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