George Douglas was highly respected in Worcester, both as a man of honor and a man of wealth; consequently, every possible attention was paid to Theo, who was petted and admired, until she began to wonder why neither Maggie nor yet her all-discerning grandmother had discovered how charming and faultless she was!

Among George’s acquaintance was a Mrs. Morton, a dashing, fashionable woman, who determined to honor the bride with a party, to which all the elite of Worcester were invited, together with many Bostonians.  Madam Conway and Maggie were of course upon the list; and, as timely notice was given them by Theo, Madam Conway went twice to Springfield in quest of a suitable dress for Maggie.  She wanted something becoming, she said; and a delicate rose-colored satin, with a handsome overskirt of lace, was at last decided upon.

“She must have some pearls for her hair,” thought Madam Conway; and when next Maggie, who, girl-like, tried the effect of her first party dress at least a dozen times, stood before the glass to see if it were exactly the right length, she was presented with the pearls, which Anna Jeffrey, with a feeling of envy at her heart, arranged in the shining braids of her hair.

“Oh, isn’t it perfectly splendid!” cried Maggie, herself half inclined to compliment the beautiful image reflected in the mirror.

“You ought to see Arthur Carrollton’s sister when she is dressed, if you think you look handsome,” answered Anna, adding that diamonds were much more fashionable than pearls.

“You have attended a great many parties and seen a great deal of fashion, so I dare say you are right,” Maggie answered ironically; and then, as through the open window she saw Hagar approaching, she ran out upon the piazza, to see what the old woman would say.

Hagar had never seen her thus before, and now, throwing up her hands in astonishment, she involuntarily dropped upon her knees, and, while the tears rained over her timeworn face, whispered, “Hester’s child—­my granddaughter—­Heaven be praised!”

“Do I look pretty?” Margaret asked; and Hagar answered:  “More beautiful than anyone I ever saw.  I wish your mother could see you now.”

Involuntarily Maggie glanced at the tall marble gleaming through the distant trees, while Hagar’s thoughts were down in that other grave—­the grave beneath the pine.  The next day was the party, and at an early hour Madam Conway was ready.  Her rich purple satin and Valenciennes laces, with which she hoped to impress Mrs. Douglas, senior, were carefully packed up, together with Maggie’s dress; and then, shawled and bonneted, she waited impatiently for her carriage, which she preferred to the cars.  It came at last, but in place of John, the usual coachman, Mike, a rather wild youth of twenty, was mounted upon the box.  His father, he said, had been taken suddenly ill, and had deputized him to drive.