"It is cosey in here to-day, Madge. Just see how angry the sky appears. How fast the clouds are moving! Look! they seem furious!"
Marguerite having finished her accounts, now looked about for something farther to do.
Her eyes were attracted towards a handsome volume that lay upon the sofa. Its rich cream and gold binding giving a pretty contrast to the elegant upholstering of the said article.
The first words that claimed the girls attention ran:
"Wake maid of Love! the moments fly
Which yet, that maiden-name allow;
Wake, maiden, wake! the hour is nigh
When Love shall claim a plighted vow."
Hitherto Scott had been one of Marguerite's favorite authors, but now she threw down the book as if stung by an adder. Her blood was chilled in her veins, and she seemed as if petrified.
It were well that Jennie Montgomery was busily engaged looking over the broad rows of bookshelves in quest of some thing suitable to her fancy.
It was also well that she found the desired volume and had comfortably seated herself for a good long read.
Cousin Jennie might well be termed a book-worm, for, notwithstanding the fact that she was a clever housekeeper, an industrious handmaid and a skilful needlewoman, no girl had, considering her advantages, been a more extensive reader. She was conversant with many of the standard authors, could discuss freely upon the most abstruse subjects and also kept herself well posted in all the leading events of the day, a fact which goes to prove that there is no woman no matter in what circumstances, but can, if inclined, give some attention to the improvement of the mind, and make herself a fairly intellectual being.
Marguerite's thoughts were painful, indeed. "The hour is nigh," she murmured. Hubert Tracy's letter had arrived, and the well-known lines had doubly recalled the fact.