Maggie Miller: The Story of Old Hagar's Secret

by Mary Jane Holmes

Mr. Carrollton looked as if he did not fully comprehend the woman who, loving Margaret as she said she did, could yet be so dependent upon his decision; but he made no comment, and when next he spoke he announced his intention of calling upon Hagar, who possibly could tell him where Margaret had gone. "At all events," said he, "I may ascertain why the secret, so long kept, was at this late day divulged. It may be well," he continued, "to say nothing to the servants as yet, save that Maggie has gone. Mrs. Jeffrey, however, had better be let into the secret at once. We can trust her, I think."

Madam Conway bowed, and Mr. Carrollton left the room, starting immediately for the cottage by the mine. As he approached the house he saw the servant who for several weeks had been staying there, and who now came out to meet him, telling him that since the night before Hagar had been raving crazy, talking continually of Maggie, who, she said, had gone where none would ever find her.

In some anxiety Mr. Carrollton pressed on, until the cottage door was reached, where for a moment he stood gazing silently upon the poor woman before him. Upon the bed, her white hair falling over her round, bent shoulders, and her large eyes shining with delirious light, old Hagar sat, waving back and forth, and talking of Margaret, of Hester, and "the little foolish child," who, with a sneer upon her lip, she said, "was a fair specimen of the Conway race."

"Hagar," said Mr. Carrollton; and at the sound of that voice Hagar turned toward him her flashing eyes, then with a scream buried her head in the bedclothes, saying: "Go away, Arthur Carrollton! Why are you here? Don't you know who I am? Don't you know what Margaret is, and don't you know how proud you are?"

"Hagar," he said again, subduing, by a strong effort, the repugnance he felt at questioning her, "I know all, except where Margaret has gone, and if on this point you can give me any information, I shall receive it most thankfully."

"Gone!" shrieked Hagar, starting up in bed; "then she has gone. The play is played out, the performance is ended—and I have sinned for nothing!"

"Hagar, will you tell me where Maggie is? I wish to follow her," said Mr. Carrollton; and Hagar answered: "Maggie, Maggie—he said that lovingly enough, but there's a catch somewhere. He does not wish to follow her for any good—and though I know where she has gone I'll surely never tell. I kept one secret nineteen years. I can keep another as long"; and, folding her arms upon her chest, she commenced singing, "I know full well, but I'll never tell."

Biting his lips with vexation, Mr. Carrollton tried first by persuasion, then by flattery, and lastly by threats, to obtain from her the desired information, but in vain. Her only answer was, "I know full well, but I'll never tell," save once, when tossing towards him her long white hair, she shrieked: "Don't you see a resemblance—only hers is black—and so was mine nineteen years ago—and so was Hester's too—glossy and black as the raven's wing. The child is like the mother—the mother was like the grandmother, and the grandmother is like—me, Hagar Warren. Do you understand?"

Mr. Carrollton made no answer, and with a feeling of disappointment walked away, shuddering as he thought, "And she is Margaret's grandmother."

He found Madam Conway in hysterics on Margaret's bed, for she had refused to leave the room, saying she would die there, or nowhere. Gradually the reality of her loss had burst upon her, and now, gasping, choking, and wringing her hands, she lay upon the pillows, while Mrs. Jeffrey, worked up to a pitch of great nervous excitement, fidgeted hither and thither, doing always the wrong thing, fanning the lady when she did not wish to be fanned, and ceasing to fan her just when she was "dying for want of air."