A Daughter of Fife

About midnight she walked into an adjoining dressing room and looked out.

How cold and steely the river wound through the brown woods until it

mingled with the ghostly film on the horizon! Through what cloudy crags, The moon came rushing like a stag,

With one star like a hound, behind it! As she watched the solemn, restless picture, she was called

very softly--"Maggie'"

The word was scarce audible, but she stepped swiftly back, and kneeling by

Mary's side lifted her wasted hand. The eyes that met hers had the light

of reason in them at last.

"I am awake, Maggie."

"Yes, dear. Do not talk, you have been ill; you are getting better."

Mary smiled. The happiest of pillows is that which Death has frowned on,

and passed over. "I am really getting well?"

"You are really getting well. Sleep again."

There was a silence that could almost be felt; and Maggie sat breathless

in it. When it became too trying, she rose softly and went to the next

room. There was a small table there, and on it a shaded lamp and a few

books. One of them was turned with its face downward and looked

unfamiliar; she lifted it, and saw on the fly-leaf, Cornelius Fleming,

A.D. 1800. It was a pocket edition of the Alcestis in English, and the

good man had drawn a pencil opposite some lines, which he doubtless

intended Maggie to read:-"Manifold are the changes

Which Providence may bring.

Many unhoped for things

God's power hath brought about.

What seemeth, often happeneth not;

And for unlikely things

God findeth out a way."

She smiled and laid the little volume down. "The tide has turned," she

thought, "and many an ill wind has driven a ship into a good harbor. I

wonder what was the matter with me this morning!" And she sat quiet with a

new sense of peace in her heart, until the moon was low in the west, and

the far hills stood clear and garish in the cold white light of morning.

Then Mary called her again. There was a look of pitiful anxiety on her

face; she grasped Maggie's hand, and whispered "The 29th? Is it come?"

"Yes, dear."

"Your tryst, Maggie?"

"I will keep it some other time."

"Now, Maggie. To-day. At once. Oh Maggie! Go, go, go! I shall be ill again

if you do not."

It was useless to reason with her. She began to cry, to grow feverish.