“You heard his name was Remington, did you not?—James Remington?”
Like a sudden revelation it came upon Maddy, and she turned to leave, when Agnes, lifting her head, called her to come in. She did so, and standing upon the opposite side, said, questioningly:
“You are Sarah Morris?”
For a moment the eyelids quivered, then the neck arched proudly, as if it were a thing of which she was not ashamed, and Agnes answered:
“Yes, I was Sarah Agnes Morris; once, when a mere child, I was for three months your grandmother’s hired girl, and afterwards adopted by a lady who gave me what education I possess, together with that taste for high life which prompted me to jilt your Uncle Joseph when a richer man than he offered himself to me.”
That was all she said—all that Maddy ever knew of her history, as it was never referred to again, except that evening, when Agnes said to her, pleadingly:
“Neither Guy nor Jessie, nor any one, need know what I have told you.”
“They shall not,” was Maddy’s reply; and from that moment the past, so far as Agnes was concerned, was a sealed page to both. With this bond of confidence between them, Agnes felt herself strangely drawn towards Maddy, while, if it were possible, something of her olden love was revived for the helpless man who clung to her now instead of Maddy, refusing to let her go; neither had Agnes any disposition to leave him. She should stay to the last, she said; and she did, taking Maddy’s place, and by her faithfulness and care winning golden laurels in the opinion of the neighbors, who marveled at first to see so gay a lady at Uncle Joseph’s bedside, attributing it all to her friendship for Maddy, just as they attributed his calling for Sarah to a crazy freak. She did resemble Sarah Morris a very little, they said; and in Maddy’s presence they sometimes wondered where Sarah was, and if she was happy with the old man whom she married, and who they had heard was not so rich after all, as most of the money belonged to the son, who inherited it from his mother; but Maddy kept the secret from every one, so that even Jessie never suspected why her mother staid day after day at the cottage; watching and waiting until the last day of Joseph’s life.
She was alone with him when he died, and Maddy never knew what passed between them. She had left them together for an hour, while she did some errands; and when she returned, Agnes met her at the door, and with a blanched cheek whispered:
“He is dead; he died in my arms, blessing you and me. Surely my sin is now forgiven.”