Part 25 (1/2)

CHAPTER XXV.

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 s.h.i.+nes 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 gra.s.s 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 pa.s.s, 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 n.o.body sees you do it--Madam Conway, Arthur Carrollton, n.o.body 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?”