I must have remained in this condition some hours, for the sun was high
in the heavens when I opened my eyes and became conscious. Where was I?
Not in my own room, surely; the fragrance of exotics did not penetrate
my lattice; the simple honeysuckle that twined around my window
breathed forth a different perfume from this. My heart gave one glad
leap. Oh, it is all a dream! I thought; Richard’s galloping down the
road, and all the past night’s misery is a dream! With this reflection
a happy tranquillity was stealing over me, when I heard a well-known
voice exclaim:
“Look, Mary, attend her; she has opened her eyes, thank God.”
It was Mr. Bristed’s voice, and as he spoke Mary approached me, and
bending over, bathed my head with scented water. “Hope you feel better,
Miss,” said she.
“Have I been ill, Mary? Where am I?”
“In master’s library.”
Surely it was so. I was lying upon a divan near the conservatory. Alas,
I was not dreaming! I sat up and looked drearily around, and as I did
so Mr. Bristed drew near with a beautiful lily in his hand, which he
offered to me. He inquired kindly after my health and looked pleased
when I told him I felt quite strong. Indeed I did feel strong for the
moment, and arose determined to leave the room.
“Sit still--where are you going?” he asked anxiously.
“Going to the school-room--going to see Herbert,” I replied.
“Herbert,” said he, and his countenance darkened; “you cannot see
Herbert, he is ill.”
Not see Herbert, and he ill? What could be the matter? He was well but
yesterday.
Mr. Bristed’s strange manner, coupled with Richard’s absence and the
fearful events of the night, seemed likely to turn my brain.
He saw my startled look of inquiry, and said, “Be quiet awhile; I have
something of importance which I will communicate to you by-and-by, when
you are composed.”
“Mary,” he ordered, “ring the bell for breakfast to be sent hither;
meanwhile, Miss Reef, while awaiting our coffee, if you will walk with
me in the conservatory I will take pleasure in showing you my tropical
curiosities.”
I followed him languidly with wandering thoughts. Gradually, however, I
grew interested and listened with increased attention to his animated
description of the homes and haunts of the wonders by which he was
surrounded. He had visited many climes, and gathered each strange
flower and plant he had seen in its native clime. He became eloquent
and genial as he described the strange habits and peculiarities of his
floral companions, which he seemed to regard as a species of humanity;
to him they were not inanimate existences--creations--but objects
endowed with soul and sensation.
While we were thus conversing, Mary announced that breakfast was ready,
and I reluctantly accompanied him to the library. He almost compelled
me to eat, selecting for me dainty morsels to tempt my appetite.
Mr. Bristed evidently labored under some mental disquiet, which he
evinced by undue efforts at cheerfulness.
Breakfast being removed I sought to withdraw from the room, but he
requested me to remain, and dismissing Mary, seated himself in an easy
chair next the ottoman on which I rested, and warming his hands over
the fire, his eyes bent upon the blaze, said, with an abruptness that
was natural to him:
“I am not accustomed to concern myself about strangers, Miss Reef, but
in you I have felt a peculiar interest since the day we first met.
You will remember I warned you then that you were too young for the
responsibility which I foresaw awaited you. I feared at that time that
Richard, on seeing so bright a flower, would endeavor to snatch it from
its stem. My fears have been realized; you see I am acquainted with
what has taken place, and now the hour has come when you and I must
part.”
“Oh no,” cried I gaspingly, “not yet, not yet.”
“Miss Reef,” he demanded solemnly, “why will you delay? I understand
what you would say; you desire to see Richard again, but that can
never be; you have looked your last upon him in this life. I know his
magnetic influence over you; once again under that influence you are
lost!”
I did not like what he said. He overstepped the bounds of courtesy, I
thought. The warning which Richard had given me against him revived in
force and I recoiled from him, saying:
“Sir, your brother is my friend; I can listen to nothing in his
disfavor.”
He sighed, “Ah, Agnes, you are but a child. The sun just rising above
yonder horizon must soon be darkened; I see the gathering cloud and
would warn you of the approaching storm. Why will you turn from me when
I desire to help you?”
His musical voice was so sympathetic that it moved me deeply; but I
shook my head and answered passionately, “I cannot trust you. You wrong
him, and would compel me to wrong him too.”
“My child,” said he sadly, “I had hoped to have saved you from further
anguish, but perhaps it is best that you should know all. Come with me.”
He opened the door and led me to a room on the opposite side of the
hall. I knew it to be the room where Herbert slept.
“Let us go in,” he whispered.
We entered softly: the apartment was darkened, but a dainty crib which
occupied the centre of the floor could be dimly seen. As we stepped in,
his nurse, who was bending over the cot, moved with hushed footsteps
away to give us room.
There he lay, my dear, sick lamb! I was so glad to be permitted to see
him. But the result of no ordinary sickness met my eye.
Great purple rings had settled around his closed eyelids, his lips
were blue, his sweet mouth partly opened, he seemed to breathe with
difficulty. I could not speak. Mr. Bristed turned down the coverlet
from the little shoulders.
“Look, Miss Reef,” said he hoarsely, his voice quivering with
agitation, pointing to some hideous marks on the little sufferer’s
throat--“those are _his_ finger marks.”
I sickened. What crime was this that he hinted at so strangely? But the
insinuation was too incredible. The thought that he was working on my
credulity exasperated me.
“If you want me to leave your house, Mr. Bristed, command me and I will
go, but you cannot force me to believe this horrid inference.”
He must have felt the disdain with which I spurned him, for he turned
upon his heel and left the room.
I then spoke to Herbert. At the sound of my voice he moved, and I
seated myself by his side. Quietness seemed desirable, and I was not
inclined to break it. Now and then I moistened his lips with a little
wine and water. Seeing that I still sat by the crib, the nurse lay down
upon a settee and fell asleep.
Hours thus passed. The days were short and twilight came on rapidly.
Sitting there in the gathering gloom, I began to hum inadvertently a
little song which Herbert loved me to sing to him. Hearing my voice
chant his favorite ditty, the poor little creature stirred in his crib,
and his pale lips parted into a smile. Presently, in broken tones he
asked, “Is that Miss Reef?”
“Yes, Herbert, darling, I have come to sing to you,” said I, mastering
my emotions and chirruping more loudly his beloved song.
The effect seemed truly magical--he endeavored to raise up his little
body. “Oh sing it again,” he cried.
“Would you like to sit upon my knee?”
He nodded assent, and I made an effort to lift him up, but he was weak
and heavy, and I not sufficiently strong to sustain him. As he fell
back, my eyes caught sight again of those fearful marks. Some power
outside of myself forced me to ask, “Herbert, what ails your throat;
has any one hurt you?”
At the question, a tremor fearful to witness passed through his frame,
and looking at me with an expression of preternatural intelligence, he
whispered, “He tried to choke me.”
Stunned with horror at this again repeated assertion, I sank down and
buried my face in my hands. I could think but one thought, and that was
a wish that I were dead!