Madam Conway was not naturally a hard-hearted woman, and she answered gently:  “I do pity you, Hagar, and I did not think Hester was so ill.  Why haven’t you let me know?” To this Hagar made no direct reply, and after a few more inquiries Madam Conway left the room, saying she would send up the servants to do whatever was necessary.  When it was known throughout the house that Hester was dead much surprise was expressed and a good deal of sympathy manifested for old Hagar, who, with a gloomy brow, hugged to her heart the demon of jealousy, which kept whispering to her of the difference there would be were Margaret to die.  It was deemed advisable to keep Hester’s death a secret from Mrs. Miller; so, with as little ceremony as possible, the body was buried at the close of the day, in an inclosure which had been set apart as a family burying-ground; and when again the night shadows fell Hagar Warren sat in her silent room, brooding over her grief, and looking oft at the plain pine cradle where lay the little motherless child, her granddaughter.  Occasionally, too, her eye wandered towards the mahogany crib, where another infant slept.  Perfect quiet seemed necessary for Mrs. Miller, and Madam Conway had ordered her baby to be removed from the antechamber where first it had been kept, so that Hagar had the two children in her own room.

In the pine cradle there was a rustling sound; the baby was awaking, and taking it upon her lap Hagar soothed it again to sleep, gazing earnestly upon it to see if it were like its mother.  It was a bright, healthy-looking infant, and though five days younger than that of Mrs. Miller was quite as large and looked as old.

“And you will be a drudge, while she will be a lady,” muttered Hagar, as her tears fell on the face of the sleeping child.  “Why need this difference be?”

Old Hagar had forgotten the words “Lead us not into temptation”; and when the Tempter answered, “It need not be,” she only started suddenly as if smitten by a heavy blow; but she did not drive him from her, and she sat there reasoning with herself that “it need not be.”  Neither the physician nor Madam Conway had paid any attention to Margaret’s child; it had been her special care, while no one had noticed hers, and newly born babies were so much alike that deception was an easy matter.  But could she do it?  Could she bear that secret on her soul?  Madam Conway, though proud, had been kind to her, and could she thus deceive her!  Would her daughter, sleeping in her early grave, approve the deed.  “No, no,” she answered aloud, “she would not!” and the great drops of perspiration stood thick upon her dark, haggard face as she arose and laid back in her cradle the child whom she had thought to make an heiress.