night, when all else was silent in the old stone house, she paced up
and down the room, her long hair, now fast turning gray, falling over
her shoulders, and her large eyes dimmed with tears, as she thought
what the future would bring to the infant she carried in her arms.

But the evil she so much dreaded never came, for when the winter snows
were again falling they made a little grave beneath the same pine tree
where Hester Hamilton lay sleeping, and, while they dug that grave,
old Hagar sat, with folded arms and tearless eyes, gazing fixedly upon
the still white face and thin blue lips which would never again be
distorted with pain. Her habit of talking to herself had returned, and
as she sat there she would at intervals whisper: "Poor little babe! I
would willingly have cared for you all my life, but I am glad you
are gone to Miss Margaret, who, it may be, will wonder what little
thin-faced angel is calling her mother! But somebody'll introduce you,
somebody'll tell her who you are, and when she knows how proud her
mother is of Maggie she'll forgive old Hagar Warren!"

"Gone stark mad!" was the report carried by the servants to their
mistress, who believed the story when Hagar herself came to her with
the request that Hester might be buried in some of Maggie's clothes.

Touched with pity by her worn, haggard face, Madam Conway answered,
"Yes, take some of her common ones," and, choosing the cambric robe
which Hester had worn on the morning when the exchange was made, Hagar
dressed the body for the grave. When at last everything was ready,
and the tiny coffin stood upon the table, Madam Conway drew near and
looked for a moment on the emaciated form which rested quietly 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