing sadly on the future, which would bring her she knew not what.
She had struggled to overcome her pride, nor deemed it now a disgrace that she was not a Conway. Of Hagar, too, she often thought, pitying the poor old half-crazed woman who for her sake had borne so much. But not of her was she thinking now. Hagar was shriveled and bent and old, while the image present in Margaret"s mind was handsome, erect, and young, like the gentleman riding by--the man whose carriage wheels, grinding into the gravelly road, attracted no attention. Too intent was she upon a shadow to heed aught else around, and she leaned against a tree, nor turned her head aside, as Arthur Carrollton went by!
A little further on, and out of Maggie"s sight, a fairy figure was seated upon the gra.s.s; the hat was thrown aside, and her curls fell back from her upturned face as she spoke to Henry Warner. But the sentence was unfinished, for the carriage appeared in view, and with woman"s quick perception Rose exclaims, ""Tis surely Arthur Carrollton!"
Starting to her feet, she sprang involuntarily forward to meet him, casting a rapid glance around for Margaret. He observed the movement, and knew that somewhere in the world he had seen that face before--those golden curls--those deep blue eyes--that childish form--they were not wholly unfamiliar. Who was she, and why did she advance towards him?
"Rose," said Henry, who would call her back, "Rose!" and looking towards the speaker Mr. Carrollton knew at once that Henry Warner and his bride were standing there before him.
In a moment he had joined them, and though he knew that Henry Warner had once loved Maggie Miller he spoke of her without reserve, saying to Rose, when she asked if he were there for pleasure: "I am looking for Maggie Miller. A strange discovery has been made of late, and Margaret has left us."
"She is here--here with us!" cried Rose; and in the exuberance of her joy she was darting away, when Henry held her back until further explanations were made.
This did not occupy them long, for sitting down again upon the bank Rose briefly told him all she knew; and when with eager joy he asked "Where is she now?" she pointed towards the spot, and then with Henry walked away, for she knew that it was not for her to witness that glad meeting.
The river rolls on with its heaving swell, and the white foam is tossed towards the sh.o.r.e, while the soft summer air still bears on its wing the sound of the cataract"s roar. But Margaret sees it not, hears it not. There is a spell upon her now--a halo of joy; and she only knows that a strong arm is around her, and a voice is in her ear, whispering that the bosom on which her weary head is pillowed shall be her resting place forever.
It had come to her suddenly, sitting there thus--the footfall upon the sand had not been heard--the shadow upon the gra.s.s had not been seen, and his presence had not been felt, till, bending low, Mr. Carrollton said aloud, "My Maggie!"
Then indeed she started up, and turned to see who it was that thus so much like him had called her name. She saw who it was, and looking in his face she knew she was not hated, and with a moaning cry went forward to the arm extended to receive her.
Four guests, instead of one, went forth that afternoon from the International--four guests homeward bound, and eager to be there. No more journeying now for happiness; no more searching for the lost; for both are found; both are there--happiness and Maggie Miller.
CHAPTER XXIV.
HOME.
Impatient, restless, and cross, Madam Conway lay in Margaret"s room, scolding Theo and chiding Mrs. Jeffrey, both of whom, though trying their utmost to suit her, managed unfortunately to do always just what she wished them not to do. Mrs. Jeffrey"s hands were usually too cold, and Theo"s were too hot. Mrs. Jeffrey made the head of the bed too high, Theo altogether too low. In short, neither of them ever did what Margaret would have done had she been there, and so day after day the lady complained, growing more and more unamiable, until at last Theo began to talk seriously of following Margaret"s example, and running away herself, at least as far as Worcester; but the distressed Mrs.
Jeffrey, terrified at the thought of being left there alone, begged of her to stay a little longer, offering the comforting a.s.surance that "it cannot be so bad always, for Madam Conway will either get better--or something."
So Theo stayed, enduring with a martyr"s patience the caprices of her grandmother, who kept the whole household in a constant state of excitement, and who at last began to blame George Douglas entirely as being the only one in fault. "He didn"t half look," she said, "and she doubted whether he knew enough to keep from losing himself in New York. It was the most foolish thing Arthur Carrollton had ever done, hiring George Douglas to search!"
"Hiring him, grandma!" cried Theo; "George offered his services for nothing," and the tears came to her eyes at the injustice done her husband.