GREAT CONTENTMENT.
Had not Nora Willoughby been an interesting and amiable creature, her
introduction at this moment to all the freedom of a sister's rights
would certainly have been less agreeable than surprising to Agnes; and
perhaps, notwithstanding the sweet expression of her lovely face, the
pretty tenderness of her manner, and the lively interest which one so
near in blood could not fail to awaken, Agnes, as she entered her
bed-room on that eventful night, would rather have entered it alone. Her
heart seemed too full to permit her conversing freely with any one; and
it was by an effort not made altogether without pain, that she turned
her thoughts from Hubert and all that vast world of happiness which
appeared opening before them, to welcome her fair sister to her bower,
and to begin such a conversation with her, as sisters so placed might be
expected to hold. But she was soon rewarded for the exertion, for it was
quite impossible to pass an hour of intimate intercourse with Nora
without loving her, for she was made up of frankness, warm affection,
light-heartedness, and sweet temper.
As soon as Peggy had performed all the services required of her, and
that the door was fairly closed behind her, Nora threw her arms round
the neck of Agnes, and pressed her in a long and fond embrace.
"Dear, dear Agnes!" she exclaimed, "I wish you could share the pleasure
that I enjoy at this moment--but it is impossible ... I come upon you
suddenly, unexpectedly, unintelligibly, and must rather startle and
astound, than give you the delight that you give me. For I have been
preparing to love you for many weeks past, and have been longing till I
was almost sick to get to you. And after such eager and sanguine
expectations as mine, it is so delightful to find oneself not
disappointed!"
"And is such the case with my sweet sister?" replied Agnes caressingly.
"Indeed, indeed it is!--Frederick told me you were very beautiful--but I
did not expect to find you half so ... so elegant, so finished, so every
way superior."
"I shall quarrel with you, Nora, if you say such very fine things to
me.... Perhaps I think you very pretty, too, dear; but if I do, I must
not say so, because they tell us that we are so much alike, it would be
like admiring myself."
"Well!... and you cannot help admiring yourself, it is impossible....
But, sister Agnes, what a blessing it was that you did not happen to
fall in love with Frederick! What would have become of me if you had?...
for do you know, I loved almost as soon as I saw him. It was all so odd!
It was at the Italian opera that we first met; and I could not help
observing, that the handsomest man I had ever seen was looking at me
almost incessantly. Papa never saw a bit about it, for when he is
listening to music he never cares for anything. However, I do assure
you, I tried to behave properly, though, if I had done quite the
contrary, papa would never have found it out. I never looked at him at
all above three or four times, and that was accidentally from happening
to turn round my head. But whether I thought about it or not, there were
his beautiful large eyes always sure to be fixed upon me; and when the
opera was over, he must have run out of his box the moment we left ours,
for I saw him as we got into the fiacre, standing close beside it. Well,
I hardly know how it happened, but from that time I never stirred out
without meeting him; he never spoke of course, but that did not prevent
our knowing one another just as well as if we had been the oldest
acquaintance. At last, however, he managed very cleverly to find out
that papa was acquainted with M. Dupont, who gives such beautiful
concerts, and receives all the English so hospitably, and he asked as a
great favour to be invited to meet us; and so he was, and then we were
introduced, and then everything went on beautifully, for he knew you,
and the name of Willoughby, and the likeness, and all that, convinced
him that we must be the same family; so he and papa very soon made it
all out, and then he came to call upon us every day; and very, very,
very soon afterwards I was engaged to be his wife as soon as possible,
after we all got back to England."
"Thank you, dearest Nora!" replied Agnes, who, notwithstanding all her
pre-occupation, had found no difficulty in listening very attentively to
this narrative; "I cannot tell you all the pleasure your little history
has given me.... There is nobody in the world I should like so well for
a brother as Frederick Stephenson, and there is nobody in the world I
should like so well for a sister as Frederick Stephenson's wife."
"That is delightful!" cried Nora, joyfully, "and we certainly are two of
the luckiest girls in the world to have everything just as we would
wish.... But, Agnes, there is one thing I shall never understand.... How
could you help falling in love with Frederick when he fell in love with
you?"
"Because I happened just then," replied Agnes, laughing, "to be falling
in love with some one else."
"Well! certainly that was the most fortunate thing in the world ... and
Frederick himself thinks so now. He told me that he had a great mind to
shoot himself when you refused him, but that the very first moment he
saw me, he felt certain that I should suit him a great deal better than
you would have done."
"That I am sure is quite true, Nora," replied Agnes, very earnestly,
"for I too feel certain that I never could have suited anybody but
Colonel Hubert.... And now, my sweet sister, let us go to sleep, or we
shall hardly be up early enough to meet the friends who, I think, will
be wishing to see us again.... Good night, dearest!"
"Good night, darling Agnes!... Is not it pleasant to have a sister,
Agnes?... It is so nice to be able to tell you everything.... I am sure
I could never be able to do it to anybody else. Goodnight!"
"Bless you, sweet Nora!" replied Agnes; and then, each nestling upon her
pillow, and giving some few happy dreamy thoughts to the object they
loved best, they closed their fair young eyes, and slept till morning.
* * * * *
The waking was to both of them, perhaps, somewhat like the continuance
of a dream; but Peggy came and threw the light of day upon them, while
each fair girl seemed to look at her own picture as she contemplated her
pretty bedfellow, and appeared to be exceedingly well pleased by the
survey.
It was already late, and Agnes, rapidly as she was learning to love her
companion, did not linger at her toilet, but leaving Nora, with a hasty
kiss, to the care of Peggy, she hastened to the breakfast-table, and
made aunt Betsy's heart glad, by telling her at last, that she expected
Colonel Hubert would call about eleven o'clock, and that if she did not
think it wrong, she should like to speak to him for a few minutes alone.
"Wrong, my child!" exclaimed Miss Compton; "why, I never in my life read
a work painting the manners of the age, in which I did not find
interviews, sometimes occurring three or four times in a day, entirely
_tete-a-tete_, between the parties."
"Then I may go into the back drawing-room presently ... may I, aunt
Betsy?... And perhaps you would tell William...."
"Yes, yes, my dear, I'll tell him everything.... But eat some breakfast,
Agnes, or I am sure you will not be able to talk.... I suppose it is
about your new sister, and your father, and all that, that you want to
speak to him."
"There are many things, aunt Betsy.... But, good heavens! there is a
knock.... Will it not look very odd for you to send him in to me?"
Without waiting to give an answer, the agile old lady intercepted
William's approach to the door in time to give the order she wished; and
in two minutes more Colonel Hubert was ushered into a room where the
happy but blushing Agnes was alone.
His first few steps towards her were made at the pace at which
drawing-room floors are usually traversed, but the last part of the
distance was cleared by a movement considerably more rapid, for she had
risen in nervous agitation as he approached, and for the first time that
he had ever ventured a caress, he threw his arms around her, and pressed
her to his heart. Agnes struggled not to disengage herself, but wept
without restraint upon his bosom.
"You do then love me, Agnes?... At last, at last our hearts have met,
and never can be severed more! But still you must tell me very often
that you have forgiven me, dearest, for is it not difficult to believe?
And does it not require frequent vouching?"
"What is it, Montague, that you would have forgiven?" said Agnes,
looking up at him, and smiling through her tears.
This was the first time that her lips had pronounced his christian name
to any ears but her own, and she blushed as she uttered it.
"Agnes! my own Agnes!" he exclaimed, "you have forgiven me, or you would
not call me Montague!... How is it possible," he continued, looking
fondly at her, "that a word so hackneyed and familiar from infancy as
our own name can be made to thrill through the whole frame like a touch
of electricity?"
He drew her to the sofa from which she had risen, and placing himself by
her, said, "Now, then, Agnes, let us sit down soberly together, and
take an unvarnished retrospect of all that has passed since we first
met.... Yet why should I ask for this?... I hate to think of it ... for
it is a fact, Agnes, which his subsequent attachment to your sister must
not make you doubt, Frederick and his seven thousand a year would have
been at your disposal, had not my dissuasions prevented it.... And had
this been so, who knows...."
A shade of melancholy seemed once again settling on the noble
countenance of Colonel Hubert; Agnes could not bear it, and looking
earnestly at him, she said,
"Montague! answer me sincerely this one question, which is the strongest
feeling in your mind at this moment--the pleasure derived from believing
that your influence on Frederick was so great, or the pain of doubting
how the offer you speak of would have been received?"
"I have no pleasure in believing I have influence on any one, save
yourself," he answered gravely.
"I am glad of that, Montague," she said, "because you somewhat overrated
your influence with my brother elect. Save for your foolish doubts,
infidel!... you never should have known it, but ... Frederick Stephenson
did propose to me, Hubert, before he went abroad."
"And you refused him, Agnes!"
"And I refused him, Hubert."
"Oh! had I known this earlier, what misery should I have been spared!"
cried Colonel Hubert. "You know not, you could not know all I have
suffered, Agnes ... yet surely, dearest! when last we spoke together, it
was but yesterday, in this very room, you must then have guessed the
cause of the dreadful restraint that kept us asunder."
"There was no need of guessing then," replied Agnes, smiling, "for you
told me so distinctly."
"Then why not on the instant remove the load from my heart?... were you
quite incapable of feeling how galling it must have been to me?"
"I'll tell you how that came to pass," said Agnes, rising.... "Do you
sit still there, as I did yesterday, and say, 'Let me then confess to
you, Colonel Hubert,' ... and then I will answer thus," ... and raising
her hand, as if to stop his speech, she added, mimicking his impatient
tone,
"'Confess nothing, Miss Willoughby, to me!'... And then you told me you
had written to him, and when I exclaimed, with some degree of dismay at
the idea of your having written to recall him, you again interrupted me
by saying that you would do it again ... and then my aunt came, and so
we parted.... Then whose fault was it that I did not tell you?"
"My own, Agnes, it was my own; and alas!... I did not suffer for it
alone.... How wretched you must have been made by my vehemence!... But
you have forgiven me, and all this must be forgotten for ever.... There
is, however, one subject on which I would willingly ask a few more
questions--these, I hope, you will answer, Agnes?"
"Yes!" she replied, gaily, "you may hope for an answer to all your
questions ... provided, that just when I am about to speak, you do not
raise your arm _thus_, in order to prevent me."
"I will do my utmost to avoid it," he replied, "and for the greater
security will place the offending arm _thus_," ... throwing it round
her; "and now tell me, Agnes, why it was that you would not accept
Frederick Stephenson?"
"And will you be pleased to tell me, Colonel Hubert, why it was that you
did not propose to ... to anybody else, but me?"
"Because I loved you, and you only."
"Because I loved you, and you only," repeated Agnes.
"Is that an echo?" said Colonel Hubert.
"No!" replied Agnes ... "it is only the answer to your question."
"Then, exactly when I was occupied in finding reasons incontrovertible
why the niece of Mrs. Barnaby should never be loved by mortal man, the
young, the lovely Agnes Willoughby was loving me?"
"Even so," said Agnes, somewhat mournfully; "false impressions have
worked us so much woe, that it would not be wise to let a little
feminine punctilio prevent you seeing things as they are.... Yet it is
hardly fair, Hubert, to make me tell you this...."
"Oh, say not so!" he replied; "mistake not the source of this
questioning, for, Agnes, be secure
'That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world,
Would not offend thee!'
But can you wonder that, after all I have suffered, my heart and soul
thirsts for an assurance of your love? What might well suffice another,
Agnes, ought not to suffice me.... I am so much older...."
"I cannot help it, Montague ... nor could I help it when you took me out
of the clutches of Major Allen, upon the Windmill-hill, nor when you
were pleased to be so gracious as to approve my singing ... nor upon a
great many other occasions, when it would have been wise for me to
remember it, perhaps. But if I love you, and you love me, I cannot see
how your age or mine either need interfere to prevent it."
Perhaps at last Colonel Hubert arrived at the same satisfactory
conclusion, for the conversation was a long one; and before it was
ended, some little sketchings of his feelings during the early part of
their acquaintance brought to Agnes' mind the soothing belief, that
after the evening of the Clifton ball her image had never forsaken his
fancy more, though it was by slow degrees that it had grown into what
he called such "terrible strength" there, as to conquer every other
feeling.
Agnes listened to him as he stated this with most humble-minded and
unfeigned astonishment, but also with most willing belief, and then,
following his example, he quoted Shakspeare, exclaiming--
"And if an angel should have come to me
And told me thus,
I would have believed no tongue but Hubert's."