wrote simply "Madam Conway." It was a rambling,
impassioned letter, full of tender love--of hope destroyed--of deep
despair--and though it shadowed forth no expectation that Madam Conway
or Mr. Carrollton would ever take her to their hearts again, it begged
of them most touchingly to think sometimes of "Maggie" when she was
gone forever. Hagar was then commended to Madam Conway's forgiveness
and care. "She is old," wrote Maggie, "her life is nearly ended, and
if you have in your heart one feeling of pity for her who used to call
you grandma, bestow it, I pray you, on poor old Hagar Warren."

The letter was finished, and then suddenly remembering Hagar's words,
that "all had not been told," and feeling it her duty to see once more
the woman who had brought her so much sorrow, Maggie stole cautiously
from the house, and was soon walking down the woodland road, slowly,
sadly, for the world had changed to her since last she trod that path.
Maggie, too, was changed, and when at last she stood before Hagar, who
was now able to sit up, the latter could scarcely recognize in the
pale, haggard woman the blooming, merry-hearted girl once known as
Maggie Miller.

"Margaret!" she cried, "you have come again--come to forgive your poor
old grand--No, no," she added, as she saw the look of pain flash over
Maggie's face, "I'll never insult you with that name. Only say that
you forgive me, will you, Miss Margaret?" and the trembling voice was
choked with sobs, while the aged form shook as with a palsied stroke.

Hagar had been ill. Exposure to the damp air on that memorable night
had brought on a second severe attack of rheumatism, which had bent
her nearly double. Anxiety for Margaret, too, had wasted her to a
skeleton, and her thin, sharp face, now of a corpse-like pallor,
contrasted strangely with her eyes, from which the wildness all was
gone. Touched with pity, Maggie drew a chair to her side, and thus
replied: "I do forgive you, Hagar, for I know that what you did was
done in love; but by telling me what you have you've ruined all my
hopes of happiness. In the new scenes to which I go, and the new
associations I shall form, I may become contented with my lot, but
never can I forget that I once was Maggie Miller."

"Magaret," gasped Hagar, and in her dim eye there was something of its
olden fire, "if by new associations you mean Henry Warner, it must not
be. Alas, that I should tell this! but Henry is your brother--your
father