HAGAR.
By Theo's request old Hagar had been taken home the day before,
yielding submissively, for her frenzied mood was over--her strength
was gone--her life was nearly spent--and Hagar did not wish to live.
That for which she had sinned had been accomplished, and, though it
had cost her days and nights of anguish, she was satisfied at last.
Margaret was coming home again--would be a lady still--the bride of
Arthur Carrollton, for George Douglas had told her so, and she was
willing now to die, but not until she had seen her once again--had
looked into the beautiful face of which she had been so proud.
Not to-day, however, does she expect her; and just as the sun was
setting, the sun which shines on Margaret at home, she falls away to
sleep. It was at this hour that Margaret was wont to visit her, and
now, as the treetops grew red in the day's departing glory, a graceful
form came down the woodland path, where for many weeks the grass
has not been crushed beneath her feet. They saw her as she left the
house,--Madam Conway, Theo, all,--but none asked whither she was
going. They knew, and one who loved her best of all followed slowly
after, waiting in the woods until that interview should end.
Hagar lay calmly sleeping. The servant was as usual away, and there
was no eye watching Margaret as with burning cheeks and beating heart
she crossed the threshold of the door, pausing not, faltering not,
until the bed was reached--the bed where Hagar lay, her crippled hands
folded meekly upon her breast, her white hair shading a whiter face,
and a look about her half-shut mouth as if the thin, pale lips had
been much used of late to breathe the word "Forgive." Maggie had
never seen her thus before, and the worn-out, aged face had something
touching in its sad expression, and something startling too, bidding
her hasten, if to that woman she would speak.
"Hagar," she essayed to say, but the word died on her lips, for
standing there alone, with the daylight fading from the earth, and the
lifelight fading from the form before her, it seemed not meet that she
should thus address the sleeper. There was a name, however, by which
she called another--a name of love, and it would make the withered
heart of Hagar Warren bound and beat and throb with untold joy.
And Margaret said that name at last, whispering it first softly to
herself; then, bending down so that her breath stirred the snow-white
hair, she repeated it aloud, starting involuntarily as the rude walls
echoed back the name "Grandmother!"
"Grandmother!" Through the senses locked in sleep it penetrated, and
the dim eyes, once so fiery and black, grew large and bright again as
Hagar Warren woke.
Was it a delusion, that beauteous form which met her view, that soft
hand on her brow, or was it Maggie Miller?
"Grandmother," the low voice said again, "I am Maggie--Hester's child.
Can you see me? Do you know that I am here?"
Yes, through the films of age, through the films of coming death, and
through the gathering darkness, old Hagar saw and knew, and with a
scream of joy her shrunken arms wound themselves convulsively around
the maiden's neck, drawing her nearer, and nearer still, until the
shriveled lips touched the cheek of her who did not turn away, but
returned that kiss of love.
"Say it again, say that word once more," and the arms closed tighter
round the form of Margaret, who breathed it yet again, while the
childish woman sobbed aloud, "It is sweeter than the angels' song to
hear you call me so."
She did not ask her when she came--she did not ask her where she had
been; but Maggie told her all, sitting by her side with the poor hands
clasped in her own; then, as the twilight shadows deepened in the
room, she struck a light, and coming nearer to Hagar, said, "Am I much
like my mother?"
"Yes, yes, only more winsome," was the answer, and the half-blind eyes
looked proudly at the beautiful girl bending over the humble pillow.
"Do you know that?" Maggie asked, holding to view the ambrotype of
Hester Hamilton.
For an instant Hagar wavered, then hugging the picture to her bosom,
she laughed and cried together, whispering as she did so, "My little
girl, my Hester, my baby that I used to sing to sleep in our home away
over the sea."
Hagar's mind was wandering amid the scenes of bygone years, but it
soon came back again to the present time, and she asked of Margaret
whence that picture came. In a few words Maggie told her, and then for
a time there was silence, which was broken at last by Hagar's voice,
weaker now than when she spoke before.
"Maggie," she said, "what of this Arthur Carrollton? Will he make you
his bride?"
"He has so promised," answered Maggie; and Hagar continued: "He will
take you to England, and you will be a lady, sure. Margaret, listen to
me. 'Tis the last time we shall ever talk together, you and I, and
I am glad that it is so. I have greatly sinned, but I have been
forgiven, and I am willing now to die. Everything I wished for has
come to pass, even the hearing you call me by that blessed name; but,
Maggie, when to-morrow they say that I am dead--when you come down to
look upon me lying here asleep, you needn't call me 'Grandmother,' you
may say 'poor Hagar!' with the rest; and, Maggie, is it too much
to ask that your own hands will arrange my hair, fix my cap, and
straighten my poor old crooked limbs for the coffin? And if I should
look decent, will you, when nobody sees you do it--Madam Conway,
Arthur Carrollton, nobody who is proud--will you, Maggie, kiss me once
for the sake of what I've suffered that you might be what you are?"
"Yes, yes, I will," was Maggie's answer, her tears falling fast, and
a fear creeping into her heart, as by the dim candlelight she saw a
nameless shadow settling down on Hagar's face.
The servant entered at this moment, and, glancing at old Hagar, sunk
into a chair, for she knew that shadow was death.
"Maggie," and the voice was now a whisper, "I wish I could once more
see this Mr. Carrollton. 'Tis the nature of his kin to be sometimes
overbearing, and though I am only old Hagar Warren he might heed my
dying words, and be more thoughtful of your happiness. Do you think
that he would come?"
Ere Maggie had time to answer there was a step upon the floor, and
Arthur Carrollton stood at her side. He had waited for her long, and
growing at last impatient had stolen to the open door, and when the
dying woman asked for him he had trampled down his pride and entered
the humble room. Winding his arm round Margaret, who trembled
violently, he said: "Hagar, I am here. Have you aught to say to me?"
Quickly the glazed eyes turned towards him, and the clammy hand was
timidly extended. He took it unhesitatingly, while the pale lips
murmured faintly, "Maggie's too." Then, holding both between her own,
old Hagar said solemnly, "Young man, as you hope for heaven, deal
kindly with my child," and Arthur Carrollton answered her aloud, "As I
hope for heaven, I will," while Margaret fell upon her knees and wept.
Raising herself in bed, Hagar laid her hands upon the head of the
kneeling girl, breathing over her a whispered blessing; then the hands
pressed heavily, the fingers clung with a loving grasp, as it were, to
the bands of shining hair--the thin lips ceased to move--the head fell
back upon the pillow, motionless and still, and Arthur Carrollton,
leading Margaret away, gently told her that Hagar was dead.
* * * * *
Carefully, tenderly, as if she had been a wounded dove, did the whole
household demean themselves towards Margaret, seeing that everything
needful was done, but mentioning never in her presence the name of the
dead. And Margaret's position was a trying one, for though Hagar had
been her grandmother she had never regarded her as such, and she could
not now affect a grief she did not feel. Still, from her earliest
childhood she had loved the strange old woman, and she mourned for
her now, as friend mourneth for friend, when there is no tie of blood
between them.
Her promise, too, was kept, and with her own hands she smoothed the
snow-white hair, tied on the muslin cap, folded the stiffened arms,
and then, unmindful who was looking on, kissed twice the placid face,
which seemed to smile on her in death.
* * * * *
By the side of Hester Hamilton they made another grave, and, with
Arthur Carrollton and Rose standing at either side, Margaret looked on
while the weary and worn was laid to rest; then slowly retraced her
steps, walking now with Madam Conway, for Arthur Carrollton and Rose
had lingered at the grave, talking together of a plan which had
presented itself to the minds of both as they stood by the humble
stone which told where Margaret's mother slept. To Margaret, however,
they said not a word, nor yet to Madam Conway, though they both united
in urging the two ladies to accompany Theo to Worcester for a few
days.
"Mrs. Warner will help me keep house," Mr. Carrollton said, advancing
the while so many good reasons why Margaret at least should go, that
she finally consented, and went down to Worcester, together with Madam
Conway, George Douglas, Theo, and Henry, the latter of whom seemed
quite as forlorn as did she herself, for Rose was left behind, and
without her he was nothing.
Madam Conway had been very gracious to him; his family were good, and
when as they passed the Charlton depot thoughts of the leghorn bonnet
and blue umbrella intruded themselves upon her, she half wished that
Henry had broken his leg in Theo's behalf, and so saved her from
bearing the name of Douglas.
The week went by, passing rapidly as all weeks will, and Margaret was
again at home. Rose was there still, and just as the sun was setting
she took her sister's hand, and led her out into the open air toward
the resting-place of the dead, where a change had been wrought; and
Margaret, leaning over the iron gate, comprehended at once the feeling
which had prompted Mr. Carrollton and Rose to desire her absence for
a time. The humble stone was gone, and in its place there stood a
handsome monument, less imposing and less expensive than that of Mrs.
Miller, it is true, but still chaste and elegant, bearing upon it
simply the names of "Hester Hamilton, and her mother Hagar Warren,"
with the years of their death. The little grave, too, where for many
years Maggie herself had been supposed to sleep, was not beneath the
pine tree now; that mound was leveled down, and another had been made,
just where the grass was growing rank and green beneath the shadow of
the taller stone, and there side by side they lay at last together,
the mother and her infant child.
"It was kind in you to do this," Margaret said, and then, with her
arm round Rose's waist, she spoke of the coming time when the sun of
another hemisphere would be shining down upon her, saying she should
think often of that hour, that spot, and that sister, who answered:
"Every year when the spring rains fall I shall come to see that the
grave has been well kept, for you know that she was my mother, too,"
and she pointed to the name of "Hester," deep cut in the polished
marble.
"Not yours, Rose, but mine," said Maggie. "My mother she was, and as
such I will cherish her memory." Then, with her arm still around her
sister's waist, she walked slowly back to the house.
A little later, and while Arthur Carrollton, with Maggie at his side,
was talking to her of something which made the blushes burn on her
still pale cheeks, Madam Conway herself walked out to witness the
improvements, lingering longest at the little grave, and saying to
herself, "It was very thoughtful in Arthur, very, to do what I
should have done myself ere this had I not been afraid of Margaret's
feelings."
Then, turning to the new monument, she admired its chaste beauty, but
hardly knew whether she was pleased to have it there or not.
"It's very handsome," she said, leaving the yard, and walking backward
to observe the effect. "And it adds much to the looks of the place.
There is no question about that. It is perfectly proper, too, or Mr.
Carrollton would never have put it here, for he knows what is right,
of course," and the still doubtful lady turned away, saying as she
did so, "On the whole, I think I am glad that Hester has a handsome
monument, and I know I am glad that Mrs. Miller's is a little the
taller of the two!"