AN IMPORTANT CORRESPONDENCE, AND AN IMPORTANT INTERVIEW.
On returning to her solitary quarters at the King's Head, Mrs. Wilmot
called for pen, ink, and paper, and wrote the following note to her
young pupil.
"MY DEAR AGNES,
"I am just returned from a visit to Compton Basett, where I was
very kindly received by your aunt. She wishes to see you before
you leave the neighbourhood, and I have promised to take you to
her to-morrow morning; I will therefore call at eleven o'clock,
when I hope I shall find you ready to accompany me. With
compliments to Mrs. Barnaby, believe me, dear Agnes,
"Affectionately yours,
"MARY WILMOT."
To this epistle she speedily received the following answer.
"MRS. BARNABY presents her compliments to Mrs. Wilmot, and begs
to know if there is any reason why she should not join the
party to Compton Basett to-morrow morning? If not, she requests
Mrs. Wilmot's permission to accompany her in the drive, as the
doing so will be a considerable convenience; Mrs. Barnaby
wishing to pay her duty to her aunt before she leaves the
country."
To return a negative to this request was disagreeable: being absolutely
necessary, however, it was done without delay; but it was with burning
cheeks and flashing eyes that Mrs. Barnaby read the following civil
refusal.
"MRS. WILMOT regrets extremely that she is under the necessity
of declining the company of Mrs. Barnaby to-morrow morning, but
Miss Compton expressly desired that Agnes should be brought to
her alone."
To this Mrs. Barnaby replied,--
"As Mrs. Wilmot has been pleased to take upon herself the
office of go between, she is requested to inform Miss Betsy
Compton, that the aunt who has adopted Agnes Willoughby,
intends to bestow too much personal care upon her, to permit
her paying any visits in which she cannot accompany her."
* * * * *
The vexed and discomfited Mrs. Wilmot returned to Compton Basett with
these two notes in her hand instead of the pretty Agnes, and her
mortification was very greatly increased by perceiving that the
disappointment of the old lady fully equalled her own. This obvious
sympathy of feeling led to a more confidential intercourse than had
ever before taken place between the solitary heiress and any other
person whatever; so contrary, indeed, was this species of frank
communication to her habits, that it was produced rather by the
necessity of giving vent to her angry feelings, than for the
gratification of confessing any other.
In reply to her first indignant burst of resentment, Mrs. Wilmot said,--
"I lament the consequences of this ill-timed impertinence, for my poor
pupil's sake, more than it is easy for me to explain to you, Miss
Compton.... Do me the justice to believe that I am not in the habit of
interfering in the family concerns of my pupils, and then you will be
better able to appreciate the motives and feelings which still lead me
to urge you not to withdraw your protection and kindness from Agnes
Willoughby."
"I do believe that your motives are excellent; and I can believe, too,
that if your pupil deserve half you have said of her, the protection and
kindness even of such a being as myself might be more beneficial to her
than being left at the mercy of this hateful, vulgar-minded woman....
But what would you have me do, Mrs. Wilmot?... You would not ask me to
leave my flowers, my bees, my books, and my peaceful home, to keep watch
over Mrs. Barnaby, and see that she does not succeed in making this poor
girl as detestable as herself?... You would not expect me to do this,
would you?"
"No, Miss Compton; no one, I think, would willingly impose such a task
upon you as that of watching Mrs. Barnaby. But I see no objection to
your watching Agnes."
"And how is the one to be done without the other? It is quite natural
that the child of one of Miss Martha Wisett's daughters, should live
with the other of them. My relationship to this girl is remote in
comparison to hers."
"Miss Compton," replied Mrs. Wilmot, "I fear that my acquaintance with
you hardly justifies the pertinacity with which I feel disposed to urge
this point; but, indeed, it is of vital importance to one that I very
dearly love, and one whom you would dearly love too, would you permit
yourself to know her."
"Do not apologise to me for the interest you take in her," returned the
old lady in a tone rather more encouraging.... "There is more need,
perhaps, that I should apologise for the want of it ... and ... to say
truth," she added after a considerable pause, "I have no objection to
explain my motives to you, ... though it has never fallen in my way
before to meet any one to whom I wished to do this. My life has been an
odd one; ... though surrounded by human beings with whom I have lived on
the most friendly terms, I have passed my existence, as to anything like
companionship, entirely alone. I have never been dull, for I have read
incessantly, and altogether I think it likely that I have been happier
than most people. But in the bosom of this unrepining solitude it is
likely enough that I have nursed opinions into passions, and distastes
into hatred. Thus, Mrs. Wilmot, the reasonable opinion that I set out
with, for instance, when inheriting my father's long-descended acres,
that it was my duty in all things to sustain as much as in me lay the
old claim to gentle blood which attached to my race, (injured, perhaps,
in some degree, by this division of its patrimony in my favour,) even
this reasonable opinion, Mrs. Wilmot, has by degrees grown, perhaps,
into unreasonable strength; for I would rather, madam, press age and
ugliness remarkable as my own to my heart, as the acknowledged
descendant of that race, than a vulgar, coarse-minded, coarse-looking
thing, though she were as buxom as Martha Wisett when my poor silly
brother married her."
The latter part of this speech was uttered with great rapidity, and an
appearance of considerable excitement; but this quickly subsided, and
the little spinster became as pale and composed as usual, while she
listened to Mrs. Wilmot's quiet accents in reply.
"There is nothing to surprise me in this, Miss Compton; the feeling is a
very natural one. But the more strongly it is expressed, the more
strongly must I wonder at your permitting the sole descendant of your
ancient race to be left at the mercy of a Mrs. Barnaby."
Not all the eloquence in the world could have gone so far towards
obtaining the object Mrs. Wilmot had in view as this concluding phrase.
"You are right!... excellent woman!... You are right, and I deserve to
see my father's acres peopled by a race of Barnaby's.... I will save
her!..."
But here the poor old lady stopped. A sudden panic seized her, and she
sat for several minutes positively trembling at the idea that she might
unadvisedly take some step which should involve her in the horrible
necessity of being encumbered for the rest of her life with a companion
whose looks or manner might remind her of a Martha Wisett, or a Mrs.
Barnaby.
"I dare not do it!" she exclaimed at last. "Do not ask it ... do not
force me; ... or, at any rate, contrive to let me see her first, in a
shop, or in the street, or any way.... I can decide on nothing till I
have seen her!"
"I would do anything within my power to arrange this for you," replied
Mrs. Wilmot; "but I cannot delay my return beyond to-morrow; nor do I
believe that my agency would render this more easy. Why should you not
at once call on both your nieces, Miss Compton? There would be no
difficulty in this, and it would give you the best possible opportunity
of judging both of the appearance and manners of Agnes."
"Both my nieces!... no difficulty!... You understand little or nothing
of my feelings.... But go home, go home, Mrs. Wilmot. Do your own duty,
which is a plain one, ... and leave me to find out mine, if I can."
"You will not, then, abandon the idea of seeing this poor girl, Miss
Compton?"
"No, I will not," was the reply, pronounced almost solemnly.
"Then, farewell! my dear madam; I can ask no more than this, except,
indeed, your forgiveness for having asked thus much so perseveringly."
"I thank you for it, Mrs. Wilmot.... I believe you are a very good
woman, and I will endeavour to act, if God will give me grace, as I
think you would approve, if you could read all the feelings of my heart.
Farewell!"
And so they parted; the active, useful matron to receive the eager
welcome of her expecting family, and the solitary recluse to the
examination of her own thoughts, which were alternately both sweet and
bitter, sometimes cheering her with a vision of domestic happiness and
endearment to soothe her declining age, and sometimes making her shudder
as she fancied her tranquil existence invaded and destroyed by the
presence of one whom she might strive in vain to love.