Her nature had become too deep and strong to seek trivial
diversion from the suspense that weighed upon her spirit. As she
thought of the possibility of failure, and its results, her courage
faltered a little, and a few tears would come. At last, with a glance
heavenward which proved that there was nothing in her heart to keep
her from looking thither for sanction, she left her room, serene and
resolute. She had taken her woman's destiny into her own hand, to mold
it in her own way, but in no arrogant and unbelieving spirit.
Mrs. Muir uttered a disappointed protest. "Oh, Madge, how plainly you
are dressed!"
"I knew you wouldn't like it at first," was the quiet reply. By the
time they had reached the parlor door opposite the office, near which
they proposed to wait for the travellers, now momentarily expected,
Mrs. Muir was compelled to acknowledge the correctness of Madge's
taste. Her costume no more distracted attention from herself than
would the infolding calyx of a rosebud. In its exquisite proportions
her fine figure was outlined by close white drapery, which made her
appear taller than she really was. A single half-open Jacqueminot
rose, like the one she had sent to Graydon at their parting over two
years since, was fastened on her bosom.
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