“I will speak to her first,” he thought, and so he asked if the tears were for him.

Inexpressibly astonished and mortified at having him see her thus, Maggie started to her feet, while angry words at being thus intruded upon trembled on her lips.  But winding his arm around her, Mr. Carrollton drew her to his side, explaining to her in a few words how he came to be there, and continuing:  “I do not regret the delay, if by its means I have discovered what I very much wish to know.  Maggie, do you care for me?  Were you weeping because I had left you?”

He drew her very closely to him—­looking anxiously into her face, which she covered with her hands.  She knew he was in earnest, and the knowledge that he loved her thrilled her for an instant with indescribable happiness.  A moment, however, and thoughts of her engagement with another flashed upon her.  “She must not sit there thus with Arthur Carrollton—­she would be true to Henry,” and with mingled feelings of sorrow, regret, and anger—­though why she should experience either she did not then understand—­she drew herself from him; and when he said again:  “Will Maggie answer?  Are those tears for me?” she replied petulantly:  “No; can’t a body cry without being bothered for a reason?  I came down here to be alone!”

“I did not mean to intrude, and I beg your pardon for having done so,” said Mr. Carrollton sadly, adding, as Maggie made no reply:  “I expected a different answer, Maggie.  I almost hoped you liked me, and I believe now that you do.”

In Maggie’s bosom there was a fierce struggle of feeling.  She did like Arthur Carrollton—­and she thought she liked Henry Warner—­at all events she was engaged to him, and half angry at the former for having disturbed her, and still more angry at herself for being thus disturbed, she exclaimed, as he again placed his arm around her:  “Leave me alone, Mr. Carrollton.  I don’t like you.  I don’t like anybody!” and gathering up her shawl, which lay upon the grass, she ran away to Hagar’s cabin, hoping he would follow her.  But he did not.  It was his first attempt at love-making, and very much disheartened he walked slowly back to the house; and while Maggie, from Hagar’s door, was looking to see if he were coming, he, from the parlor window, was watching, too, for her, with a shadow on his brow and a load upon his heart.  Madam Conway knew that something was wrong, but it was in vain that she sought an explanation.  Mr. Carrollton kept his own secret; and consoling herself with his volunteered assurance that in case it became necessary for him to return to England he should, before embarking, visit Hillsdale, she bade him a second adieu.

In the meantime Maggie, having given up all hopes of again seeing Mr. Carrollton, was waiting impatiently the coming of Hagar, who was absent, having, as Maggie readily conjectured, gone to Richland.  It was long past noon when she returned, and by that time the stains had disappeared from Maggie’s face, which looked nearly as bright as ever.  Still, it was with far less eagerness than usual that she took from Hagar’s hand the expected letter from Henry.  It was a long, affectionate epistle, urging her once more to accompany him, and saying if she still refused she must let him know immediately, as they were intending to start for New York in a few days.