up this slope I would take it
from her. It would be strange if a man did not carry it for any woman.
But you must let me tell your mother of my right to help you. If is your
dinner-time is it not? I may come in to dinner as one of the family may not
I Maggie?"

"No" she said softly. For she longed to be alone; and she dreaded being
overwhelmed by the expression of her mother's feelings, weak and agitated
as she felt herself. "Not to-day."

"Not to-day!" said he reproachfully. "You are very hard upon me. Let me
come to tea. If you will, I will leave you now. Let me come to early tea. I
must speak to my father. He does not know I am here. I may come to tea. At
what time is it? Three o'clock. Oh, I know you drink tea at some strange
early hour; perhaps it is at two. I will take care to be in time."

"Don't come till five, please. I must tell mamma; and I want some time to
think. It does seem so like a dream. Do go, please."

"Well! if I must, I must. But I don't feel as if I were in a dream, but in
some real blessed heaven so long as I see you."

At last he went. Nancy was awaiting Maggie, the side-gate.

"Bless us and save us, bairn! what a time it has taken thee to get the
water. Is the spring dry with the hot weather?"

Maggie ran past her. All dinner-time she heard her mother's voice in
long-continued lamentation about something. She answered at random, and
startled her mother by asserting that she thought "it" was very good;
the said "it" being milk turned sour by thunder. Mrs. Browne spoke quite
sharply, "No one is so particular as you, Maggie. I have known you drink
water, day after day, for breakfast, when you were a little girl, because
your cup of milk had a drowned fly in it; and now you tell me you don't
care for this, and don't mind that, just as if you could eat up all the
things which are spoiled by the heat. I declare my head aches so, I shall
go and lie down as soon as ever dinner is over."

If this was her plan, Maggie thought she had no time to lose in making her
confession. Frank would be here before her mother got up again to tea. But
she dreaded speaking about her happiness; it seemed as yet so cobweb-like,
as if a touch would spoil its beauty.

"Mamma, just wait a minute. Just sit down in your chair while I tell you
something. Please, dear mamma." She took a stool, and sat at her mother's
feet; and then she began to turn the wedding-ring on Mrs. Browne's hand,
looking down and never speaking