Transcriber’s Notes
Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations
in hyphenation have been standardised but all other spelling and
punctuation remains unchanged.
Italics are represented thus _italic_.
THE
Angel and the Demon:
A TALE.
BY T. S. ARTHUR.
PHILADELPHIA:
J. W. BRADLEY, 48 NORTH FOURTH STREET,
1859.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1858, by
J. W. BRADLEY,
in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the
Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
STEREOTYPED BY L. JOHNSON & CO.
PHILADELPHIA.
PHILADELPHIA:
PRINTED BY KING & BAIRD,
607 SANSOM STREET.
PREFACE
We think few mothers can read this volume without being struck with
the great importance of care in regard to the dispositions and moral
qualities of those into whose hands they place their children. There
are sad disorders in society at the present time, and influences of
a baleful character at work: above all things, let tender, innocent
children be kept wholly beyond their sphere. In but rare cases should
there be a delegation of the mother’s duties: extreme ill health is,
perhaps, the only excuse for such delegation; but when it is made,
let the nurse or governess be of known pure life and firm integrity.
There should be no guess-work here; no trusting of a stranger, unless
under the amplest testimonials from known parties; for wrong done to
childhood is, too often, wrong done for the whole life. But we can
only hint here at what we have endeavored to illustrate in the present
volume.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAP. I.—THE YOUNG GOVERNESS 9
II.—GAINING INFLUENCE 21
III.—TRIALS 32
IV.—WORTH AND PRETENSION 40
V.—THE WIND AND THE SUN 48
VI.—THE GOVERNESS DISMISSED 60
VII.—A REVELATION 71
VIII.—THE NEW GOVERNESS 82
IX.—THE SHADOW OF EVIL 91
X.—A LITTLE BREEZE 101
XI.—THE DEMON UNVEILED 108
XII.—A FEARFUL MYSTERY 119
XIII.—DOUBT AND ANXIETY 127
XIV.—PAINFUL CONSEQUENCES 138
XV.—ALARMING OCCURRENCE 150
XVI.—DISAPPEARANCE OF MADELINE 158
XVII.—THE SEARCH 165
XVIII.—A NEST OF PSEUDO-SPIRITUALISTS 189
XIX.—THE BIRD AND THE SERPENT 204
XX.—THE RESCUE 215
XXI.—THE ARREST 223
XXII.—BREAKING THE SPELL 236
XXIII.—THE ANGEL STRONGER THAN THE DEMON 245
XXIV.—AN UNEXPECTED REVELATION 269
XXV.—A REVELATION 278
XXVI.—REVIEWING THE MATTER 287
XXVII.—GETTING RIGHT 298
XXVIII.—CONCLUSION 304
THE
ANGEL AND THE DEMON.
CHAPTER I.
THE YOUNG GOVERNESS.
Mrs. Dainty’s health was poor, and her nerves delicate. It was no use,
she said: the wear and tear of body and mind were more than she could
stand. She must have a governess for the children. Mr. Dainty never
opposed his wife in any thing, and so replied,—
“Very well, Madeline. Find your governess.”
But Uncle John—Uncle Johns, by-the-way, if they happen to be on the
mother’s side, and old bachelors at that, are proverbially inclined to
interfere with the home-management of their nieces—had, as usual, a
word to say after he was alone with Mrs. Dainty.
“Don’t have any thing of the kind,” said he. “Be governess to your own
children.”
“But I’m not equal to the task. It will kill me. See how thin and pale
I am getting; and my nerves are in a terrible condition.”
“No wonder.”
“Why?”
“Dissipation will destroy any woman’s nerves.”
“Dissipation! Why, Uncle John!”
“How many nights were you out last week?”
“Only three.”
“Only three! and each time until long after midnight. Dancing, late
hours, hot suppers, and confectionery! No wonder your nerves are
shattered! Such a life would kill me up in half a year.”
“Well, in my case, it is all that keeps me going. These social
recreations, coming at intervals upon the enervating cares of domestic
life, give new vitality to the exhausted system.”
“Filigree and nonsense!” replied Uncle John, impatiently. “You know
better than to talk after this fashion.”
And so, for the time, the debate closed between them.
Meeting with no opposition from her husband, Mrs. Dainty proceeded
at once to the work of procuring a governess. Among her fashionable
friends she first made inquiry, but in no direction could she hear of
the right individual. The qualifications were set forth at large.
She must speak French with the true Parisian accent, and be able
to teach that language; her knowledge of music must be thorough;
she must be perfect in drawing and painting; her manners must be
ladylike, her tastes refined: in a word, she must possess all the high
accomplishments necessary to educate the children of a fashionable
mother who was “in society.” She would greatly prefer a Frenchwoman.
At last she heard of a “French lady,” the daughter of a French count
of the old régime, who was desirous of procuring the situation of
governess in a family of “good standing.” An interview with this lady
was held in the presence of Uncle John, who took occasion to ask her
some questions about Paris, where he had spent several years. The
stately manner and superior air which she assumed at the commencement
of the interview gradually gave way under these questions, until madame
showed considerable embarrassment.
“Your face is very familiar to me,” said Uncle John, finally. “I am
sure I must have met you in Paris.”
“Monsieur is undoubtedly mistaken,” said the lady, with returning
dignity.
“Perhaps so,” replied Uncle John. Then, in a more serious voice,
he added, “But one thing is certain: you do not possess the
qualifications desired in the governess of my nieces.”
The “French lady” offered no remonstrance, and asked for no
explanations, but, with a flushed face, arose and retired.
“Better keep clear of counts’ daughters,” said Uncle John, as the
applicant withdrew. “If you will have a governess for the children,
procure one born and bred so near at home that you can readily learn
all about her.”
Mrs. Dainty, who was particularly attracted by the appearance of the
French lady, was not altogether pleased with Uncle John’s summary mode
of despatching her, though a little startled at the idea of getting an
impostor in her house.
What next was to be done? “Suppose we advertise?” said Mrs. Dainty.
“And have your bell-wire broken before ten o’clock the next morning,”
replied Uncle John. “Take my advice, and wait a few days.”
“What good will waiting do? Unless we take some steps in the direction
we wish to go, we shall never arrive at the end of our journey.”
“Good steps have been taken,” said Uncle John, cheerfully. “You have
already made known to quite a number of your friends that you want a
governess. The fact will not die; many will remember and speak of it,
and somebody will happen to think of somebody who will just suit you.”
So Mrs. Dainty concluded to wait a few days, and see what time would
bring forth.
On the third morning after the interview with the French count’s
daughter, as Mr. and Mrs. Dainty and Uncle John sat talking together
on the governess-question, the waiter opened the door, and said that a
young woman wished to speak with Mrs. Dainty.
“Who is she, and what does she want?” inquired Mrs. Dainty, with an air
of indifference, stroking the head of her King Charles spaniel, which,
instead of her baby, occupied a comfortable position in her lap.
The servant went down to gain what information he could from the
visitor touching her business with Mrs. Dainty, and returned with the
information that she was an applicant for the situation of governess in
the family, having been informed that the lady wanted a person in that
capacity.
“Tell her to come up,” said Mrs. Dainty. “I wonder who she can be?” was
added, as the servant withdrew.
Uncle John sat with his chin resting on the head of his cane,
apparently so much engaged with his own thoughts as to be unconscious
of what was passing.
In a few minutes the door reopened, and a young woman in plain attire,
and of modest, almost timid aspect, entered. Mr. Dainty was standing
with his back to the fire; Mrs. Dainty sat in her morning wrapper, with
the King Charles spaniel still in comfortable quarters; and Uncle John
remained in the same position, not stirring as the girl entered.
“Take a chair,” said Mrs. Dainty, with that supercilious indifference
which imagined superiority often puts on toward imagined inferiors.
The girl flushed, trembled, and sat down, letting her eyes fall to the
floor.
“What is your name?” asked Mrs. Dainty.
“Florence Harper,” replied the girl.
“Where do you live?”
“At No. — Elwood Street.”
“With whom?”
“My aunt.”
“Are your father and mother living?”
“No, ma’am.” Even Mrs. Dainty felt the sadness with which this reply
was made.
“I am in want of a governess for my children,” said Mrs. Dainty,
coldly; “but I hardly think you will suit.”
The young girl arose at once.
“Sit down.” Mrs. Dainty spoke with a slight impatience. The visitor
resumed her chair, while Mr. Dainty kept his place before the fire,
with his eyes fixed upon her curiously.
“Do you speak French?” inquired Mrs. Dainty.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What French school did you attend?”
“I was with Mr. Picot for six years.”
“Indeed!” There was a new interest in Mrs. Dainty’s voice.
“How is it in regard to your musical qualifications?” she continued.
“I will satisfy you, madam,” said the applicant, in a quiet but firm
and dignified manner, “in regard to my ability to teach the various
branches of a polite education, by references, if you desire them.”
“Oh, certainly! I shall expect references, of course. You don’t imagine
that I would take an entire stranger into my house without the most
rigid inquiries touching her character?”
Miss Harper arose.
“Do you wish,” said she, “to make any inquiries about me? Or have you
concluded that I will not suit you?”
“You can leave your references,” replied Mrs. Dainty.
The names of two ladies were given. Mrs. Dainty had no acquaintance
with them, but she knew their standing.
“That will do,” she replied.
“Shall I call again, or will you send me word if you desire to see me,”
said the young girl.
“You may call.” Mrs. Dainty spoke in a very indifferent manner.
The visitor retired.
“I don’t like her,” said Mrs. Dainty.
“Why not?” inquired Uncle John, lifting, for the first time, his chin
from the head of his cane.
“Too plebeian,” said Mrs. Dainty.
“Nothing but a countess will do for your young hopefuls,” retorted
Uncle John. “Plebeian! There is the air of a lady in every movement.
Take my advice, and learn all you can about her; and I’m mistaken if
you don’t at once secure her services.”
Mrs. Dainty’s heart was set on having a governess; and, as no better
opportunity offered for procuring one, she made inquiries about Miss
Harper, and received encouraging information. A family council,
consisting of herself, husband, and Uncle John, decided in the
affirmative on the question of engaging the young lady, who, as she
did not return to know whether her services would be desired or not,
was sent for. Terms, duties, and the like being discussed and settled,
Miss Harper, with many misgivings and strong reluctance, assumed the
difficult and responsible position of governess in the family of Mrs.
Dainty.
Three children were placed under her care: Agnes, the eldest daughter,
now in her fourteenth year; Madeline, the second, eleven years old; and
George, in his sixth summer. Many unwise remarks had been made about
the young girl in the presence of the children; and when she assumed,
formally, the charge of them, she perceived at a glance that they
held her in contempt, and were not in the least inclined to obey her
authority.
The first day’s trials were severe enough. Mrs. Dainty, in whose mind
there was a foregone conclusion adverse to the young governess, made
it her business to be present with her for some hours while giving her
introductory lessons to the children, or, rather, while making her
first efforts to dive into their minds and see what had already been
stored away. The mother did not act very wisely during the time; for
she was not a very wise woman. Could she have seen the image of herself
as it was pictured in the mind of Miss Harper, she would not have felt
very much flattered. A small portion of light entered the region of
perception once or twice, the way being opened by a quiet answer to
some remark that broadly displayed her ignorance. One result followed
this rather meddlesome interference on the part of Mrs. Dainty. Her
respect for the young governess was materially heightened.
On the second day, Miss Harper was left in the undisturbed charge of
her young pupils, and she had a better opportunity for studying their
natures. Agnes, the oldest, she found to be indolent, proud, and quite
ready to imitate the example of her mother in disrespectful conduct
toward herself. Madeline was of a gentler, more loving, and more
obedient disposition; while George was a rude, well-spoiled specimen of
a boy who showed no inclination whatever to come under even the mildest
discipline.
“She’ll never do any thing with them,” said Mrs. Dainty, in a confident
manner, as she sat alone with her husband and Uncle John, on the
evening of the first day, and talked over the new arrangement.
“Why do you think so?” asked Uncle John.
“She’s too young and inexperienced. She hasn’t character enough. Agnes
is almost as much of a woman as she is.”
“Don’t be too sure of that,” said Uncle John.
“Agnes will have to live very fast if she ever overtakes Miss Harper.”
“She’s rather an indifferent-looking personage,” remarked Mr. Dainty,
in a careless way, “and hasn’t stuff enough in her for the management
of three such spirited children as ours.”
Uncle John smiled.
“You are quite taken with her,” said his niece.
“I haven’t had much time for observation,” replied Uncle John; “but
the little I have seen impresses me favorably. Beneath that modest,
quiet, almost timid exterior, there lies, if I am not mistaken, far
more reserved power than you imagine. Give her a fair chance, second
her efforts in every attempt she makes to bring the children into order
and subordination, and particularly refrain from the slightest word in
their presence that will lower her in their respectful regard.”
Mrs. Dainty saw, from the last remark, that she had erred in a very
thoughtless way; and her cheeks burned a little when Uncle John added,—
“I have heard something of Miss Harper’s history from a lady friend,
who represents her as a very superior girl, and says that she was
raised in a circle of refined and highly-intelligent people.”
“Oh, well, we can give her a trial. Perhaps she will do,” replied Mrs.
Dainty, in a languid manner. “I’m glad she has been raised among
refined people. My greatest fear was that she would impart vulgar
manners to the children.”
“I don’t think she can do them any harm.” Uncle John spoke a little
ironically.
“I hope not,” said Mrs. Dainty, seriously; and the subject, not taking
a turn that was agreeable to her, dropped of its own weight.
We shall see, in another chapter, some of the results of this new
arrangement in the home of the fashionable mother.