Part 18 (1/2)

”I was thinking,” answered Tiney, ”that I don't _know anybody_, there; not a single soul; and I feel so shy with strangers. Will they love me there, cousin Agnes, as you and papa do?”

Agnes could not repress the tears at this question, so natural, perhaps, to a simple child, and yet one which she had never thought of as likely to occur to one before. But she talked to Tiney so soothingly and sweetly of Him who loved little children when on earth, and who was watching for her now, and would send some lovely angel to bear her to His breast, that poor Tiney lost her fears, and longed for the hour of her release. And it came the next morning. Just as the glorious sun was rising over the lake, the spirit of poor little suffering Tiney left its earthly dwelling, and began its long and never-ending day of happiness.

Oh! what a brilliant light shone for once in those dark gray eyes, as Tiney raised them, with a look of wonder and astonishment and joy, as if she saw far, far beyond the limits which bounded her mortal sight!--and as, with an enraptured expression, she murmured something about ”that lovely music,” the light faded from the still wide open and gla.s.sy eye; and Agnes, pa.s.sing her hand gently over the lids, said, ”Mr. Fairland, she is gone!” and the first thought of her sad heart was, ”Oh that I too were at rest!” But she checked it in one moment, when she remembered that there were duties and conflicts and trials before her yet; and she determined she would go forward, in the Divine strength, into the furnace which she must needs go through, in order to be refined and purified.

Once, during Tiney's last sickness, a messenger called for Agnes, and put a note and a little bouquet of green-house flowers into her hand. At first, Agnes hoped that the note might contain tidings of her brother; but though disappointed in this respect, the contents of the note were soothing and grateful to her troubled heart. The words were simply these:

”Is there _anything_ I can do for you? And if you need a friend, will you call upon me?” The note was signed ”C.H.”

At first Agnes merely said, in a despairing tone, ”Oh no! nothing can be done;” and then, feeling that a different answer should be sent to a message so kind, she tore off a bit of the paper, and wrote upon it:

”Nothing can be done for me now. Believe me, I will not hesitate to call upon you, when you can do me any good.”

The day after Tiney's death, officers came to search Mr. Fairland's house for the fugitive, having traced him to Wilston. Every corner of the house was searched, and even the chamber of death was not spared.

The search, of course, was unsuccessful; but, the day after poor Tiney's funeral, came tidings to Agnes of the arrest of her brother. He was taken at last, and safely lodged in the jail at Hillsdale, where he was to await his trial.

And now Agnes, whose office ever seemed of necessity to be that of consoler and comforter, must leave her little charge, and go to be near her brother. It was a bitter parting; it seemed as if the children could not let her go; and the scene recalled so vividly to Agnes the parting with Miss Edwards at Brook Farm, that the recollection made her, if possible, still more sad, as she thought the resemblance might be carried out even to the end, and the close of this earthly scene to her might be as melancholy as was that of her beloved teacher.

She promised Mr. Fairland that, as soon as she could attend to it, she would ascertain if there were vacancies in Mrs. Arlington's school for Rosa and Jessie, and also if Mr. Malcolm would consent to take charge of Frank's education; and, accompanied by Mr. Fairland, she left Wilston, as she supposed, forever.

XVII.

The Jail.

”I may not go, I may not go, Where the sweet-breathing spring-winds blow; Nor where the silver clouds go by, Across the holy, deep blue sky; Nor where the suns.h.i.+ne, warm and bright Comes down, like a still shower of light; I must stay here In prison drear; Oh! heavy life, wear on, wear on, Would G.o.d that thou wert gone.”

--f.a.n.n.y KEMBLE.

They reached Brook Farm late in the evening, and here the greeting, though not as noisy and joyous, was warmer, and if possible more affectionate than ever. They all loved Lewie in spite of his many faults, and their sympathy was most sincere and hearfelt for Agnes, who was very dear to them all. As soon as Agnes could speak to Mr. Wharton alone, she said:

”Uncle, have you seen him?”

”Every day, dear Agnes, and have been with him some hours each day.”

”And how does he feel, dear Uncle?”

”Relieved, I think, on the whole; that the suspense is over thus far. He says he would not live over again the last three weeks for worlds. Many and many a time he had almost resolved to return and give himself up for trial; but the thought of you, Agnes, prevented. He said that you must be a sharer in all his trouble and disgrace, and if he could spare your distress and suffering, by escaping from the country, he meant to try and do it, and then he would soon be forgotten, except by the few who cared for him.”

”And how does he feel about the--the result, uncle?”

”Hopeful, I think; he seems to think it cannot be brought in murder, when murder was so far from his intention.”

”And what do _you_ think, uncle?”

”I am inclined to think with Lewie, dear; there is always a leaning towards mercy, and your brother has counsel, the very best in the State.”

”Oh, uncle, how very kind! how can we ever repay you for your kindness?”