For a long time after finishing the above, Madam Conway sat wrapped in thought.  Could it be possible that all her life she had labored under a mistake?  Were birth and family rank really of no consequence?  Was George just as worthy of respect as if he had descended directly from the Scottish race of Douglas, instead of belonging to that vulgar woman?  “It may be so in America,” she sighed, “but it is not true of England,” and, sincerely hoping that Theo’s remark concerning Mr. Carrollton might prove true, she laid aside the letter, and for the remainder of the day busied herself with preparations for the return of Arthur Carrollton, who had written that he should be with them on the 1st of December.

The day came, and, unusually excited, Maggie flitted from room to room, seeing that everything was in order, and wondering how he would meet her and if he had forgiven her for having been so cross at their last interview in the woods.  The effect of every suitable dress in her wardrobe was tried, and she decided at last upon a crimson and black merino, which harmonized well with her dark eyes and hair.  The dress was singularly becoming, and feeling quite well satisfied with the face and form reflected by her mirror she descended to the parlor, where any doubts she might have had concerning her personal appearance were put to flight by Anna Jeffrey, who, with a feeling of envy, asked if she had the scarlet fever, referring to her bright color, and saying she did not think too red a face becoming to anyone, particularly to Margaret, to whom it gave a “blowsy” look, such as she had more than once heard Mr. Carrollton say he did not like to see.

Margaret knew well that the dark-browed girl would give almost anything for the roses blooming on her cheeks; so she made no reply, but simply wished Anna would return to England, as for the last two months she had talked of doing.  It was not quite dark, and Mr. Carrollton, if he came that night, would be with them soon.  The car whistle had sounded some time before, and Maggie’s quick ear caught at last the noise of the bells in the distance.  Nearer and nearer they came; the sleigh was at the door, and forgetting everything but her own happiness Maggie ran out to meet their guest, nor turned her glowing face away when he stooped down to kiss her.  He had forgiven her ill-nature, she was certain of that, and very joyfully she led the way to the parlor, where as the full light of the lamp fell upon him she started involuntarily, he seemed so changed.

“Are you sick?” she asked; and her voice expressed the deep anxiety she felt.

Forcing back a slight cough, and smiling down upon her, he answered cheerfully, “Oh, no, not sick!  Canada air does not agree with me, that’s all.  I took a severe cold soon after my arrival in Montreal,” and the cough he had attempted to stifle now burst forth, sounding to Maggie, who thought only of consumption, like an echo from the grave.