t
her feet, her face lighted with eager curiosity and her lustrous eyes
bright as stars with excitement. For a moment Hagar bent forward, and,
folding her hands one above the other, laid them upon the head of the
young girl as if to gather strength for what she was to say. But all
in vain; for when she essayed to speak her tongue clave to the roof of
her mouth, and her lips gave forth unmeaning sounds.

"It must be something terrible to affect her so," thought Maggie, and,
taking the bony hands between her own, she said, "I would not tell it,
Hagar; I do not wish to hear."

The voice aroused the half-fainting woman, and, withdrawing her hand
from Maggie's grasp, she replied, "Turn away your face, Margaret
Miller, so I cannot see the hatred settling over it, when I tell you
what I must."

"Certainly; my back if you prefer it," answered Maggie, half
playfully; and turning round she leaned her head against the feeble
knees of Hagar.

"Maggie, Maggie," began the poor old woman, lingering long and
lovingly over that dear name, "nineteen years ago, next December, I
took upon my soul the secret sin which has worn my life away, but I
did it for the love I had for you. Oh, Margaret, believe it, for the
love I had for you, more than for my own ambition;" and the long
fingers slid nervously over the bands of shining hair just within her
reach.

At the touch of those fingers, Maggie shuddered involuntarily. There
was a vague, undefined terror stealing over her, and, impatient to
know the worst, she said, "Go on, tell me what you did."

"I can't--I can't--and yet I must!" cried Hagar. "You were a beautiful
baby, Maggie, and the other one was sickly, pinched, and blue. I
had you both in my room the night after Hester died; and the
devil--Maggie, do you know how the devil will creep into the heart,
and whisper, whisper till the brain is all on fire? This thing he did
to me, Maggie, nineteen years ago, he whispered--whispered dreadful
things, and his whisperings were of you!"

"Horrible, Hagar!" exclaimed Maggie. "Leave the devil, and tell me of
yourself."

"That's it," answered Hagar. "If I had but left him then, this hour
would never have come to me; but I listened, and when he told me that
a handsome, healthy child would be more acceptable to the Conways than
a weakly, fretful one--when he said that Hagar Warren's grandchild had
far better be a lady than a drudge--that no one would ever know it,
for none had noticed eith