THE PEDDLER.
It was a rainy April day--a day which precluded all outdoor exercise,
and Hagar Warren, from the window of her lonely cabin, watched in vain
for the coming of Maggie Miller. It was now more than a week since she
had been there, for both Arthur Carrollton and herself had accompanied
the disappointed Anna Jeffrey to New York, going with her on board
the vessel which was to take her from a country she affected so to
dislike.
"I dare say you'll be Maggie somebody else ere I meet you again," she
said to Maggie, at parting, and Mr. Carrollton, on the journey home,
found it hard to keep from asking her if for the "somebody else" she
would substitute his name, and so be "Maggie Carrollton."
This, however, he did not do; but his attentions were so marked, and
his manner towards her so affectionate, that ere Hillsdale was reached
there was in Maggie's mind no longer a doubt as to the nature of his
feelings toward her. Arrived at home, he kept her constantly at
his side, while Hagar, who was suffering from a slight attack of
rheumatism, and could not go up to the stone house, waited and
watched, thinking herself almost willing to be teased for the secret,
if she could once more hear the sound of Maggie's voice. The secret,
however, had been forgotten in the exciting scenes through which
Maggie had passed since first she learned of its existence; and it was
now a long time since she had mentioned it to Hagar, who each day grew
more and more determined never to reveal it.
"My life is almost ended," she thought, "and the secret shall go with
me to my grave. Margaret will be happier without it, and it shall not
be revealed."
Thus she reasoned on that rainy afternoon, when she sat waiting for
Maggie, who, she heard, had returned the day before. Slowly the hours
dragged on, and the night shadows fell at last upon the forest
trees, creeping into the corners of Hagar's room, resting upon the
hearthstone, falling upon the window pane, creeping up the wall, and
affecting Hagar with a nameless fear of some impending evil. This fear
not even the flickering flame of the lamp, which she lighted at last
and placed upon the mantel, was able to dispel, for the shadows grew
darker, folding themselves around her heart, until she covered her
eyes with her hands, lest some goblin shape should spring into life
before her.
The sound of the gate latch was heard, and footsteps were approaching
the door--not the bounding step of Maggie, but a tramping tread,
followed by a heavy knock, and next moment a tall, heavy-built man
appeared before her, asking shelter for the night. The pack he carried
showed him at once to be a peddler, and upon a nearer view Hagar
recognized in him a stranger who, years before, had craved her
hospitality. He had been civil to her then; she did not fear him now,
and she consented to his remaining, thinking his presence there might
dispel the mysterious terror hanging around her. But few words passed
between them that night, for Martin, as he called himself, was tired,
and after partaking of the supper that she prepared he retired to
rest. The next morning, however, he was more talkative, kindly
enlightening her with regard to his business, his family, and his
place of residence, which last he said was in Meriden, Conn.
It was a long time since Hagar had heard that name, and now, turning
quickly towards him, she said, "Meriden? That is where my Hester
lived, and where her husband died."
"I want to know!" returned the Yankee peddler. "What might have been
his name?"
"Hamilton--Nathan Hamilton. Did you know him? He died nineteen years
ago this coming summer."
"Egzactly!" ejaculated the peddler, setting down his pack and himself
taking a chair, preparatory to a long talk. "Egzactly; I knowed him
like a book. Old Squire Hampleton, the biggest man in Meriden, and you
don't say his last wife, that tall, handsome gal, was your darter?"
"Yes, she was my daughter," answered Hagar, her whole face glowing
with the interest she felt in talking for the first time in her life
with one who had known her daughter's husband, Maggie's father. "You
knew her. You have seen her?" she continued; and Martin answered,
"Seen her a hundred times, I'll bet. Anyhow, I sold her the weddin'
gown; and now, I think on't, she favored you. She was a likely person,
and I allus thought that proud sister of his'n, the Widder Warner,
might have been in better business than takin' them children away as
she did, because he married his hired gal. But it's as well for them,
I s'pose, particularly for the boy, who is one of the fust young men
in Wooster now. Keeps a big store!"
"Warner, Warner!" interrupted old Hagar, the nameless terror of the
night before creeping again into her heart. "Whose name did you say
was Warner?"
"The hull on 'em, boy, girl, and all, is called Warner now--one Rose,
and t'other Henry," answered the peddler, perfectly delighted with the
interest manifested by his auditor, who, grasping at the bedpost and
moving her hand rapidly before her eyes, as if to clear away a mist
which had settled there, continued, "I remember now, Hester told me of
the children; but one, she said, was a stepchild--that was the boy,
wasn't it?" and her wild, black eyes had in them a look of unutterable
anxiety, wholly incomprehensible to the peddler, who, instead of
answering her question said: "What ails you woman? Your face is as
white as a piece of paper?"
"Thinking of Hester always affects me so," she answered; and
stretching her hands beseechingly towards him, she entreated him to
say if Henry were not the stepchild.
"No marm, he warn't," answered the peddler, who, like a great many
talkative people, pretended to know more than he really did, and who
in this particular instance was certainly mistaken. "I can tell you
egzactly how that is: Henry was the son of Mr. Hampleton's first
marriage--Henry Hampleton. The second wife, the one your darter lived
with, was the Widder Warner, and had a little gal, Rose, when she
married Mr. Hampleton. This Widder Warner's husband's brother married
Mr. Hampleton's sister, the woman who took the children, and had Henry
change his name to Warner. The Hampletons and Warners were mighty
big-feelin' folks, and the old squire's match mortified 'em
dreadfully."
"Where are they now?" gasped Hagar, hoping there might be some
mistake.
"There you've got me!" answered Martin. "I haven't seen 'em this
dozen year; but the last I heard, Miss Warner and Rose was livin' in
Leominster, and Henry was in a big store in Wooster. But what the
plague is the matter?" he continued, alarmed at the expression of
Hagar's face, as well as at the strangeness of her manner.
Wringing her hands as if she would wrench her fingers from their
sockets, she clutched at her long white hair, and, rocking to and fro,
moaned, "Woe is me, and woe the day when I was born!"
From everyone save her grandmother Margaret had kept the knowledge of
her changed feelings towards Henry Warner; and looking upon a marriage
between the two as an event surely to be expected, old Hagar was
overwhelmed with grief and fear. Falling at last upon her knees, she
cried: "Had you cut my throat from ear to ear, old man, you could not
have hurt me more! Oh, that I had died years and years ago! But I must
live now--live!" she screamed, springing to her feet--"live to prevent
the wrong my own wickedness has caused!"
Perfectly astonished at what he saw and heard, the peddler attempted
to question her, but failing to obtain any satisfactory answers he
finally left, mentally pronouncing her "as crazy as a loon." This
opinion was confirmed by the people on whom he next called, for,
chancing to speak of Hagar, he was told that nothing which she did or
said was considered strange, as she had been called insane for years.
This satisfied Martin, who made no further mention of her, and
thus the scandal which his story might otherwise have produced was
prevented.
In the meantime on her face lay old Hagar, moaning bitterly. "My sin
has found me out; and just when I thought it never need be known! For
myself I do not care; but Maggie, Maggie--how can I tell her that she
is bone of my bone, blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh--and me old
Hagar Warren!"
It would be impossible to describe the scorn and intense loathing
concentrated in the tones of Hagar's voice as she uttered these last
words, "and me old Hagar Warren!" Had she indeed been the veriest
wretch on earth, she could not have hated herself more than she did in
that hour of her humiliation, when, with a loud voice, she cried, "Let
me die, oh, let me die, and it will never be known!" Then, as she
reflected upon the terrible consequence which would ensue were she to
die and make no sign, she wrung her hands despairingly, crying: "Life,
life--yes, give me life to tell her of my guilt; and then it will be
a blessed rest to die. Oh, Margaret, my precious child, I'd give my
heart's blood, drop by drop, to save you; but it can't be; you must
not wed your father's son; oh, Maggie, Maggie, Maggie!"
Fainter and fainter grew each succeeding word, and when the last was
spoken she fell again upon her face, unconscious and forgetful of her
woe. Higher and higher in the heavens rose the morning sun, stealing
across the window sill, and shining aslant the floor, where Hagar
still lay in a deep, deathlike swoon. An hour passed on, and then the
wretched woman came slowly back to life, her eyes lighting up with
joy, as she whispered, "It was a dream, thank Heaven, 'twas a dream!"
and then growing dim with tears, as the dread reality came over her.
The first fearful burst of grief was passed, for Hagar now could weep,
and tears did her good, quelling the feverish agony at her heart. Not
for herself did she suffer so much as for Maggie, trembling for the
effect the telling of the secret would have on her. For it must be
told. She knew that full well, and as the sun fast neared the western
horizon, she murmured, "Oh, will she come to-night, will she come
to-night?"
Yes, Hagar, she will. Even now her feet, which, when they backward
turn, will tread less joyously, are threading the woodland path. The
halfway rock is reached--nearer and nearer she comes--her shadow
falls across the floor--her hand is on your arm--her voice in your
ear--Maggie Miller is at your side--Heaven help you both!