HAGAR'S SECRET.
The wintry winds were blowing cold and chill around the old stone
house, and the deep untrodden snow lay highly piled upon the ground.
For many days the gray, leaden clouds had frowned gloomily down upon
the earth below, covering it with a thick veil of white. But the storm
was over now; with the setting sun it had gone to rest, and the pale
moonlight stole softly into the silent chamber, where Madam Conway
bent anxiously down to see if but the faintest breath came from the
parted lips of her only daughter. There had been born to her that
night another grandchild--a little, helpless girl, which now in an
adjoining room was Hagar's special care; and Hagar, sitting there with
the wee creature upon her lap, and the dread fear at her heart that
her young mistress might die, forgot for once to repine at her lot,
and did cheerfully whatever was required of her to do.
There was silence in the rooms below--silence in the chambers
above,--silence everywhere,--for the sick woman seemed fast nearing
the deep, dark river whose waters move onward, but never return.
Almost a week went by, and then, in a room far more humble than where
Margaret Miller lay, another immortal being was given to the world;
and, with a softened light in her keen black eyes, old Hagar told to
her stately mistress, when she met her on the stair, that she too was
a grandmother.
"You must not on that account neglect Margaret's child," was Madam
Conway's answer, as with a wave of her hand she passed on; and this
was all she said--not a word of sympathy or congratulation for the
peculiar old woman whose heart, so long benumbed, had been roused to
a better state of feeling, and who in the first joy of her newborn
happiness had hurried to her mistress, fancying for the moment that
she was almost her equal.
"Don't neglect Margaret's child for that!" How the words rang in her
ears as she fled up the narrow stairs and through the dark hall, till
the low room was reached where lay the babe for whom Margaret's child
was not to be neglected. All the old bitterness had returned, and as
hour after hour went by, and Madam Conway came not near, while the
physician and the servants looked in for a moment only and then
hurried away to the other sickroom, where all their services were kept
in requisition, she muttered: "Little would they care if Hester died
upon my hands. And she will die too," she continued, as by the fading
daylight she saw the pallor deepen on her daughter's face.
And Hagar was right, for Hester's sands were nearer run than those of
Mrs. Miller. The utmost care might not, perhaps, have saved her; but
the matter was not tested; and when the long clock at the head of the
stairs struck the hour of midnight she murmured: "It is getting dark
here, mother--so dark--and I am growing cold. Can it be death?"
"Yes, Hester, 'tis death," answered Hagar, and her voice was
unnaturally calm as she laid her hand on the clammy brow of her
daughter.
An hour later, and Madam Conway, who sat dozing in the parlor below,
ready for any summons which might come from Margaret's room, was
roused by the touch of a cold, hard hand, and Hagar Warren stood
before her.
"Come," she said, "come with me;" and, thinking only of Margaret,
Madam Conway arose to follow her. "Not there--but this way," said
Hagar, as her mistress turned towards Mrs. Miller's door, and grasping
firmly the lady's arm she led to the room where Hester lay dead, with
her young baby clasped lovingly to her bosom. "Look at her--and pity
me now, if you never did before. She was all I had in the world to
love," said Hagar passionately.
Madam Conway was not naturally a hard-hearted woman, and she answered
gently: "I do pity you, Hagar, and I did not think Hester was so ill.
Why haven't you let me know?" To this Hagar made no direct reply, and
after a few more inquiries Madam Conway left the room, saying she
would send up the servants to do whatever was necessary. When it was
known throughout the house that Hester was dead much surprise was
expressed and a good deal of sympathy manifested for old Hagar, who,
with a gloomy brow, hugged to her heart the demon of jealousy, which
kept whispering to her of the difference there would be were Margaret
to die. It was deemed advisable to keep Hester's death a secret from
Mrs. Miller; so, with as little ceremony as possible, the body was
buried at the close of the day, in an inclosure which had been set
apart as a family burying-ground; and when again the night shadows
fell Hagar Warren sat in her silent room, brooding over her grief, and
looking oft at the plain pine cradle where lay the little motherless
child, her granddaughter. Occasionally, too, her eye wandered towards
the mahogany crib, where another infant slept. Perfect quiet seemed
necessary for Mrs. Miller, and Madam Conway had ordered her baby to
be removed from the antechamber where first it had been kept, so that
Hagar had the two children in her own room.
In the pine cradle there was a rustling sound; the baby was awaking,
and taking it upon her lap Hagar soothed it again to sleep, gazing
earnestly upon it to see if it were like its mother. It was a bright,
healthy-looking infant, and though five days younger than that of Mrs.
Miller was quite as large and looked as old.
"And you will be a drudge, while she will be a lady," muttered Hagar,
as her tears fell on the face of the sleeping child. "Why need this
difference be?"
Old Hagar had forgotten the words "Lead us not into temptation"; and
when the Tempter answered, "It need not be," she only started suddenly
as if smitten by a heavy blow; but she did not drive him from her, and
she sat there reasoning with herself that "it need not be." Neither
the physician nor Madam Conway had paid any attention to Margaret's
child; it had been her special care, while no one had noticed hers,
and newly born babies were so much alike that deception was an easy
matter. But could she do it? Could she bear that secret on her soul?
Madam Conway, though proud, had been kind to her, and could she thus
deceive her! Would her daughter, sleeping in her early grave, approve
the deed. "No, no," she answered aloud, "she would not!" and the great
drops of perspiration stood thick upon her dark, haggard face as she
arose and laid back in her cradle the child whom she had thought to
make an heiress.
For a time the Tempter left her, but returned ere long, and creeping
into her heart sung to her beautiful songs of the future which might
be were Hester's baby a lady. And Hagar, listening to that song,
fell asleep, dreaming that the deed was done by other agency than
hers--that the little face resting on the downy pillow, and shaded
by the costly lace, was lowly born; while the child wrapped in the
coarser blanket came of nobler blood, even that of the Conways, who
boasted more than one lordly title. With a nervous start she awoke
at last, and creeping to the cradle of mahogany looked to see if her
dream were true; but it was not. She knew it by the pinched, blue
look about the nose, and the thin covering of hair. This was all the
difference which even her eye could see, and probably no other person
had noticed that, for the child had never been seen save in a darkened
room.
The sin was growing gradually less heinous, and she could now calmly
calculate the chances for detection. Still, the conflict was long and
severe, and it was not until morning that the Tempter gained a point
by compromising the matter, and suggesting that while dressing the
infants she should change their clothes for once, just to see how
fine cambrics and soft flannels would look upon a grandchild of Hagar
Warren! "I can easily change them again--it is only an experiment,"
she said, as with trembling hands she proceeded to divest the children
of their wrappings. But her fingers seemed all thumbs, and more than
one sharp pin pierced the tender flesh of her little grandchild as she
fastened together the embroidered slip, teaching her thus early, had
she been able to learn the lesson, that the pathway of the rich is not
free from thorns.
Their toilet was completed at last--their cradle beds exchanged; and
then, with a strange, undefined feeling, old Hagar stood back and
looked to see how the little usurper became her new position. She
became it well, and to Hagar's partial eyes it seemed more meet that
she should lie there beneath the silken covering than the other one,
whose nose looked still more pinched and blue in the plain white dress
and cradle of pine. Still, there was a gnawing pain at Hagar's heart,
and she would perhaps have undone the wrong had not Madam Conway
appeared with inquiries for the baby's health. Hagar could not face
her mistress, so she turned away and pretended to busy herself with
the arrangement of the room, while the lady, bending over the cradle,
said, "I think she is improving, Hagar; I never saw her look so well";
and she pushed back the window curtain to obtain a better view.
With a wild, startled look in her eye, Hagar held her breath to hear
what might come next, but her fears were groundless; for, in her
anxiety for her daughter, Madam Conway had heretofore scarcely seen
her grandchild, and had no suspicion now that the sleeper before her
was of plebeian birth, nor yet that the other little one, at whom she
did not deign to look, was bone of her bone and flesh of her flesh.
She started to leave the room, but, impelled by some sudden impulse,
turned back and stooped to kiss the child. Involuntarily old Hagar
sprang forward to stay the act, and grasped the lady's arm, but she
was too late; the aristocratic lips had touched the cheek of Hagar
Warren's grandchild, and the secret, if now confessed, would never be
forgiven.
"It can't be helped," muttered Hagar, and then, when Mrs. Conway asked
an explanation of her conduct, she answered, "I was afraid you'd wake
her up, and mercy knows I've had worry enough with both the brats."
Not till then had Madam Conway observed how haggard and worn was
Hagar's face, and instead of reproving her for her boldness she said
gently: "You have indeed been sorely tried! Shall I send up Bertha to
relieve you!"
"No, no," answered Hagar hurriedly, "I am better alone."
The next moment Madam Conway was moving silently down the narrow
hall, while Hagar on her knees was weeping passionately. One word of
kindness had effected more than a thousand reproaches would have done;
and wringing her hands she cried, "I will not do it; I cannot."
Approaching the cradle, she was about to lift the child, when again
Madam Conway was at the door. She had come, she said, to take the babe
to Margaret, who seemed better this morning, and had asked to see it.
"Not now, not now. Wait till I put on her a handsomer dress, and I'll
bring her myself," pleaded Hagar.
But Madam Conway saw no fault in the fine cambric wrapper, and
taking the infant in her arms she walked away, while Hagar followed
stealthily. Very lovingly the mother folded to her bosom the babe,
calling it her fatherless one, and wetting its face with her tears,
while through the half-closed door peered Hagar's wild dark eyes--one
moment lighting up with exultation as she muttered, "It's my flesh,
my blood, proud lady!" and the next growing dim with tears, as she
thought of the evil she had done.
"I did not know she had so much hair," said Mrs. Miller, parting the
silken locks. "I think it will be like mine," and she gave the child
to her mother, while Hagar glided swiftly back to her room.
That afternoon the clergyman whose church Mrs. Conway usually
attended, called to see Mrs. Miller, who suggested that both the
children should receive the rite of baptism. Hagar was accordingly
bidden to prepare them for the ceremony, and resolving to make one
more effort to undo what she had done she dressed the child whom she
had thought to wrong in its own clothes, and then anxiously awaited
her mistress' coming.
"Hagar Warren! What does this mean? Are you crazy!" sternly demanded
Madam Conway, when the old nurse held up before her the child with the
blue nose.
"No, not crazy yet; but I shall be, if you don't take this one first,"
answered Hagar.
More than once that day Madam Conway had heard the servants hint that
Hagar's grief had driven her insane; and now when she observed the
unnatural brightness in her eyes, and saw what she had done, she too
thought it possible that her mind was partially unsettled; so she said
gently, but firmly: "This is no time for foolishness, Hagar. They are
waiting for us in the sickroom; so make haste and change the baby's
dress."
There was something authoritative in her manner, and Hagar obeyed,
whispering incoherently to herself, and thus further confirming
her mistress' suspicions that she was partially insane. During the
ceremony she stood tall and erect like some dark, grim statue, her
hands firmly locked together, and her eyes fixed upon the face of
the little one who was baptized Margaret Miller. As the clergyman
pronounced that name she uttered a low, gasping moan, but her face
betrayed no emotion, and very calmly she stepped forward with the
other child upon her arm.
"What name?" asked the minister; and she answered, "Her mother's; call
her for her mother!"
"Hester," said Madam Conway, turning to the clergyman, who understood
nothing from Hagar's reply.
So Hester was the name given to the child in whose veins the blood of
English noblemen was flowing; and when the ceremony was ended Hagar
bore back to her room Hester Hamilton, the child defrauded of her
birthright, and Maggie Miller, the heroine of our story.