On reviving came the dread feeling that I must go. Go whither? I had
no home. I could not return to my uncle who had cast me adrift. The
inquisitive glance of his grim housekeeper would annihilate me. But go
I must, and that speedily.
With weary head and aching heart I commenced packing my little
wardrobe. My bridal attire I hastily covered from sight that it might
remain until time and mildew should obliterate it. My dream of love was
past. I felt that my youth and beauty were buried in that crushed pile
of broken flowers, pale silk, and dishevelled lace.
I had concluded my work, and was tying my bonnet-strings, when a knock
at the door announced Mr. Bristed. He appeared surprised at seeing me
arranged for my journey.
“So soon, Agnes?” said he. “You are not yet able to leave.”
But as I expressed very emphatically my ability and determination to
start immediately, he saw expostulation would be useless.
“Well,” said he, “let me hear where you contemplate going.”
I told him I should take the railway or coach to some point, I cared
not where; any distant city or village from whence I could advertise
for another situation. I was too hopeless then to care whither I went.
“And do you think I would permit you to leave me thus at random, going,
you know not where, without any preconceived plans? Oh my poor, poor
child, to be thrown thus upon the world!”
He walked the floor several times, apparently in great agitation; then,
suddenly pausing, said abruptly, almost violently, “It must not be!
Agnes, don’t go,” lowering his voice, and placing his hand gently on my
shoulder; “stay with me--become my wife. I love you and will cherish
you. No rude blast that my arm can shield you from shall assail you. My
life has been one of gloom, you can render it one of sunshine. Stay,
dear one, oh, stay!” and in his transport he seized my hands.
“What do you mean, Mr. Bristed?” said I, recoiling from him. “Surely,
you must forget yourself and the circumstances which have so recently
occurred; you have accused me of loving your brother, how, then, can I
transfer my affections to you? Oh, you are cruel, cruel!”
“Forgive me,” said he, penitently; “I will do anything for you,
Agnes--take you away, if you wish; only let me go with you and see that
you are properly cared for.”
I shook my head.
“Richard may seek to find you; you may fall again into his evil hands
if you insist on going thus alone.”
“Mr. Bristed,” said I, “thus far I have acted as you directed. I will
depart at your solicitation; but further than this, I must be free. If
Richard seeks me out, and I can aid him, I will do so. Degraded and
fallen though he be, my love will not shrink from him. I will help him
to rise.”
“You are a noble woman, Agnes,” he said with a sad smile, “God protect
you!” and he left me.
As he went out, I heard him order the carriage. The serving-man came
for my luggage, and I summoned courage to pay a farewell visit to
Herbert.
The poor little invalid became very much excited at seeing me, and
clung so tightly about my neck that it was with effort I could leave.
I did not then inform him of my intended departure, and with an aching
heart and forced smile I parted from the dear sufferer.
I met Mary in the hall; she told me Mr. Bristed had ordered her to
accompany me on my journey.
I did not want her company, my mind craved solitude; I would not have
her. I sought her master, and told him so. “At a time like this I must
be alone,” said I, excitedly; “I want no spy upon my actions. I will go
wherever you wish me to go, but let me proceed alone.”
“Well,” said he, musingly, “I desire but to serve you. Go to the town
of M., present this letter according to its directions. You refuse my
further aid, but if ever you need a friend, send for me; otherwise, I
will never trouble you.”
I answered that I would do as he requested, and with a heavy heart
entered his carriage, which was waiting to drive me to the railway
station.