But it wasn’t for him to dictate, and, grumbling at the prospect before him, he harnessed his horses and drove them to the door, where Madam Conway was already in waiting.

“See that everything is in order for our return,” she said to Theo, who promised compliance, and then, herself bewildered, listened to the carriage as it rolled away; it seemed so like a dream that the woman who three hours before could scarcely speak aloud had now started for a ride of many miles in the damp night air!  But love can accomplish miracles, and it made the eccentric lady strong, buoying up her spirits, and prompting her to cheer on the coachman, until just as the day grew rosy in the east Leominster appeared in view.  The house was found, the carriage steps let down, and then with a slight trembling in her limbs Madam Conway alighted and walked up the graveled path, casting eager, searching glances around and commenting as follows: 

“Everything is in good taste; they must be somebody, these Warners.  I’m glad it is no worse.”  And with each new indication of refinement in Margaret’s relatives the disgrace seemed less and less in the mind of the proud Englishwoman.

The ringing of the bell brought down Janet, who, with an inquisitive look at the satin hood and bundle of shawls, ushered the stranger into the parlor, and then went for her mistress.  Taking the card her servant brought, Mrs. Warner read with some little trepidation the name “Madam Conway, Hillsdale.”  From what she had heard, she was not prepossessed in the lady’s favor; but, curious to know why she was there at this early hour, she hastened the making of her toilet, and went down to the parlor, where Madam Conway sat, coiled in one corner of the sofa, which she had satisfied herself was covered with real brocatel, as were also the chairs within the room.  The tables of rosewood and marble, and the expensive curtains had none of them escaped her notice, and in a mood which more common furniture would never have produced Madam Conway arose to meet Mrs. Warner, who received her politely, and then waited to hear her errand.

It was told in a few words.  She had come for Margaret—­Margaret, whom she had loved for eighteen years, and could not now cast off, even though she were not of the Conway and Davenport extraction.

“I can easily understand how painful must have been the knowledge that Maggie was not your own,” returned Mrs. Warner, “for she is a girl of whom anyone might be proud; but you are laboring under a mistake—­Henry is not her brother;” and then very briefly she explained the matter to Madam Conway, who, having heard so much, was now surprised at nothing, and who felt, it may be, a little gratified in knowing that Henry was, after all, nothing to Margaret, save the husband of her sister.  But a terrible disappointment awaited her.  Margaret was not there; and so loud were her lamentations that some time elapsed ere Mrs. Warner could make her listen while she explained that Mr. Carrollton had found Maggie the day previous at the Falls, that they were probably in Albany now, and would reach Hillsdale that very day; such at least was the import of the telegram which Mrs. Warner had received the evening before.  “They wish to surprise you, undoubtedly,” she said, “and consequently have not telegraphed to you.”