AGNES RECEIVES AN UNEXPECTED VISITER, AND AN IMPORTANT
COMMUNICATION.--SHE ALSO RECEIVES A LETTER FROM CHELTENHAM, AND FROM HER
AUNT BARNABY.
Agnes was roused from this state of melancholy musing by a double knock
at the door.
"Is it possible," she said, starting up, "that she spoke truly, and that
she is already released?"
The street-door was opened, but the voice of Mrs. Barnaby did not make
its way up the stairs before her--a circumstance so inevitable upon her
approach,--that, after listening for it in vain for a moment, the
desolate girl resumed her attitude, and endeavoured to recover the train
of thought that had been broken. But she was not destined to do so, at
least for the present, for the maid threw open the drawing-room door,
and announced "A gentleman."
Agnes, as we have said, was sitting in darkness, and the girl very
judiciously placed her slender tallow-candle in its tin receptacle on
the table, saying, as she set a chair for "the gentleman," "I will bring
candles in a minute, miss," and then departed.
Agnes raised her eyes as the visiter approached, and had the light been
feebler still she would have found no difficulty in discovering that it
was Colonel Hubert who stood before her. He bowed to the angle of the
most profound respect, and though he ventured to extend his hand in
friendly greeting, he took hers with the air of a courtier permitted to
offer homage to a sovereign princess.
Agnes stood up, she received his offered hand, and raised her eyes to
his face, but uttered no word either of surprise or joy. Her face was
colourless, and traces of very recent tears were plainly visible; she
trembled from head to foot, and Colonel Hubert, frightened, as a brave
man always is when he sees a woman really sinking under her sex's
weakness, replaced her on the sofa almost as incapable of speaking as
herself.
"Do not appear distressed at seeing me, dearest Miss Willoughby," said
he, "or I shall be obliged to repent having ventured to wait on you. I
should not have presumed to do this, had not your friends, your truly
attached friends, my aunt and sister, authorized my doing so."
"Oh! what kindness!" exclaimed poor Agnes, bursting into a flood of most
salutary tears. "Do not think me ungrateful, Colonel Hubert, if I could
not say ... if I did not speak to you.... Do you, indeed, come to me
from Lady Elizabeth?"
"Here are my credentials," he replied, smiling, and presenting a letter
to her. "We learned that your foolish aunt ... forgive me, Miss
Willoughby; but the step I have taken can only be excused by explaining
it with the most frank sincerity ... we learned that Mrs. Barnaby,
having quitted Cheltenham suddenly, (the ostensible reason for doing
which was bad enough), had left a variety of debts unpaid; and that her
creditors, alarmed at her not returning, were taking active measures to
secure her person.... Is this true?... Is your aunt arrested?"
"She is," replied Agnes faintly.
"Good God!... You are here, then, entirely alone?"
"I am quite alone," was the answer, though it was almost lost in the sob
that accompanied it.
"Oh! dearest Agnes!" cried Colonel Hubert, in a burst of uncontrolable
emotion, "I cannot see you thus, and longer retain the secret that has
been hidden in my heart almost from the first hour I saw you!... I love
you, Agnes, beyond all else on earth!... Consent to be my wife, and
danger and desertion shall never come near you more!"
What a moment was this to hear such an avowal!... Human life can
scarcely offer extremes more strongly marked of weal and woe than those
presented by the actual position of Agnes, and that proposed to her by
the man she idolized. But let De la Rochefoucault say what he will,
there are natures capable of feeling something nobler than the love of
self; ... and after one moment of happy triumphant swelling of the heart
that left no breath to speak, she heaved a long deep sigh that seemed to
bring her back from her momentary glimpse of an earthly paradise to
things as they are, and said slowly, but with great distinctness, "No!
never will I be your wife!... never, by my consent, shall Colonel
Hubert ally himself to disgrace!"
Had this been said to a younger man, it is probable that he would not
have found in it anything calculated to give a mortal wound to his hopes
and wishes; but it fell with appalling coldness on the heart of the
brave soldier, who had long kept Cupid at defiance by the shield of
Mars, and who had just made the first proposal of marriage that had ever
passed his lips. It was her age and his own that rose before him as she
uttered her melancholy "No, never!..." and Agnes became almost the
first object to whom he had ever, even for a moment, been unjust. He
gave her no credit ... no, not the least, for the noble struggle that
was breaking her heart, and meant most sincerely what he said, when he
replied,--
"Forgive me, Miss Willoughby.... Had I been a younger man, the offer of
my hand, my heart, my life, would not have appeared to you, as it
doubtless must do now,--the result of sober, staid benevolence, desirous
of preserving youthful innocence from unmerited sorrow.... Such must my
love seem.... So let it seem; ... but it shall never cost one hour's
pain to you."... He was silent for a moment, and had to struggle, brave
man as he was, against feelings whose strength, perhaps, only shewed his
weakness.... "But even so," he added, making a strong effort to speak
steadily, "even so; let me not be here in vain: listen to me as a friend
and father."
Poor Agnes!... this was a hard trial. To save him, worshipped as he
was, from a marriage that must be considered as degrading, she could
have sacrificed herself with the triumphant courage of a proud martyr;
but to leave him with the idea that she was too young to love him!...
to let that glowing, generous heart sink back upon itself, because it
found no answering warmth in her!... in her! who would have died only
to purchase the light of owning that she never did, and never could,
love any man but him!... It was too terrible, and the words "Hubert!
beloved Hubert!" were on her lips; but they came no farther, for she had
not strength to speak them. Another effort might have been more
successful, and they, or something like them, might have found way, had
not the gentleman recovered his voice first, and resumed the
conversation in a tone so chillingly reserved, that the timid,
broken-spirited girl, had no strength left "to prick the sides of her
intent," and lay her innocent heart open before him.
"In the name of Lady Elizabeth Norris let me entreat you, Miss
Willoughby, not to remain in a situation so every way objectionable," he
said. "My aunt and sister both are full of painful anxiety on your
account, and the letter I have brought contains their earnest entreaties
that you should immediately take up your residence with my aunt. Do not
refuse this from any fear of embarrassment ... of persecution from
me.... I shall probably go abroad.... I shall probably join my friend
Frederick at Paris. He did you great justice, Miss Willoughby; ... and,
but for me, perhaps.... Forgive me!... I will no longer intrude on
you!--forgive me!--tell me you forgive me, for all the pain I have
caused you, and for more injury, perhaps, than you will ever know! I
never knew how weak--I fear I should say how unworthy--my character
might become, till I knew you; ... and to complete the hateful
retrospect," he added, with bitterness, and rising to go, "to complete
the picture of myself that I have henceforth to contemplate, I was
coxcomb enough to fancy.... But I am acting in a way that I should scorn
a youth for who numbered half my years.... Answer my aunt's letter,
Miss Willoughby ... answer it as if her contemptible nephew did not
exist ... he shall exist no longer where he can mar your fortune or
disturb your peace!"
Agnes looked at him as if her heart would break at hearing words so
harsh and angry, when, losing at once all sense of his own suffering,
Colonel Hubert reseated himself, and, in the gentlest accent of
friendship, alluded to the propriety of her immediately leaving London,
and to the anxiety of her friends at Cheltenham to receive her.
"They are very, _very_ good to me," said Agnes meekly; "and I shall be
most thankful, Colonel Hubert, to avail myself of such precious
kindness, if the old aunt, to whom I have written, in Devonshire, should
refuse to save me from the necessity of being a burden on their
benevolence."
"But shall you wait for this decision here, Miss Willoughby?"
"I have promised to do so," replied Agnes; "and as I may have an answer
here on Thursday, I think, at latest, I would not risk the danger of
offending her by putting it out of my power immediately to obey her
commands, if she should be so kind as to give me any."
The eyes of Agnes were fixed for a moment on his as she concluded this
speech, and there was something in the expression of that look that
shook the sternness of his belief in her indifference. He rose again,
and making a step towards her, said, with a violence of emotion that
entirely changed the tone of his voice,--
"Agnes!... Miss Willoughby!... answer me one question.... Should my
aunt herself plead for me ... could you, would you, be my wife?"
Agnes, equally terrified lest she should say too little or too much,
faltered as she replied, "If it were possible, Colonel Hubert ... could
I indeed believe that your aunt, your sister, would not hate and scorn
me...."
"You might!... You will let me believe it possible you could be brought
to love me?... To love me, Agnes?... No! do not answer me ... do not
commit yourself by a single word!... Stay, then, here; ... but do not
leave the house!... Stay till.... Yet, alas! I dare not promise it!...
But you will not leave this house, Miss Willoughby, with any aunt,
without letting me ... my family, know where you may be found?"
"Oh no!..." said Agnes with a reviving hope, that if they must be
parted, which this reference to her aunt and his own doubtful words made
it but too probable would be the end of all, at least it would not be
because he thought she was too young to love him.... "Oh no!" she
repeated; "this letter will not be left without an answer."
"And you will not stir from these rooms alone?" he replied, once more
taking her hand.
"Not if you think it best," she answered, frankly giving hers, and with
a smile, moreover, that ought to have set his heart at ease about her
thinking him too old to love. And for the moment perhaps it did so, for
he ventured to press a kiss upon that hand, and uttering a fervent
"Heaven bless and guard you!" disappeared.
And Agnes then sat down to muse again. But what a change had now come
o'er the spirit of her dream!... Where was her abject misery? Where the
desolation that had made her almost fear to look around and see how
frightfully alone she was? Her bell was rung, her candles brought her,
tea was served; and though there was a fulness and palpitation at the
heart which prevented her taking it, or eating the bread and butter
good-naturedly intended to atone for her untasted dinner, quite in the
tranquil, satisfactory, and persevering manner that might have been
wished, everything seemed to dance before her eyes _en coleur de rose_,
till at last, giving up the attempt to sit soberly at the tea-table, she
rose from her chair, clasped her hands with a look of grateful ecstasy
to heaven, and exclaimed aloud, "He loves me! Hubert loves me!... Oh,
happy, happy Agnes!"
"Did you call, miss?" said the maid entering, from having heard her
voice as she passed up the stairs.
Agnes looked at her and laughed. "No, Susan," she replied; "I believe I
was talking to myself."
"Well, that is funny," said the girl; "and I'm sure it is a pity such a
young lady as you should have no one else to talk to. Shall I take the
things away, miss?"
Once more left to herself, Agnes set about reading the letter, which
hitherto had lain untouched upon the table, blushing as she opened it
now, because it had not been opened before.
The first page was from Lady Elizabeth, and only expressed her commands,
given in her usual peremptory tone, but nevertheless mixed with much
kindness, that Agnes should leave London with as little delay as
possible, and consider her house as her home till such time as an
eligible situation could be found, in which her own excellent talents
might furnish her with a safer and more desirable manner of existence
than any her aunt Barnaby could offer. The remainder of the letter was
filled by Lady Stephenson, and expressed the most affectionate anxiety
for her welfare; but she too referred to the hope of being able to find
some situation that should render her independent; so that it was
sufficiently evident that neither of them as yet had any idea that this
independence might be the gift of Colonel Hubert.
"It is nonsense to suppose they will ever consent to it," thought
Agnes; and this time her spirits were not so exalted as to make her
breathe her thoughts aloud; "but I never can be so miserable again as I
have been ... it is enough happiness for any one person in this life ...
that everybody says is not a happy one ... it is quite enough to know
that Hubert loves me ... Oh Hubert!... noble Hubert! how did I dare to
fix my fancy on thee?... Presumptuous!... But yet he loves me!"
And with this balm, acting like a gentle opiate upon her exhausted
spirits, she slept all night, and dreamed of Hubert.
The four o'clock delivery of the post on the following day brought her
this letter from her aunt Barnaby.
"DEAR AGNES,
"The brutality of these Cheltenham people is perfectly
inconceivable. Mr. Crayton my broker, and my poor father's
broker before me, came to me as early as it was possible last
night; and I explained to him fully, and without a shadow of
reserve, the foolish scrape I had got into, which would have
been no scrape at all if I had not happened to fall into the
hands of a parcel of rascals. He undertook to get the sum
necessary to release me by eleven o'clock this morning, which
he did, good man, with the greatest punctuality ... paid that
villanous Simmons, got his receipt, and my discharge, when,
just at the very moment when I was stepping into the coach that
was to take me from this hateful place, up come the same two
identical fellows that insulted us in Half-Moon Street, and
arrest me again at the suit of Wright.... Such nonsense!... As
if I could not pay them all ten times over, as easy as buy a
pot of porter. But they care no more for reason than a pig in a
sty; so here I am, shut up again till that dear old man Crayton
can come, and get through all the same tedious work again. You
can't conceive how miserably dull I am; and what's
particularly provoking, I gave over trying to have you in with
me as soon as old Crayton told me I should be out by noon
to-day; and therefore, Agnes, I want you to set off the very
minute you receive this, and come to me for a visit. You may
come to me for a visit, though I can't have you in without
special leave. Mind not to lose your way; but it's uncommonly
easy if you will only go by what I say. Set out the same way
that we went to the church, you know, and keep on till you get
to the Haymarket, which you will know by its being written up.
Then, when you've got down to the bottom of it, turn sharp
round to your left, and just ask your way to the Strand; and
when you have got there, which you will in a minute, walk on,
on, on, till you come to the bottom of a steep hill, and then
stop and ask some one to shew you the way to the Fleet Prison.
When you get there, any of the turnkeys will be able to shew
you to my room; and a comfort I'm sure it will be to see you in
such a place as this.... And do, Agnes, buy as you come along
half a dozen cheesecakes and half a dozen queen-cakes, and a
small jar, for about four or five shillings, of brandy
cherries.... And what's a great comfort, I may keep you till
it's dark, which is what they call shutting-up time, and then
you can easy enough find your way back again by the gaslight,
which is ten times more beautiful than day, all along the
streets from one end of the town to the other.... Only think of
that dirty scoundrel Morrison never coming near me ... after
all that passed too, and all the wine he drank, shabby
fellow!... There is one very elegant-looking man here that I
meet in the passage every time I go to my bed-room. He always
bows, but we have not spoken yet. Bring five sovereigns with
you, and be sure set off the moment you get this.
"Your affectionate aunt,
"MARTHA BARNABY."
It needs not to say the sort of effect which the tone of this letter
produced on a mind in itself delicate and unsunned as the bells of the
valley lily, and filled to overflowing with the image of the noble
Hubert. Yet there were other feelings that mingled with this deep
disgust; she pitied her aunt Barnaby, and could any decent or womanly
exertion have done her good, or even pleasure, she would not have shrunk
from making it. But what she asked was beyond her power to perform; and,
moreover, she had promised Colonel Hubert not to leave the house. How
dear to her was the recollection of this injunction!... how delightful
the idea that his care and his commands protected her from the horrors
of such a progress as that sketched out by her aunt Barnaby. To obey her
was therefore altogether out of the question; but she sat down to write
to her, and endeavoured to soften her refusal by pleading her terror of
the streets at any hour, and her total want of strength and courage to
undertake such an expedition; adding, that she supposed by her account
there could be no doubt of their meeting in Half-Moon Street on the
morrow.
But the morrow and its morrow came, without bringing Mrs. Barnaby. In
fact, writ after writ had poured in upon her, but hoping still to evade
those yet to come, she only furnished herself with what each one
required, and so prolonged her imprisonment to the end of the week. Her
indignation at Agnes's refusal to come to her was excessive, and she
answered her letter by a vehement declaration that she would never again
inhabit the same house with her. This last epistle ended thus:--
"If you don't wish to be turned neck and heels into the street
the moment I return, look out for a nursery-maid's or a
kitchen-maid's place if you will ... only take care never to
let me set eyes upon you again. Ungrateful wretch!... What is
Morrison's ingratitude to yours? For nearly seven months you
have eaten at my cost, been lodged at my cost, travelled at my
cost, ay, and been clothed at my cost too. And what is the
return?... I am in prison for debts, which, of course, were
incurred as much for you as for myself; and you refuse to come
to me!... Never let me see you more--never let me hear your
name, and never again turn your thoughts or hopes to your for
ever offended aunt,
"MARTHA BARNABY."
Little as Agnes wished to continue under the protection of Mrs. Barnaby,
this peremptory dismissal was exceedingly embarrassing. She had declined
immediately accepting the invitation of Lady Elizabeth in a manner that
made her very averse to throwing herself upon it, till a positive
refusal of assistance from her aunt Compton obliged her to do so; and
being absolutely penniless (excepting inasmuch as she was entrusted with
the key that secured the widow's small stock of ready money), her only
mode of not undergoing, to the letter, the sentence which condemned her
to wander in the streets, was remaining where she was till she received
an answer from Miss Compton.
It is certain that she submitted to thus seizing upon hospitality with
the strong hand the more readily, as by doing so she was enabled to obey
the parting injunction of Colonel Hubert; and bracing her courage to
the meeting that must take place should Mrs. Barnaby's release precede
her own, she suffered the heavy interval of doubt to steal away with as
little of the feverish restlessness of impatience as possible.