At length she grew to hope that this project was abandoned, when one day a respectable-looking woman presented herself at the door, inquiring for Mrs. Withers. She was shown up into Hagar’s dressing-room. She introduced herself as Mrs. Barnes, the person Mr. Withers had engaged to take the charge of the twins, if Mrs. Withers should approve her. Hagar received the woman with kindness, but told her that she had no intention of parting with her children now, or as long as her life and health held out. The woman assured her that she possessed, and could produce, the highest credentials of respectability, capacity, &c. Hagar assured her that her objection was not particular, but general; that she could never resign the children to the care of any one; that Mr. Withers’s too great care for her health had induced him to mention the plan to her, but that she had declined it. Mrs. Barnes seemed difficult to be convinced that Hagar’s refusal did not arise from personal objections to herself; but at last took a reluctant leave. With her knowledge of his character and disposition, Hagar dreaded the return of Raymond that evening. With the wish to please him, and to disarm his resentment, she arrayed herself charmingly, and had everything prepared agreeably to his tastes and wishes, and awaited him in the drawing-room as usual. He came in, smiling, with his usual graceful saunter, just as the servants brought in the tea; the curtains were up from the arch, so that the two rooms were thrown into one. He met her as usual, and they sat down at the table apparently with their usual cheerfulness and affection. _He_ seemed more than usually attentive to her wants. At last she said, “I have seen the woman you sent me for a nurse.” “Yes, love, I know it; she has reported to me her rejection.” This was said in a tone of cheerful content that entirely dissipated Hagar’s anxiety; her spirits, rebounding, arose, and she was happy. The servants were, however, in attendance, and further conversation on the subject ceased. Presently they arose from the table and passed into the drawing-room. “Shall I give you some music?” said Hagar, taking up her guitar. “I have been practising one of those low, lulling strains that I know you like—shall I give it you?” and she sank into a velvet chair and began to tune the instrument. “You shall give me nothing—not a song, not a caress, not a word, when we are alone, until you give me your _will_. If I have condescended to answer your questions at table, it was to prevent servants from talking.”