Hagar had been ill.  Exposure to the damp air on that memorable night had brought on a second severe attack of rheumatism, which had bent her nearly double.  Anxiety for Margaret, too, had wasted her to a skeleton, and her thin, sharp face, now of a corpse-like pallor, contrasted strangely with her eyes, from which the wildness all was gone.  Touched with pity, Maggie drew a chair to her side, and thus replied:  “I do forgive you, Hagar, for I know that what you did was done in love; but by telling me what you have you’ve ruined all my hopes of happiness.  In the new scenes to which I go, and the new associations I shall form, I may become contented with my lot, but never can I forget that I once was Maggie Miller.”

“Magaret,” gasped Hagar, and in her dim eye there was something of its olden fire, “if by new associations you mean Henry Warner, it must not be.  Alas, that I should tell this! but Henry is your brother—­your father’s only son.  Oh, horror! horror!” and dreading what Margaret would say, she covered her face with her cramped, distorted hands.

But Margaret was not so much affected as Hagar had anticipated.  She had suffered severely, and could not now be greatly moved.  There was an involuntary shudder as she thought of her escape, and then her next feeling was one of satisfaction in knowing that she was not quite friendless and alone, for Henry would protect her, and Rose, indeed, would be to her a sister.

“Henry Warner my brother!” she exclaimed; “how came you by this knowledge?” And very briefly Hagar explained to her what she knew, saying that Hester had told her of two young children, but she had forgotten entirely of their existence, and now that she was reminded of it she could not help fancying that Hester said the stepchild was a boy.  But the peddler knew, of course, and she must have forgotten.

“When the baby they thought was you died,” said Hagar, “I wrote to the minister in Meriden, telling him of it, but I did not sign my name, and I thought that was the last I should ever hear of it.  Why don’t you curse me?” she continued.  “Haven’t I taken from you your intended husband, as well as your name?”

Maggie understood perfectly now why the secret had been revealed, and involuntarily she exclaimed, “Oh, had I told you first, this never need have been!” and then hurriedly she explained to the repentant Hagar how at the very moment when the dread confession was made she, Maggie Miller, was free from Henry Warner.

From the window Maggie saw in the distance the servant who had charge of Hagar, and, dreading the presence of a third person, she arose to go.  Offering her hand to Hagar, she said:  “Good-by.  I may never see you again, but if I do not, remember that I forgive you freely.”

“You are not going away, Maggie.  Oh, are you going away!” and the crippled arms were stretched imploringly towards Maggie, who answered:  “Yes, Hagar, I must go.  Honor requires me to tell Madam Conway who I am, and after that you know that I can not stay.  I shall go to my brother.”