Usually, nothing is more fatal than the success of mere self-seeking.  While Madge pressed unwaveringly toward the goal of her hopes, she did not do so in thoughtless or callous indifference toward those who had true claims upon her.  With her sister she soon saw that all was well—­that she was, as before, absorbed and content with the routine of her life.  She was not so sure about her brother-in-law.  During her absence lines of care had appeared in his face, and there was an abstracted and sometimes a troubled look in his eyes, as if he was pursued by questions that were importunate and even threatening.  The indications of perturbation were slight indeed, but from his nature they would be so in any case.  Thus the young girl also received an impression which awakened a faint solicitude.  Mr. Muir, as her guardian and the manager of her property, had been a true friend and loyal to his trust.  She entertained for him much respect and a strong, quiet affection.  He did not dwell in her thoughts merely as one who was useful to her, but rather as one who had been true to her, and to whom she in her place and way would be true and sympathetic were there occasion.

Madge was wearied indeed by her long journey, but not exhausted.  In sensations so different from those which had followed her journey to the West she recognized her immeasurable gain.  Then she had entered Mrs. Wayland’s cottage helpless, hopeless, a fugitive from her own weakness.  By wise endeavor she had transformed that very weakness into her strength, and had returned to the scenes from which she had fled earnest and resolute—­one who had made her choice for life and would abide by it.  Womanly to her very finger-tips, she was acting with the aggressive decision of a man.  Sensitive and timid beyond most women, she would not lose her happiness when it might be won in paths not only hedged about by all the proprieties of her lot, but also by a reserve and pride with which her own fine nature was pre-eminently endowed.  That she loved Graydon Muir was a truth for life.  If he could learn to love her from what she had sought to be, from what she simply was, he should have the chance.  Her own deep experience had taught her much and given her the clew to many things.  She had studied life, not only in books, but in its actual manifestations.  Mrs. Wayland was a social mine in herself, and could recall from the past, volumes of dispassionate gossip, free from malice.  In two years Madge had learned to know the world better than many who are in contact with it for long periods, but who see all through the distorted medium of their own prejudices or exceptional experiences.  Although she was no longer unsophisticated she was neither cynical nor optimistic.  Before her hope could be fulfilled she knew she must enter society, and she studied it thoughtfully—­its whims and meannesses as well as its laws and refinements.  If she ever reached Graydon’s side she meant to stand there with a knowledge and confidence as assured as his own.  She soon learned that it is common enough for women to seek to win men by every alluring and coquettish device.  She would employ no devices whatever.  She would merely reappear above his horizon among other luminaries, and shine with her own pure, unborrowed light.  Then it must depend upon himself whether she ever became his own “bright particular star.”