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.
"Would to heaven that it might never arrive," then suddenly checking
the wicked wish the girl exclaimed, "it is so hard to bear. Oh,
Heavenly Father, forgive my wicked, sinful heart."
"Madge, whom do you think I met as I was going along Princess
street?"
Jennie had now turned towards her cousin. Her honest face was fair
to look upon. Its genuineness was stamped in bold characters upon
the open brow and reflected in the clear expressive eyes.
"Why, none other than Helen Rushton. She has just arrived from
Fredericton where she has been for six weeks. She introduced me to
her friend Miss Boynton who is such a nice-looking girl, not a
beauty but interesting and very graceful."
"She called a few days after I came home," said Marguerite, "but I
was unable to leave papa. Helen is a good girl, Jennie."
"I always liked her," said the latter, putting a little marker in
her book, "and I would give anything to have her visit us. Mother
seems much interested in her."
"I think that I met Miss Boynton at Mrs.
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