" Maggie had
never seen her thus before, and the worn-out, aged face had something
touching in its sad expression, and something startling too, bidding
her hasten, if to that woman she would speak.
"Hagar," she essayed to say, but the word died on her lips, for
standing there alone, with the daylight fading from the earth, and the
lifelight fading from the form before her, it seemed not meet that she
should thus address the sleeper. There was a name, however, by which
she called another--a name of love, and it would make the withered
heart of Hagar Warren bound and beat and throb with untold joy.
And Margaret said that name at last, whispering it first softly to
herself; then, bending down so that her breath stirred the snow-white
hair, she repeated it aloud, starting involuntarily as the rude walls
echoed back the name "Grandmother!"
"Grandmother!" Through the senses locked in sleep it penetrated, and
the dim eyes, once so fiery and black, grew large and bright again as
Hagar Warren woke.
Was it a delusion, that beauteous form which met her view, that soft
hand on her brow, or was it Maggie Miller?
"Grandmother," the low voice said again, "I am Maggie--Hester's child.
Can you see me? Do you know that I am here?"
Yes, through the films of age, through the films of coming death, and
through the gathering darkness, old Hagar saw and knew, and with a
scream of joy her shrunken arms wound themselves convulsively around
the maiden's neck, drawing her nearer, and nearer still, until the
shriveled lips touched the cheek of her who did not turn away, but
returned that kiss of love.
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