She lay with her head in Helen's lap. “Please,” she said timidly, looking up into Helen's face at last—“please let me stay this way a while. I never knew a mother—nobody has ever let me do this befo', an' I am so happy for it.”
Helen stroked her face and hair anew, and Maggie kneeled looking up at her eagerly, earnestly, hungrily, scanning every feature of the prettier girl with worshipping eyes.
“How could he he'p it—how could he he'p it,” she said softly—“yes—yes—you are his equal and so beautiful.”
“I don't understand you, Maggie—indeed I do not.”
Maggie arose quickly: “Good-bye—let me kiss you once mo'—I feel like I'll never see you again—an'—an'—I've learned to love you so!”
Helen raised her head and kissed her.
Then Maggie passed quickly out, and with her eyes only did she look back and utter a farewell which carried with it both a kiss and a tear. And something else which was a warning.
And Helen never forgot.