"Crazy!" repeated Hagar half-scornfully; "crazy--'tis not
craziness--'tis the trouble--the trouble--that's killing me! But I'll
hide it closer than it's hidden now," she continued, "if you'll let
her stay; and 'fore Heaven I swear that sooner than harm one hair of
Maggie's head I'd part with my own life;" and taking the sleeping
child in her arms she stood like a wild beast at bay.

Madam Conway did not herself really believe in Hagar's insanity. She
had heretofore been perfectly faithful to whatever was committed to
her care, so she bade her be quiet, saying they would trust her for a
time.

"It's the talking to myself," said Hagar, when left alone. "It's the
talking to myself which makes them call me crazy; and though I might
talk to many a worse woman than old Hagar Warren, I'll stop it; I'll
be still as the grave, and when next they gossip about me it shall be
of something besides craziness."

So Hagar became suddenly silent and uncommunicative, mingling but
little with the servants, but staying all day long in her room, where
she watched the children with untiring care. Especially was she kind
to Hester, who as time passed on proved to be a puny, sickly thing,
never noticing anyone, but moaning frequently as if in pain. Very
tenderly old Hagar nursed her, carrying her often in her arms until
they ached from very weariness, while Madam Conway, who watched her
with a vigilant eye, complained that she neglected little Maggie.

"And what if I do?" returned Hagar somewhat bitterly. "Aint there a
vast difference between the two? S'pose Hester was your own flesh and