"Oh, mother! mother!" she cried as she perused it. "Quick! get on your hat and come with me! The letter is from Maggie—she is sick—or dying!"
As they hurried from the house Mr. Watkins joined them. In five minutes they were in a carriage driving swiftly toward Maggie's address.
As Faith opened the door leading to Maggie's rooms she came upon a scene that nearly paralyzed her senses.
Poor Maggie was half lying and half sitting upon a couch, her husband supporting her tenderly while Miss Fairbanks stood by administering a cordial. There was another person in the room whom Faith knew at once to be a physician, but she had eyes nor ears for no one but Maggie.
"Oh, you poor, dear child! What has happened?" she asked quickly as she went over and knelt by the side of the poor creature.
"I thought you would come," whispered Maggie faintly. "I wanted to see you, oh, so much! I wanted—to—thank—you!"
She lay back on her pillow with a stifled groan while James Denton wiped her brow—his own the color of ashes.
"You were so good," murmured poor Maggie again as Faith leaned over her. "You taught me, to pray. May the good God bless you."
She closed her eyes and a sigh escaped her lips. In an instant the physician took her wrist between his fingers.
"Gone," he said, softly, "the poor child is at rest. Cheer up, Mr. Denton, your wife is in heaven."