as it is, and he liked the tone of your letters, which I read to him.  They were so original, he said, so much like what he fancied you to be.  He has a splendid country seat, and more than one nobleman’s daughter would gladly share it with him; but I think he fancies you.  He has a large estate near Montreal, and some difficulty connected with it will ere long bring him to America.  Of course he will visit here, and with a little tact on your part you can, I’m sure, secure one of the best matches in England.  He is fine-looking, too.  I have his daguerreotype;” and opening her workbox she drew it forth and held it before Maggie, who resolutely shut her eyes lest she should see the face of one she was so determined to dislike.

“What do you think of him?” asked Madam Conway as her arm began to ache, and Maggie had not yet spoken.

“I haven’t looked at him,” answered Maggie; “I hate him, and if he comes here after me I’ll tell him so, too.  I hate him because he is an Englishman.  I hate him because he is aristocratic.  I hate him for everything, and before I marry him I’ll run away!”

Here, wholly overcome, Maggie burst into tears, and precipitately left the room.  An hour later, and Hagar, sitting by her fire, which the coolness of the day rendered necessary, was startled by the abrupt entrance of Maggie, who, throwing herself upon the floor, and burying her face in the old woman’s lap, sobbed bitterly.

“What is it, child?  What is it, darling?” asked Hagar; and in a few words Maggie explained the whole.  “I am persecuted, dreadfully persecuted!  Nobody before ever had so much trouble as I. Grandma has burned a letter from Henry Warner, and would not give it to me.  Grandma said, too, I should never marry him, should never write to him, nor see anything he might send to me.  Oh, Hagar, Hagar, isn’t it cruel?” and the eyes, whose wrathful, defiant expression was now quenched in tears, looked up in Hagar’s face for sympathy.

The right chord was touched, and much as Hagar might have disliked Henry Warner she was his fast friend now.  Her mistress’ opposition and Maggie’s tears had wrought a change, and henceforth all her energies should be given to the advancement of the young couple’s cause.

“I can manage it,” she said, smoothing the long silken tresses which lay in disorder upon her lap.  “Richland post office is only four miles from here; I can walk double that distance easy.  Your grandmother never thinks of going there, neither am I known to anyone in that neighborhood.  Write your letter to Henry Warner, and before the sun goes down it shall be safe in the letter-box.  He can write to the same place, but he had better direct to me, as your name might excite suspicion.”

This plan seemed perfectly feasible; but it struck Maggie unpleasantly.  She had never attempted to deceive in her life, and she shrunk from the first deception.  She would rather, she said, try again to win her grandmother’s consent.  But this she found impossible; Madam Conway was determined, and would not listen.