But she thought of it now, and laying her head upon the table wept for a time in silence.
At length, drying her tears, she folded her letter and took it to the post-office.

As she was returning home she was met by a servant, who exclaimed, "Run, Miss Margaret, run; your mother is dying, and Mrs.
Carter sent me for you!" Swift as the mountain chamois, Margaret sped up the long, steep hill, and in a few moments stood within her mother's sick-room.

Supported in the arms of Mrs.Carter lay the dying woman, while her eyes, already overshadowed with the mists of coming death, wandered anxiously around the room, as if in quest of some one.

The moment Margaret appeared, a satisfied smile broke over her wasted features, and beckoning her daughter to her bedside, she whispered, "Dear Maggie, you did not think I'd die so soon, when you went away." A burst of tears was Maggie's only answer, as she passionately kissed the cold, white lips, which had never breathed aught to her save words of love and gentleness.

Far different, however, would have been her reply had she known the reason of her mother's question.