Only once had
Nurse Day questioned her of the past, and then Margie had said:
"I have done with the past forever, Nurse Day. I wish it never recalled
to me. I have met with a great sorrow--one of which I cannot speak. I
came here to forget it. Never ask me anything about it. I would confide
it to you, if I could, but my word is given to another to keep silent.
I acted for what I thought best. Heaven knows if I erred, I did not err
willingly."
"Give it all into God's hands," said Nurse Day, reverently. "He knows
just what is best for us."
The days went on slowly, but they brought something of peace to Margie
Harrison. The violence of her distress passed away, and now there was
only a dull pain at her heart--a pain that must always have its abode
there.
She held no communication with any person in New York, save her aunt, and
her business agent, Mr. Farley, and her letters to them were posted in a
distant town, in a neighboring State, where Nurse Day had friends--and so
Margie's place of refuge was still a secret.
It was August now, and the weather at its hottest. Margie spent a large
portion of her time out of doors, with only Leo for a companion. She sat,
one lovely afternoon, on the bank of the river, dividing her time between
the charming panorama of sunshine and shadow before her, and a book of
poems in her lap, when there was a step at her side.
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