CONTINUED PLOTTING.
"Mammy," said Agnes, with a sudden gush of sympathy, "what is there in
General Harrington's family that interests you so much?"
The woman answered her with a keen glance and a single word:
"Everything!"
"And will you tell me nothing?"
"No, girl, I will not startle your nerves and confuse your intellect
with a history that, as yet, you could not understand. Do not importune
me again; I will not submit to it."
"Then I will do nothing more!" said Agnes, petulantly.
"I do not intend that you shall. The whole thing is, I find, beyond your
management. I might have known that your first step would be to fall in
love with a boy."
"Well, and if I did, has that prevented me carrying out all your
directions?"
"It has blindfolded and paralyzed you--that is all!"
"It maddened me to know that he loved another, and yet I acted with
coolness throughout."
"What was this penniless boy to either of us, that you should have
thwarted, or, at least, delayed all my plans for James Harrington----"
"He is all the world to me!" cried Agnes, "Worth ten thousand General
Harringtons and James Harringtons. I tell you, once for all, I would not
marry that solemn-faced bachelor, with all his millions, if he were at
my feet this instant."
"And this is why you would not obey the directions I gave, regarding
your conduct toward him?"
"Obey! why, everything was done to the letter. I followed him to the
conservatory, and kept him half an hour that morning talking over Miss
Lina's studies. One by one I gathered the flowers so often mentioned in
that journal, and tied them in a bouquet, which I offered him; blushing,
I am sure, as much as you could wish, for my face burned like flame."
"Well, did he take the flowers?"
"He turned white at the first glance, and put them back with his hand;
muttering that the scent of verbena and roses together, always made him
faint."
"Ha!--he said that--he turned pale; it is better than I expected?" cried
the woman, eagerly. "Well, what else?"
"Nothing more. He went out from the conservatory at once, leaving me
standing there, half-frightened to death with the bouquet in my hand;
but I turned it to account."
"Well, how?"
"Why, as it produced so decided an effect in one quarter, I concluded to
make another experiment, and went into Mrs. Harrington's boudoir with
the flowers in my hand. She saw them--started and blushed to the
temples--hesitated an instant, and then held out her hand; it trembled
like a leaf, and I could see her eyes fill with moisture--not tears
exactly, but a sort of tender dew. It was enough to make one pity her,
when I kept back the bouquet, saying, that it had just been given to
me."
"Well, what followed? You are sure it was the flowers--that she
recognized the arrangement at once?"
"It could be nothing else; besides, she became cold and haughty all at
once. The blush left her face pale as snow, and she shrouded her eyes
with one hand, as if to shut me and my flowers out from her sight. I saw
her hand shiver as I fastened the roses upon my bosom; and when I went
out into the grounds a short time after, intending to join Mr.
Harrington again, a curve in the path gave me a view of her window--and
there she stood, looking out so wistfully. Determined to force her
jealousy to the utmost, I hurried up to Mr. James Harrington, and began
to consult him regarding my pupil's exercise and lessons, the only
subject I really believe that he could have been induced to speak about,
for he seemed terribly depressed."
"And she stood watching you all the time?"
"No, not all the time; for, when in the eagerness of my
subject--remember I am deeply interested in Lina's progress--I reached
my hand towards Mr. Harrington's arm, not touching it, though it must
have appeared so from the distance, she disappeared from the window, as
if a ball had struck her; and I took a short cut through the
shrubberies, quite satisfied with the information those two pretty roses
had won for us. Now, say if I have been altogether blind or inert?"
"Indeed, I was unjust to think it; this is an important point gained.
There is no doubt that the feelings so vividly recorded in that journal
exist yet; this knowledge opens everything to us."
"Then I have done pretty well for a blind girl," persisted Agnes, with a
touch of sarcasm in her voice; "give me, at least, that praise."
"With one exception, child, you have done well in everything."
"And that exception--I know what you mean, but where Ralph Harrington is
concerned, I will not be controlled."
"No one wishes to control you, foolish girl. Be obedient and adroit as
you have been, and this blue-eyed girl shall be swept from your path
like thistle downs."
"Ah, do this, and I am twice your slave!" cried Agnes, with an impulse
of genuine feeling, flinging her arms around the elder woman.
"And you love him so much!" said the woman, returning her caress with a
touch of sympathy--"well, child, well--since the reading of that book I
have thought better of it. It may be, that your silly caprice for this
boy can be indulged without interfering with more important objects.
This first love is--well, well, no matter what it is, I would rather not
turn it to gall in the bosom of a young girl. So trust me, Agnes, and be
faithful."
"I will!"
"Now, listen, child. Have you settled about the old servants?"
"Indeed I have. The cook is away already--the chambermaid discontented
and going to-morrow. As for that uncouth boatman and factotum, I find
him hard to manage--he will neither take offence, nor listen to anything
I say."
"Let him pass. It will not do for us to frighten off too many at once.
But the new cook--what is she?"
"Fresh from Germany, and speaks no English."
"That will do. Now listen. You must intercede with General Harrington
for your poor old mammy, up yonder, as chambermaid, when this one is
gone."
Agnes opened her eyes wide, and a low laugh broke from her lips, that
were at first parted with astonishment.
"Mammy, what can you mean!"
The woman answered as much by the crafty smile, that crept over her
face, as by words.
"The old house is cold and lonely, Agnes, and the poor old slave will be
much more comfortable in a service-place for the winter, you understand.
She must have the place."
"In real earnest?"
"In real earnest."
"Well, it shall be done--but you will keep your word, this time."
"Have I ever broken it to you?"
"I don't know; in fact, until the whole of this affair is made plain to
me, all must be doubt and darkness. I know that my mission is to leave
distrust and misery wherever my voice reaches, or my step can force
itself in that household--yet they have all been kind to me, and most of
all, the lady herself."
"_She_ kind to _you_! I know what such kindness is. A sweet, gentle
indifference, that for ever keeps you at arms' length, or that proud
patronage of manner, which is more galling still. Oh, yes, I have felt
it. Such kindness is poison."
"I did not find it so," said Agnes, with a touch of feeling, "till your
lessons began to work. Then, acting like a traitor, I felt like one, and
began to hate those I wronged. But, I suppose this is always so."
The woman laughed. "You turn philosopher early, young lady. Most girls
of your age are content to feel and act--you must stop to analyze and
reflect. It is a bad habit."
"I suppose so--certainly reflection gives me no pleasure," answered the
girl, a little sadly.
"Well, well, child, we have no time for sentiment, now. The sun is
almost down, and you have a long walk before you--another week, and if
you manage to get your poor old mammy a place, we need not chill
ourselves to death in these damp woods. She will bring messages back and
forth, you know!"
Agnes shook her head, and laughed, "Oh, mammy, mammy!"
The woman mocked her laugh with a sort of good-natured bitterness.
"There now, that is easily managed, but there is something else for you
to undertake; wait."