The letter wound up thus:—
"I write to you, dear Margie, because I know that from you I shall always get the truth and nothing else. Also I have had the feeling that you cared for me more than the rest of the girls did, and that you will feel for and with me in this great sorrow. Write to me, dear sister that was to be, tell me all there is to tell; but if Fay has made her own deliberate choice between Logan and me, and loves him best, I have nothing to say. Let the child be happy in her own way, and God bless them both, say I.
"And as for you, dear, whose continued and steadfast affection I am somehow strangely counting on, as the one sweet thing left in my lonely life, do not grieve unduly for my sake. I have learned to see God's wisdom in all things, and to accept them as a child accepts all from his father's hand, whether good gifts or needful chastisement. Think of me and pray for me, my dear, that this sorrow may be sanctified to me, and make me better fitted for any work that the Master has yet for me to do.—Your loving brother that was to be, HARRY."
This letter, full of grief and yet of loving confidence, went straight to Margie's heart. Somehow as she read, over and over again, Harry's words of affection, and felt that he was counting on her love in return—sisterly, perhaps, but still love—some sudden awakening thrilled her with joy, and made known to her a truth at which she had not even so much as guessed before. She knew now that she—Margery Grayling—loved Harry Mayne as a woman loves but once in her life; she felt now, in looking back, that she had always loved him; and though, when he had shown a preference for Fay, she had resolutely determined not to think about her sister's betrothed, the love had lain dormant, not dead, ready to start up into new life at any time.
In spite of all that had happened to sadden her during the last day or two, her face was radiant when she went back to Clara after receiving and reading her letter.
"I suppose I am very silly, Miss Clara," she said, "but I have a letter from Harry this morning, and—"
"Harry Mayne, who, you told me, is engaged to your sister Fay?"
"Was engaged to her," corrected Margie. "She has just married some one else, and, of course, he is very sad; but—"
"But he turns to you for help and comfort, Margery?"
"Yes; but how did you know, Miss Clara?"
"I did not know, I only guessed; and as I long ago guessed that you cared a great deal for this same Harry, nothing now would surprise me."