“My dear, I think you must listen to me while I give you a message from one whom you dearly loved, whose death has changed you, Maggie, whose death we have all deeply mourned.”
“A message?” said Maggie; “a message from Annabel! What message?”
“I regarded it as the effects of delirium at the time,” continued Miss Heath, “and, as you had fever immediately afterwards, dreaded referring to the subject. Now I blame myself for not having told you sooner, for I believe that Annabel was conscious, and that she had a distinct meaning in her words.”
“What did she say? Please don’t keep me in suspense.”
“It was shortly before she died,” continued Miss Heath; “the fever had run very high, and she was weak, and I could scarcely catch her words. She looked at me. You know how Annabel could look, Maggie; you know how expressive those eyes could be, how that voice could move one.”
Maggie had sunk back again in her chair; her face was covered with her trembling hands.
“Annabel said,” continued Miss Heath, ”‘tell Maggie not to mistake me. I am happy. I am glad she will marry’—I think she tried to say a name, but I could not catch it—I tell her to marry him, and that I am very glad.”
A sob broke from Maggie Oliphant’s lips. “You might have told me before!” she said, in a choked voice.