For a time the Tempter left her, but returned ere long, and creeping into her heart sung to her beautiful songs of the future which might be were Hester’s baby a lady.  And Hagar, listening to that song, fell asleep, dreaming that the deed was done by other agency than hers—­that the little face resting on the downy pillow, and shaded by the costly lace, was lowly born; while the child wrapped in the coarser blanket came of nobler blood, even that of the Conways, who boasted more than one lordly title.  With a nervous start she awoke at last, and creeping to the cradle of mahogany looked to see if her dream were true; but it was not.  She knew it by the pinched, blue look about the nose, and the thin covering of hair.  This was all the difference which even her eye could see, and probably no other person had noticed that, for the child had never been seen save in a darkened room.

The sin was growing gradually less heinous, and she could now calmly calculate the chances for detection.  Still, the conflict was long and severe, and it was not until morning that the Tempter gained a point by compromising the matter, and suggesting that while dressing the infants she should change their clothes for once, just to see how fine cambrics and soft flannels would look upon a grandchild of Hagar Warren!  “I can easily change them again—­it is only an experiment,” she said, as with trembling hands she proceeded to divest the children of their wrappings.  But her fingers seemed all thumbs, and more than one sharp pin pierced the tender flesh of her little grandchild as she fastened together the embroidered slip, teaching her thus early, had she been able to learn the lesson, that the pathway of the rich is not free from thorns.

Their toilet was completed at last—­their cradle beds exchanged; and then, with a strange, undefined feeling, old Hagar stood back and looked to see how the little usurper became her new position.  She became it well, and to Hagar’s partial eyes it seemed more meet that she should lie there beneath the silken covering than the other one, whose nose looked still more pinched and blue in the plain white dress and cradle of pine.  Still, there was a gnawing pain at Hagar’s heart, and she would perhaps have undone the wrong had not Madam Conway appeared with inquiries for the baby’s health.  Hagar could not face her mistress, so she turned away and pretended to busy herself with the arrangement of the room, while the lady, bending over the cradle, said, “I think she is improving, Hagar; I never saw her look so well”; and she pushed back the window curtain to obtain a better view.

With a wild, startled look in her eye, Hagar held her breath to hear what might come next, but her fears were groundless; for, in her anxiety for her daughter, Madam Conway had heretofore scarcely seen her grandchild, and had no suspicion now that the sleeper before her was of plebeian birth, nor yet that the other little one, at whom she did not deign to look, was bone of her bone and flesh of her flesh.  She started to leave the room, but, impelled by some sudden impulse, turned back and stooped to kiss the child.  Involuntarily old Hagar sprang forward to stay the act, and grasped the lady’s arm, but she was too late; the aristocratic lips had touched the cheek of Hagar Warren’s grandchild, and the secret, if now confessed, would never be forgiven.