CHAPTER III
I had lived six weeks at Bristed Hall, and, excepting on my first arrival, had not interchanged a word with its master. ’Tis true I would see him at times from the school-room window, walking through his park, or smoking upon the long piazza, but he might have been across the ocean for all the intercourse we had together.
It was early June; roses bloomed on every hedge. A season of dry weather had succeeded the showers of spring, the mornings were sparkling, the air delicious. I arose early one particularly sunny morn, that I might take a walk, before the studies of the day commenced, to a natural lake which I had discovered about a mile from the Hall.
Herbert begged to accompany me, and I, who loved at times the quiet of my own thoughts, reluctantly granted his request.
We strolled out of the inclosure, and were leisurely wending our way over the road, when our attention was attracted by the sound of wheels emerging from a cross path. A carriage rolled briskly in view. The little hand of my companion, which I held locked in mine, trembled violently.
“Oh, Miss Agnes, Miss Agnes!” he cried, pointing to the occupant of the carriage, “there is Uncle Richard.”
As it neared us, the driver reined in his horses, which snorted impatiently as he paused, and a musical voice called out:
“Hallo! you young varlet; where are you going so early in the morning?”
Herbert answered faintly, “I am going with Miss Reef to the lake.”
The gentleman at this reply waved his jewelled hand gracefully toward me. “Miss Reef, I am happy to make your acquaintance. So you are the young lady who has undertaken to be bored with my little nephew?”
“He is not a bore,” said I, smilingly, captivated by the grace and abandon of the traveller. And truly his handsome countenance might have captivated a girl more experienced in the world’s ways than myself. His was a gay, spirited face, complexion fair and rosy; full red lips, graced with a curling moustache; golden locks fit for an Adonis; sunny, dancing eyes, and a figure rather massive, but well formed. Such was the impression I received of this “Uncle Richard.”
“Allow me to give you a seat in my brougham,” said he.
I thanked him, but refused.
“Bound on some romantic expedition,” he said, laughing; “I can see it in your beaming eyes. Well, I suppose I must continue my solitary drive; but don’t tarry long at the dismal lake; hasten back, as I shall want a companion to chat with in the empty Hall.”
I found Herbert unwilling to talk about his uncle, so I tried to dismiss the new comer from my thoughts, and engaged with my pupil in gathering wild flowers and grasses wherewith to form wreaths and bouquets to adorn our school-room. After rambling about for an hour, we turned homeward.
I felt quite excited upon reaching the Hall, and hurried to my room to smooth my hair preparatory to commencing the labors of the day. If I stood over my mirror longer than usual, remember I was young, and had a laudable desire to please. As I surveyed myself in the glass, I was guilty of a pleasurable cognizance of the figure and face reflected there. The walk and unexpected encounter had given an unwonted brilliancy and vivacity to my countenance. My cheeks glowed; my eyes sparkled; and from my chestnut curls depended wild flowers, and wreaths of Herbert’s twining; altogether a pleasing picture presented itself to view, which, without vanity, I was thankful to behold.
We had not been long at our lessons when a voice, gaily singing, approached the door, and without the ceremony of knocking, the gentleman whom we had passed in our morning ramble entered the room.
“I have been looking all over for you; why are you hiding yourself away up here?” said he, merrily. “Can you not take another pupil, Miss Reef?” at the same time drawing up his chair to the table at which Herbert and myself were seated.
“If he is as tractable as Herbert, I might venture,” I replied, assuming the gay, mocking tone of my questioner.
I soon saw that he was bent on remaining; so, taking from my desk a drawing-book and pencil, I placed them before him.
“There is your task; please not to interrupt me.” I was determined not to be beguiled from my duty by this gay cavalier. He permitted us to pursue our studies uninterruptedly till he had finished his drawing.
“There,” he exclaimed, placing it before me. “Will you not reward me for my industry?”
I looked at the sketch. It was bold and clear, shaded with a firm hand, spirited and original. I was truly surprised at the skill evinced.
After that day he visited our room often, calling in during the morning to exchange a pleasant word, or at the close of the school hours to loiter over our drawings and chat of books and music. His visits began to grow too pleasant to me. Some effort must be made on my side to render them less attractive.
One afternoon he entered as usual, and waited patiently till Herbert had recited his closing lesson. Then he arose, and taking a guitar from its case, commenced playing and singing a song in a most bewitching manner.
“Come, Miss Reef,” said he, when he had finished, “that beautiful hand is just made to glide over this instrument. Allow me to give you a lesson.”
Feeling that if I permitted him to encroach upon my position as governess I would be lost, I refused. I must give him to understand that I know my place and will not be trifled with, I thought; so I arose and rang the bell for Mary. She soon appeared, apparently surprised at seeing Mr. Richard Bristed so much at home in the school-room.
“Mary, sit down; I wish you to hem this handkerchief for Herbert,” said I.
She seated herself with my work-box before her, and commenced plying her needle industriously. The young gentleman looked on my arrangement with a lurking smile for a few moments, and then uttering a long, low whistle, arose from his chair and sauntered out. Passing me, he whispered:
“I will remember you for this, Miss Reef.” He did seem to remember it, as several days elapsed without his presenting himself.
Once I met him in the hall, and he merely bowed. If he had wished to arouse in me an interest in himself, he could not have pursued a better plan; for I grew restless and uneasy, regretting heartily that I had offended him.