HESTER AND MAGGIE.
"It is over now," old Hagar thought, as she laid the children upon
their pillows. "The deed is done, and by their own hands too. There is
nothing left for me now but a confession, and that I cannot make;" so
with a heavy weight upon her soul she sat down, resolving to keep her
own counsel and abide the consequence, whatever it might be.
But it wore upon her terribly,--that secret,--and though it helped
in a measure to divert her mind from dwelling too much upon her
daughter's death it haunted her continually, making her a strange,
eccentric woman whom the servants persisted in calling crazy, while
even Madam Conway failed to comprehend her. Her face, always dark,
seemed to have acquired a darker, harder look, while her eyes wore a
wild, startled expression, as if she were constantly followed by some
tormenting fear. At first Mrs. Miller objected to trusting her with
the babe; but when Madam Conway suggested that the woman who had
charge of little Theo should also take care of Maggie she fell upon
her knees and begged most piteously that the child might not be taken
from her. "Everything I have ever loved has left me," said she, "and I
cannot give her up."
"But they say you are crazy," answered Madam Conway, somewhat
surprised that Hagar should manifest so much affection for a child not
at all connected to her. "They say you are crazy, and no one trusts a
crazy woman."
"Crazy!" repeated Hagar half-scornfully; "crazy--'tis not
craziness--'tis the trouble--the trouble--that's killing me! But I'll
hide it closer than it's hidden now," she continued, "if you'll let
her stay; and 'fore Heaven I swear that sooner than harm one hair of
Maggie's head I'd part with my own life;" and taking the sleeping
child in her arms she stood like a wild beast at bay.
Madam Conway did not herself really believe in Hagar's insanity. She
had heretofore been perfectly faithful to whatever was committed to
her care, so she bade her be quiet, saying they would trust her for a
time.
"It's the talking to myself," said Hagar, when left alone. "It's the
talking to myself which makes them call me crazy; and though I might
talk to many a worse woman than old Hagar Warren, I'll stop it; I'll
be still as the grave, and when next they gossip about me it shall be
of something besides craziness."
So Hagar became suddenly silent and uncommunicative, mingling but
little with the servants, but staying all day long in her room, where
she watched the children with untiring care. Especially was she kind
to Hester, who as time passed on proved to be a puny, sickly thing,
never noticing anyone, but moaning frequently as if in pain. Very
tenderly old Hagar nursed her, carrying her often in her arms until
they ached from very weariness, while Madam Conway, who watched her
with a vigilant eye, complained that she neglected little Maggie.
"And what if I do?" returned Hagar somewhat bitterly. "Aint there a
vast difference between the two? S'pose Hester was your own flesh and
blood, would you think I could do too much for the poor thing?" And
she glanced compassionately at the poor wasted form which lay upon her
lap, gasping for breath, and presenting a striking contrast to little
Maggie, who in her cradle was crowing and laughing in childish glee at
the bright firelight which blazed upon the hearth.
Maggie was indeed a beautiful child. From her mother she had inherited
the boon of perfect health, and she throve well in spite of the bumped
heads and pinched fingers which frequently fell to her lot, when Hagar
was too busy with the feeble child to notice her. The plaything of the
whole house, she was greatly petted by the servants, who vied with
each other in tracing points of resemblance between her and the
Conways; while the grandmother prided herself particularly on the
arched eyebrows and finely cut upper lip, which she said were sure
marks of high blood, and never found in the lower ranks! With a
scornful expression on her face, old Hagar would listen to these
remarks, and then, when sure that no one heard her, she would mutter:
"Marks of blood! What nonsense! I'm almost glad I've solved the
riddle, and know 'taint blood that makes the difference. Just tell
her the truth once, and she'd quickly change her mind. Hester's blue,
pinched nose, which makes one think of fits, would be the very essence
of aristocracy, while Maggie's lip would come of the little Paddy
blood there is running in her veins!"
And still Madam Conway herself was not one-half so proud of the
bright, playful Maggie as was old Hagar, who, when they were alone,
would hug her to her bosom, and gaze fondly on her fair, round face
and locks of silken hair, so like those now resting in the grave. In
the meantime Mrs. Miller, who since her daughter's birth, had never
left her room, was growing daily weaker, and when Maggie was nearly
nine months old she died, with the little one folded to her bosom,
just as Hester Hamilton had held it when she too passed from earth.
"Doubly blessed," whispered old Hagar, who was present, and then when
she remembered that to poor little Hester a mother's blessing would
never be given she felt that her load of guilt was greater than she
could bear. "She will perhaps forgive me if I confess it to her
over Miss Margaret's coffin," she thought; and once when they stood
together by the sleeping dead, and Madam Conway, with Maggie in her
arms, was bidding the child kiss the clay-cold lips of its mother, old
Hagar attempted to tell her. "Could you bear Miss Margaret's death as
well," she said, "if Maggie, instead of being bright and playful
as she is, were weak and sick like Hester?" and her eyes fastened
themselves upon Madam Conway with an agonizing intensity which that
lady could not fathom. "Say, would you bear it as well--could you love
her as much--would you change with me, take Hester for your own, and
give me little Maggie?" she persisted, and Madam Conway, surprised
at her excited manner, which she attributed in a measure to envy,
answered coldly: "Of course not. Still, if God had seen fit to give me
a child like Hester, I should try to be reconciled, but I am thankful
he has not thus dealt with me."
"'Tis enough. I am satisfied," thought Hagar. "She would not thank me
for telling her. The secret shall be kept;" and half exultingly she
anticipated the pride she should feel in seeing her granddaughter
grown up a lady and an heiress.
Anon, however, there came stealing over her a feeling of remorse, as
she reflected that the child defrauded of its birthright would, if it
lived, be compelled to serve in the capacity of a servant; and many a
night, when all else was silent in the old stone house, she paced up
and down the room, her long hair, now fast turning gray, falling over
her shoulders, and her large eyes dimmed with tears, as she thought
what the future would bring to the infant she carried in her arms.
But the evil she so much dreaded never came, for when the winter snows
were again falling they made a little grave beneath the same pine tree
where Hester Hamilton lay sleeping, and, while they dug that grave,
old Hagar sat, with folded arms and tearless eyes, gazing fixedly upon
the still white face and thin blue lips which would never again be
distorted with pain. Her habit of talking to herself had returned, and
as she sat there she would at intervals whisper: "Poor little babe! I
would willingly have cared for you all my life, but I am glad you
are gone to Miss Margaret, who, it may be, will wonder what little
thin-faced angel is calling her mother! But somebody'll introduce you,
somebody'll tell her who you are, and when she knows how proud her
mother is of Maggie she'll forgive old Hagar Warren!"
"Gone stark mad!" was the report carried by the servants to their
mistress, who believed the story when Hagar herself came to her with
the request that Hester might be buried in some of Maggie's clothes.
Touched with pity by her worn, haggard face, Madam Conway answered,
"Yes, take some of her common ones," and, choosing the cambric robe
which Hester had worn on the morning when the exchange was made, Hagar
dressed the body for the grave. When at last everything was ready,
and the tiny coffin stood upon the table, Madam Conway drew near and
looked for a moment on the emaciated form which rested quietly from
all its pain. Hovering at her side was Hagar, and feeling it her duty
to say a word of comfort the stately lady remarked that it was best
the babe should die; that were it her grandchild she should feel
relieved; for had it lived, it would undoubtedly have been physically
and intellectually feeble.
"Thank you! I am considerably comforted," was the cool reply of Hagar,
who felt how cruel were the words, and who for a moment was strongly
tempted to claim the beautiful Maggie as her own, and give back to the
cold, proud woman the senseless clay on which she looked so calmly.
But love for her grandchild conquered. There was nothing in the way of
her advancement now, and when at the grave she knelt her down to weep,
as the bystanders thought, over her dead, she was breathing there a
vow that never so long as she lived should the secret of Maggie's
birth be given to the world unless some circumstance then unforeseen
should make it absolutely and unavoidably necessary. To see Maggie
grow up into a beautiful, refined, and cultivated woman was now the
great object of Hagar's life; and, fearing lest by some inadvertent
word or action the secret should be disclosed, she wished to live by
herself, where naught but the winds of heaven could listen to the
incoherent whisperings which made her fellow-servants accuse her of
insanity.
Down in the deepest shadow of the woods, and distant from the old
stone house nearly a mile, was a half-ruined cottage which, years
before, had been occupied by miners, who had dug in the hillside
for particles of yellow ore which they fancied to be gold. Long and
frequent were the night revels said to have been held in the old hut,
which had at last fallen into bad repute and been for years deserted.
To one like Hagar, however, there was nothing intimidating in its
creaking old floors, its rattling windows and noisome chimney, where
the bats and the swallows built their nests; and when one day Madam
Conway proposed giving little Maggie into the charge of a younger and
less nervous person than herself she made no objection, but surprised
her mistress by asking permission to live by herself in the "cottage
by the mine," as it was called.
"It is better for me to be alone," said she, "for I may do something
terrible if I stay here, something I would sooner die than do," and
her eyes fell upon Maggie sleeping in her cradle.
This satisfied Madam Conway that the half-crazed woman meditated harm
to her favorite grandchild, and she consented readily to her
removal to the cottage, which by her orders was made comparatively
comfortable. For several weeks, when she came, as she did each day, to
the house, Madam Conway kept Maggie carefully from her sight, until at
last she begged so hard to see her that her wish was gratified; and
as she manifested no disposition whatever to molest the child, Madam
Conway's fears gradually subsided, and Hagar was permitted to fondle
and caress her as often as she chose.
Here now, for a time, we leave them; Hagar in her cottage by the mine;
Madam Conway in her gloomy home; Maggie in her nurse's arms; and Theo,
of whom as yet but little has been said, playing on the nursery floor;
while with our readers we pass silently over a period of time which
shall bring us to Maggie's girlhood.