"She sleeps late," she thought, when breakfast was announced, and taking her accustomed seat she bade a servant see if Margaret were ill.
"She is not there," was the report the girl brought back.
"Not there!" cried Mr. Carrollton.
"Not there!" repeated Madam Conway, a shadowy foreboding of evil stealing over her. "She seldom walks at this early hour," she continued; and, rising, she went herself to Margaret's room.
Everything was in perfect order, the bed was undisturbed, the chamber empty; Margaret was gone, and on the dressing-table lay the fatal letter telling why she went. At first Madam Conway did not see it; but it soon caught her eye, and tremblingly she opened it, reading but the first line, "I am going away forever."
Then a loud shriek rang through the silent room, penetrating to Arthur Carrollton's listening ear, and bringing him at once to her side. With the letter still in her hand, and her face of a deathly hue, and her eyes flashing with fear, Madam Conway turned to him as he entered, saying, "Margaret has gone, left us forever—killed herself it may be! Read!" And she handed him the letter, herself bending eagerly forward to hear what he might say.
But she listened in vain. With lightning rapidity Arthur Carrollton read what Maggie had written—read that she, his idol, the chosen bride of his bosom, was the daughter of a servant, the grandchild of old Hagar! And for this she had fled from his presence, fled because she knew of the mighty pride which now, in the first bitter moment of his agony, did indeed rise up, a barrier between himself and the beautiful girl he loved so well. Had she lain dead before him, dead in all her youthful beauty, he could have folded her in his arms, and then buried her from his sight, with a feeling of perfect happiness compared to that which he now felt.
"Oh, Maggie, my lost one, can it be!" he whispered to himself, and pressing his hand upon his chest, which heaved with strong emotion, he staggered to a seat, while the perspiration stood in beaded drops upon his forehead and around his lips.
"What is it, Mr. Carrollton? 'Tis something dreadful, sure," said Mrs. Jeffrey, appearing in the door, but Madam Conway motioned her away, and, tottering to his side, said, "Read it to me—read."
The Sound of her voice recalled his wandering mind, and covering his face with his hands he moaned in anguish; then, growing suddenly calm, he snatched up the letter, which had fallen to the floor, and read it aloud; while Madam Conway, stupefied with horror, sank at his feet, and clasping her hands above her head, rocked to and fro, but made no word of comment. Far down the long ago her thoughts were straying, and gathering up many bygone scenes which told her that what she heard was true.