"Of course she will," answered Hagar. "I know those Carrolltons--they are a haughty race; and if your grandmother has one of them in view she'll turn you from her door sooner than see you married to another, and an American, too." There was a moment's silence, and then, with an unnatural gleam in her eye, old Hagar turned towards Maggie, and, grasping her shoulder, said: "If she does this thing, Maggie Miller,--if she casts you off,--will you take me for your grandmother? Will you let me live with you? I'll be your drudge, your slave; say, Maggie, may I go with you? Will you call me grandmother? I'd willingly die if only once I could hear you speak to me thus, and know it was in love." For a moment Maggie looked at her in astonishment; then thinking to herself, "She surely is half-crazed," she answered laughingly: "Yes, Hagar, if grandma casts me off, you may go with me. I shall need your care, but I can't promise to call you grandma, because you know you are not." The corners of Hagar's mouth worked nervously, but her teeth shut firmly over the thin, white lip, forcing back the wild words trembling there, and the secret was not told. "Go home, Maggie Miller," she said at last, rising slowly to her feet. "Go home now, and leave me alone. I am willing you should marry Henry Warner--nay, I wish you to do it; but you must remember your promise." Maggie was about to answer, when her thoughts were directed to another channel by the sight of George Douglas and Theo coming slowly down the shaded pathway which led past Hagar's door. Old Hagar saw them too, and, whispering to Maggie, said, "There's another marriage brewing, or the signs do not tell true, and madam will sanction this one, too, for there's money there, and gold can purify any blood." Ere Maggie could reply Theo called out, "You here, Maggie, as usual?" adding, aside, to her companion: "She has the most unaccountable taste, so different from me, who cannot endure anything low and vulgar. Can you? But I need not ask," she continued, "for your associations have been of a refined nature." George Douglas did not answer, for his thoughts were back in the brown farmhouse at the foot of the hill, where his boyhood was passed, and he wondered what the high-bred lady at his side would say if she could see the sunburned man and plain, old-fashioned woman who called him their son George Washington. He would not confess that he was ashamed of his parentage, for he tried to be a kind and dutiful child, but he would a little rather that Theo Miller should not know how democratic had been his early training. So he made no answer, but, addressing himself to Maggie, asked how she could find it in her heart to leave her patient so long.