THE STORY OF MAGGIE. 49
description; that she, if used to weeping when
so sad, did not weep then; and if one could have
seen her heart, one would have learned that it
was because she would not let him see one sign
of suffering it was possible for her to suppress;
his anguish was so great, it so far transcended
hers.
Reclining again awhile as if to rest, gather strength, they left the island, recrossed the bridge, both bridges, and from there it was not a very long way to aunt Hester's; for her house was in that beautiful portion of the city called up-town. At a street-corner near, after a long hand-clasp, a long look in each other’s face, they parted.
Maggie was glad, when she entered, to find aunt Hester sitting in the dim light of her coal- fire only. She told her so. ‘Good aunt Hester!” she said, “I’m glad you enjoy sitting in the fire-light. I like it dearly.”
They sat and talked of different members of the family—especially of John and Herbert in their far-distant homes; and aunt Hester, who was famous for ‘looking on the sunny side,” said many of her jovial things, hearing in return no sound of laughter, hearing only the gentle, pensive answers, inquiries, which seemed to her strange in one so young.
CHAPTER XIII.
Maggie, in the succeeding days, tried to
brighten; walked in the clear air, and even in;
the storms, the cold wind and the snow felt so
good on her forehead, to get a little of the color
ef health into her cheeks; tried not to open her
eyes to such width; standing before aunt Hes-
ter’s great old-fashioned mirror, wished she
eould for a little while look and appear as she
used to, for his sake, he felt so bad. She would;
die for him, if that would make him forget her,
(after he had been up once more), and be as
happy as if he had never see: her. To die
would be a little thing to do for him, if it would;
make him happy.
We know, nearly the whole adult world, both sexes, knows what kind of desecration goes on in married homes all over our land, under cer- tain circumstances of pride, ambition, love of pleasure, so-called, under pleas of poverty, and little mouths enough already to feed; and what, outside this abused relation, goes on under the dread of shame, disgrace. They know, we all do, that the mighty wrong is becoming every year more and more common; that even among Christian men and women, health and virtue are, in its consummation, thrown to the winds,
with tears, perhaps; perhaps the woman weeps, but she does her deed, nevertheless.
“It is over, and she is safe!” so the woman said, going outside to speak to one, a gentle- man, who for hours had been slowly pacing the side-walk in the dark. ‘Over, and she’s safe!” When he bowed his head low, and was gone.
She sat next day in aunt Hester’s arm-chair, too weak to hear many words from aunt Hester; although, whenever the excellent woman came to bring her tea-and-toast, to see to the fire, or to her shawl, she gave her a few smiles, worth a million of words, aunt Hester thought; they were such happy smiles! such happy, happy smiles! So, out in the dining-room, she talked to her cat, half-attentive, half-asleep in a cushioned-chair near her—a habit she had acquired out of her social nature and half-solitary life.
“The sickest-looking child you ever saw, Miss Puss, she was when Mrs. Holt came in. Well she came just when she did. She’s a woman all Manchester knows for her goodness to the sick; could do everything; get the doctor—your and my doctor, puss, and he’s the best man and the best doctor in Manchester—and all I could do was to keep the teeth from chattering out of my head, and pile in coal and wood, and rub my hands, so that I might get warm, and, perhaps, know something, do something. Ah! your mistress is getting older and older. She used to be the warmest, spryest, when there was the most to do; now she isn’t ahy better than a frozen log. Mrs. Holt had to do all for the poor girl. She shan’t go out any more in the evening and in the storm; going out, if it snows ever so hard, blows ever so hard, facing it—she shan’t do it any more. When she gets well, if she tries it, you must hold her tight with both your claws, and with your great white teeth. You know how, puss. We, between us, must hold her, keep her in, or her father and mother will be requiring her life at our hands; at my hands, pussy, at your paws and your white teeth.”
She was talking low. She did not expect anybody to hear her but puss; and puss was such a sleepy-head. She had a good mind to box her ears to wake her fairly, and make her understand that it was a thing of some importance she was saying to her. But Maggie heard her, and laughed.
“Laughing? You laughing?” said aunt Hester, coming in; “it’s worth more than all the money John and Herbert both will get while they are gone, to hear you laugh like that—
