Part 17 (1/2)

”It is to love them very dearly;” answered Agnes quietly.

”Ho! C'listy says she _doats_ on children--she doats on us, don't she Rosa?” and Master Frank laughed such a laugh of derision, that Mr.

Harrington was obliged to say something very funny to little Jessie, who was still sitting on his knee, in order to have an excuse for laughing too.

Miss Calista fairly trembled with concealed rage, and soon succeeded in having Master Frank sent off to bed. Indeed, Frank was the cause of so much mortification to Miss Calista, that she would gladly have banished him too from the parlor, but he was lawless, and no one in the house could do anything with him but Agnes.

Mr. Harrington was very fond of children, and often had long conversations with little Frank, whose bold, independent manners seemed to please him much. One evening when he was talking to him, Frank said:

”Mr. Harrington I'm saving up my money to buy a boat just like yours.”

”You are, hey, Frank? and how much have you got towards it?” asked Mr.

Harrington.

”Oh! I've got two sixpences, and a s.h.i.+lling, and three pennies;” said Frank. ”I keep all my money in a china-box, one of C'listy's boxes she used to keep her red paint in; _this_, you know!” touching each cheek with his finger.

This was too much for Miss Calista; she rushed from the room, and vented her indignation in a burst of angry tears, and the next time she met Master Frank, she gave him a slap upon his cheek, which made it a deeper crimson than the application of her own paint would have done. All these slights and mortifications were revenged upon poor Agnes, who would gladly have left a place where she was so thoroughly uncomfortable; but the thought of the children, to whom she had become attached, and who seemed now to be rewarding her pains and trouble by their rapid improvement, deterred her from taking a step which should separate her from them forever. Poor Tiney too, who seemed rapidly failing under the power of disease, and who clung to her so fondly, how could she leave her?

XVI.

Death and the Fugitive.

”She came with smiles the hour of pain to cheer, Apart she sighed; alone, she shed the tear, Then, as if breaking from a cloud she gave Fresh light, and gilt the prospect of the grave.”

--CRABBE.

One summer night, Agnes, who had been up till very late, soothing and quieting poor Tiney, and had at last succeeded in singing her to sleep, left her in Susan's care, and returned to her own room. It was a lovely, warm, moonlight evening, and Agnes stood by her raised window, watching the shadows of the tall trees which were thrown with such vivid distinctness across the gravel walks and the closely trimmed lawn, and thinking of a pleasant walk she had taken that day, and of some one who joined her, (as was by no means unusual,) on her return from the woods with the younger children.

Suddenly her reverie was broken by the sound of a few chords struck very lightly and softly upon a guitar. The sound came from the clump of trees, the shadows of which Agnes had just been admiring; and she supposed they were the prelude to a serenade. Her heart whispered to her who the musician might be, for though she had never heard him, with whom her thoughts had been busy, touch the guitar, yet with his ardent love for music, she did not doubt that he might if he chose, accompany his rich voice upon so simple an instrument.

But now the blood which had crimsoned her cheek flowed back tumultuously to her heart, as she heard a voice she could not mistake, humming very softly the notes of a sad and touching air, which she and Lewie had often sung together. This plaintive singer could be no other than her brother. But why here, at night, and in this clandestine manner, evidently trying to win her attention, without arousing that of others?

The house seemed quiet: and Agnes, throwing a shawl about her, quickly descended the stairs, and, quietly opening a side door, crossed the lawn, and in another moment stood beside her brother, under the shade of the tall old elms.

”Lewie! is it indeed you?”

He made no answer, he said not one word, but, drawing Agnes to a seat under one of the trees, he seated himself beside her, and laying his head upon her shoulder, he was quiet for a few moments; and then Agnes felt his frame tremble with sudden emotion, and heard a deep sob.

”Lewie! my brother! do speak to me! What is it? Do not keep me in suspense! What dreadful thing has happened?”

”Agnes,” said he, with a sudden and forced calmness, the words coming slowly from between his white, stiffened lips--”Agnes, it is--_murder_!”

Agnes did not scream--she did not faint--forgetfulness for a moment would have been a relief. In a flash she had comprehended it all.

”Lewie,” said she, ”is there blood upon this hand?”

”Agnes, it is true; your brother is a murderer! No less a murderer, because the blow was struck in the heat of sudden pa.s.sion, and when the brain was inflamed with wine; and no less a murderer, because it was repented of the moment given, and before the fatal consequences were suspected. My sister, I am a fugitive and a wanderer, hunted by the officers of justice, and doomed to the prison or the gallows.”

It seemed to Agnes like a fearful dream! It was too dreadful to be true!

The thought crossed her mind, perhaps it _is_ a dream; she had had dreams as vivid, and had awakened with such a blessed feeling of relief.