The school became mine. By vigilance and perseverance, I not only
retained the pupils Madame had transmitted to my care, but added many
thereto.
Monsieur Pilot, lively and friendly, visited me frequently. I liked the
little Frenchman; his gaiety served to divert my mind from reflections
on the past, which like spectres would sometimes stalk grimly before me
when unoccupied, I sought the quiet of my own chamber.
With my increasing success, my pupils’ interest fully occupied every
moment of my time. Meantime, not a line or word reached me from Bristed
Hall. Upon my installment as proprietor of Madame’s seminary, I had
written to Mr. Bristed, thanking him for his kindness, and informing
him that I should take measures to repay the expenditures he had
incurred in my behalf, by placing quarterly in the hands of Monsieur
Pilot a sum such as I could spare from my income, by means of which I
hoped in time to repay my external indebtedness.
The only reply I received to this letter was a peremptory refusal, sent
through Monsieur Pilot, to accept any return.
I had been more than a year in my new home. Constant employment had
developed my mind, and I flattered myself on having acquired a wisdom
and sedateness such as ten years of quiet experience could not have
given me. But of this I was lamentably mistaken.
Of my silly yielding to circumstances which follow, the reader must not
judge too harshly. I was still but an immature woman, not yet twenty;
the glamour of youth still hung over me. I craved human love, and took
the first that presented itself, just as any other ardent, imaginative
girl in my place would have done.
One night late in autumn, when the sharp winds were already giving
signals of the coming winter, of leafless trees and frozen ground,
feeling the usual sadness which accompanies this season of the year,
I walked out upon the piazza in front of the house, looking down upon
the street. I thought the keen air would put my blood in more active
circulation, and thus dispel from my mind the brown and yellow fancies
that filled it as the dying leaves of October strewed the ground.
My pupils had all retired to their rooms, and relieved of my charge,
my thoughts were free to recreate. I walked quickly back and forth,
drawing in long draughts of the invigorating air, and reviewing the
morning’s duties. While thus engaged, my attention was arrested by the
appearance of a tall man on the opposite side of the street, standing
still and watching me. As he caught my startled gaze he lifted his hat
and bowed, and before I had time to reflect on his strange proceedings,
had crossed the street and was standing on the pavement below.
“Agnes!”
My God, he called me by name! My blood became like ice. Shaking from
head to foot I covered my eyes with my hands, and would have run in,
but the whistling wind brought the cry again:
“Agnes! Let me speak with you.”
Quick as the words were uttered the dark figure mounted the stone
steps, only the little iron railing of the balcony dividing us.
I knew then who it was.
“Will you open the door, or shall I?” said a voice which I remembered
too well.
I saw no alternative, without disturbing the neighborhood and betraying
myself; so, like a criminal, I stepped softly to the hall and unlocked
the door. He came in with a light, free step, and seated himself upon a
couch with the ease of an old friend and accomplished gentleman. It was
Richard Bristed!
I will not detail what passed at this interview. But I fell again under
his fascination; his magnetic presence lulled my faculties, and, alas,
I must relate that this nocturnal intrusion was followed quickly by
others!
He assumed his old ascendancy over me. The past became like an
unpleasant dream in my mind, dimly remembered, but never distinctly
recalled.
Occasionally, however, a sharp doubt obtruded itself, and roused me for
an instant. One evening I ventured to ask:
“Richard, why are your visits so brief, and made only in the night?”
“Why?” he repeated, as if startled by the suddenness of the question,
then adding carelessly: “Because you always have that deuced old
fellow, Monsieur Pilot, running here. I am not very jealous, yet it
would torment me to meet one who dares raise his thoughts to my Agnes.
He wants to marry you. Do dismiss him!”
This conjecture proved true, and I was obliged to give a cold rebuff to
the man who had befriended me. It is possible Richard Bristed did not
care to be recognized by his brother’s agent, but I did not think of
this at that time.