“My grandchild, Maggie Miller!—­my grandchild!” shrieked Hagar.  “What put that into his head?”

Thinking her emotion caused by anger at Arthur Carrollton, Maggie mentally chided herself for having inadvertently said what she did, while at the same time she tried to soothe old Hagar, who rocked to and fro, as was her custom when her “crazy spells” were on.  Growing a little more composed, she said at last, “Marry Henry Warner, by all means, Maggie; he aint as proud as Carrollton—­he would not care as much if he knew it.”

“Knew what?” asked Maggie; and, remembering herself in time, Hagar answered adroitly:  “Knew of your promise to let me live with you.  You remember it, don’t you?” and she looked wistfully towards Maggie, who, far more intent upon something else, answered:  “Yes, I remember.  But hush! don’t I hear horses’ feet coming rapidly through the woods?” and, running to the window, she saw Mr. Carrollton mounted upon Gritty, and riding furiously towards the house.

“You go out, Hagar, and see if he is looking for me,” whispered Maggie, stepping back, so he could not see.

“Henry Warner must snare the bird quick, or he will lose it,” muttered Hagar, as she walked to the door, where, evidently much excited, Mr. Carrollton asked if she knew aught of Miss Miller, and why Gritty had come home alone.  “It is such an unusual occurrence,” said he, “that we felt alarmed, and I have come in quest of her.”

From her post near the window Maggie could plainly see his face, which was very pale, and expressive of much concern, while his voice, she fancied, trembled as he spoke her name.

“He does care,” she thought; woman’s pride was satisfied, and ere Hagar could reply she ran out, saying laughingly:  “And so you thought maybe I was killed, but I’m not.  I concluded to walk home and let Gritty go on in advance.  I did not mean to frighten grandma.”

“She was not as much alarmed as myself,” said Mr. Carrollton, the troubled expression of his countenance changing at once.  “You do not know how anxious I was when I saw Gritty come riderless to the door, nor yet how relieved I am in finding you thus unharmed.”

Maggie knew she did not deserve this, and blushing like a guilty child she offered no resistance when he lifted her into the saddle gently—­tenderly—­as if she had indeed escaped from some great danger.

“It is time you were home,” said he, and throwing the bridle across his arm he rested his hand upon the saddle and walked slowly by her side.

All his fancied coldness was forgotten; neither was the leap nor yet the bridge once mentioned, for he was only too happy in having her back alive, while she was doubting the propriety of an experiment which, in the turn matters had taken, seemed to involve deception.  Observing at last that he occasionally pressed his hand upon his side, she asked the cause, and was told that he had formerly been subject to a pain in his side, which excitement or fright greatly augmented.  “I hoped I was free from it,” he said, “but the sight of Gritty dashing up to the door without you brought on a slight attack; for I knew if you were harmed the fault was mine for having rather unceremoniously deserted you.”