The time drew near for his brother’s arrival. He was prompt to the hour.
“Well, Agnes,” said he, “I have passed a sleepless night. I hope you
will relieve my mind of its anxiety.”
“Mr. Bristed,” said I, covering my eyes with my hand, for I could not
endure his eager gaze, “I must first tell you I am married to your
brother Richard.”
“Married to Richard!” he exclaimed, starting up violently agitated; and
seizing my shoulder with nervous gripe he set me off from him at arm’s
length--“You married to Richard! why, Agnes, that cannot be; has he not
a wife now living in France? But be calm, child,” said he, “be calm,”
patting me gently on the head; “perhaps I am misinformed; we will talk
of this hereafter. Now about Herbert. Tell me what you know.”
This question recalled me. I then informed him of the idiotic pupil
who had been received in the house about a fortnight since, and how my
suspicions as to his identity had been aroused the day previous.
He could scarcely wait till I had finished my account. “Come, quick!
come! show me the way to the room!”
I led him up the stairs in the direction of the suspected chamber. As
we neared the door a low moan could be heard distinctly.
“O my God, it is Herbert!” he exclaimed. “Quick, where is the key?”
“I have no key--you must pry the lock open.” No sooner said than
done--he burst open the door and entered. I followed. Alas! our
surmises proved too true! There upon the couch lay the wasted form of
poor Herbert.
As he recognized us his wan face lighted up with an angelic smile, and
he endeavored to raise himself at our coming, but he was too weak, and
his head sank nerveless back upon the pillow.
Silently and hushed, as in the chamber of death, we stepped to his
bedside. He held out his thin hand to his uncle, who clasped it between
his own, and, kneeling by his couch, bowed his head and sobbed aloud.
His first moments of bitter grief subsiding, he said to me, “Send for
some wine.” Then, stroking the child’s fair forehead, he groaned, “O
Herbert, Herbert, have I found you at last, sick and alone!”
Herbert attempted to reply, but his voice was weak and faint; we could
not distinguish his words. A servant brought the wine, and I moistened
his colorless lips with it. How I felt, it is useless to describe.
Words would fail to express my terror.
The rich, warm juice of the grape and the application of stimulants
seemed to restore him to life. His first effort on recovering was to
call me by name. I answered by bending over him and bathing his pale
forehead. At this he smiled, pleased and happy.
“Now, Herbert, my poor boy,” said Mr. Bristed, “if it will not fatigue
you too much to talk, tell us how you came here. Who brought you? Why
did you leave Bristed Hall?”
“Uncle Richard brought me,” said he, heaving a melancholy sigh. “He
came after you had gone, uncle, and told me that Agnes Reef was sick
and going to die, and wanted to see me and you, and that if you were
home you would let me go, because you loved her; and I thought so too.
He gave me this ring which Agnes sent so I would know it was her.” And,
saying this, he held up a thin, transparent hand, and there, indeed,
upon it gleamed one of my rings, so loose that the wasted fingers could
scarce retain it.
“My ring! So Richard gave you that,” said I, with scorn I could not
conceal, even in the sick chamber.
“Yes,” he murmured, “and he told me he would bring me straight back
before uncle got home, and he brought me here into this room, but Agnes
was not here. I could not find her. Then he locked the door and would
not let me out, and I have been hungry and cold. And when I cried, he
would kick me, and that made me sick, I think. Do take me home, uncle,
before he comes, and I will never go away again!”