She passed out of memory, and was forgotten, like a perished leaf,
or a beautiful sunset fading out with the night.
* * * * *
The summer days fled on, and brought the autumn mellowness and splendor.
Margie, outwardly calm and quiet, lived at Harrison Park with her staid
maiden aunt.
A year passed away thus monotonously, then another, and no tidings ever
came of Archer Trevlyn. Margie thought of him now as we think of one long
dead, with tender regret, and love almost reverent. He was dead to her,
she said, but it was no sin to cherish his memory.
In the third year Margie's aunt married. It was quite a little romance.
An old lover, discarded years before in a fit of girlish obstinacy, came
back, after weary wanderings in search of happiness, and seeking out the
love of other days, wooed and won her over again.
There was a quiet wedding, and then the happy pair decided on a trip
to Europe. And, of course, Margie must accompany them. At first she
demurred; she took so little pleasure in anything, she feared her
presence might mar their happiness, and she dreaded to leave the place
where she had passed so many delightful hours with him. But her aunt and
Doctor Elbert refused to give her up, and so, one beautiful September
morning, they sailed for Liverpool in the good ship Colossus.
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