We must now follow Colonel Hubert to Cheltenham, to which place he returned in a state of mind not particularly easy to be described. The barrier he had placed before his heart, the heavy pressure of which he had sometimes felt to be intolerable, was now broken down; and it was a relief to him to remember that Agnes knew of his love. But, excepting this relief, there was little that could be felt as consolatory, and much that was decidedly painful in his state of mind. He knew but too well that not all the partial affection, esteem, and admiration entertained for him by his aunt, would prevent her feeling and expressing the most violent aversion to his marrying the niece of Mrs. Barnaby; he knew, too, what sort of reception the avowal of such an intention was likely to meet from his amiable but proud brother-in-law, and remembered, with feelings not very closely allied to satisfaction, the charge he had commissioned Lady Stephenson to give him, that he should keep watch over his thoughtless younger brother, in order to guard him, if possible, from bringing upon them the greatest misfortune that could befall a family such as theirs—namely, the introducing an inferior connexion into it.... Neither could he forget the influence he had used, in consequence of this injunction, to crush the ardent, generous, uncalculating attachment of his confiding friend Frederick for her whom, in defiance of the wishes of his whole family, he was now fully determined to make his wife. All this gave materials for very painful meditation; and when, in addition to it, he recalled those fearful words of Agnes, "I will never be your wife!" it required all the power of that master passion which had seized upon his heart to keep him steady to his resolution of communicating his wishes and intentions to Lady Elizabeth, and to sustain his hopes of engaging her actively to assist him in obtaining what he felt very sure she would earnestly desire that he should never possess.
With all these heavy thoughts working within him, he entered the drawing-room of his aunt, and rejoiced to find hertête-à-têtewith his sister, Sir Edward being absent at a dinner-party of gentlemen. They both welcomed him with eager inquiries concerning their young favourite, the tone of which at once determined him to enter immediately upon the tremendous subject of his hopes and wishes; and the affectionate interest expressed for her, warmed him into a degree of confidence which he was far from feeling when he entered the room.
"Pretty creature!" exclaimed Lady Elizabeth; "and that wretched woman has actually left her alone in London lodgings?... Why did you not make her return with you, Montague?... It was surely no time to stand upon etiquette."
"I dared not even ask it," replied Colonel Hubert, his voice faltering, and his manner such as to make the two ladies exchange a hasty glance with each other.
"You dared not ask Agnes Willoughby, poor little thing, to come down with you to my house, Colonel Hubert?" said the old lady. "You surely forget that you went up to London with an invitation for her in your pocket?"
"My dear aunt," replied Colonel Hubert, hesitating in his speech, as neither of his auditors had ever before heard him hesitate, "I have much to tell you respecting both Agnes Willoughby ... and myself...."
"Then tell it, in Heaven's name!" said Lady Elizabeth sharply. "Let it be what it may, I would rather hear it than be kept hanging thus by the ears between the possible and impossible."
Colonel Hubert moved his chair; and seating himself beside Lady Stephenson, took her hand, as if to shew that she too was to listen to what he was about to say, though it was their aunt to whom he addressed himself. "From suspense, at least, I can relieve you, Lady Elizabeth, and you too, my dear Emily, who look at me so anxiously without saying a word ... at least I can relieve you from suspense.... I love Miss Willoughby; and I hope, with as little delay as possible, to make her my wife."
Lady Stephenson pressed his hand, and said nothing; but a deep sigh escaped her. Lady Elizabeth, who was not accustomed to manifest her feelings so gently, rose from her seat on the sofa, and placing herself immediately before him, said, with great vehemence, "Montague Hubert, son of my dead sister, you are come to years of discretion, and a trifle beyond.... Your magnificent estate of thirteen hundred a year, and ... I beg your pardon ... some odd pounds, shillings, and pence over, is all your own, and you may marry Mrs. Barnaby herself, if you please, and settle it upon her. No one living that I know of has any power to prevent it.... But, sir, if you expect that Lady Elizabeth Norris will ever receive as her niece a girl artful enough to conceal from me and from your sister the fact that she was engaged to you, and that, too, while receiving from both of us the most flattering attention ... nay, such affection as might have opened any heart not made of brass and steel ... if you expect this, you will find yourself altogether mistaken."
This harangue, which her ladyship intended to be overpoweringly severe, was, in fact, very nearly the most agreeable one that Colonel Hubert could have listened to, for it touched only on a subject of offence that he was perfectly able to remove. All embarrassment immediately disappeared from his manner; and springing up to place himself between his aunt and the door, to which she was approaching with stately steps, he said, in a voice almost of exultation, "My dearest aunt!... How like your noble self it is to have made this objection before every other!... And this objection, which would indeed have been fatal to every hope of happiness, I can remove by a single word.... Agnes was as ignorant of my love for her as you and Emily could be till last night ... I have loved her ... longer, it may be, than I have known it myself ... perhaps I might date it from the first hour I saw her, but she knew nothing of it.... Last night, for the first time, I confessed to her my love.... And what think you, Lady Elizabeth, was her answer?"
"Nay, Mr. Benedict, I know not.... 'I thank you, sir,' and a low courtesy, I suppose."
"I was less happy, Lady Elizabeth," he replied, half smiling; adding a moment after, however, with a countenance from which all trace of gaiety had passed away, "The answer of Miss Willoughby to my offer of marriage was ... Colonel Hubert, I can never be your wife."
"Indeed!... Then how comes it, Montague, that you still talk of making her so?"
"Because, before I left her, I thought I saw some ground for hope that her refusal was not caused by any personal dislike to me."
"Really!..." interrupted Lady Elizabeth.
"Nay, my dear aunt!" resumed Hubert, "you may in your kind and long-enduring partiality fancy this impossible; but, unhappily for my peace at that moment, I remembered that I was more than five-and-thirty, and she not quite eighteen."
"But she told you I suppose that you were still a very handsome fellow.... Only she had some other objection,—and pray, what was it, sir?"
"She feared the connexion would be displeasing to you and Lady Stephenson."
"And you assured her most earnestly, perhaps that she was mistaken?"
"No, Lady Elizabeth, I did not. There are circumstances in her position that MUST make my marrying her appear objectionable to my family; and though my little independence is, as your ladyship observes, my own, I would not wish to share it with any woman who would be indifferent to their reception of her. All my hope, therefore, rests in the confidence I feel that, when the first unpleasing surprise of this avowal shall have passed away, you ... both of you ... for there is no one else whose approbation I should wait for ... you will suffer your hearts and heads to strike a fair and reasonable balance between all that my sweet Agnes has in her favour and all she has against her. Do this, Lady Elizabeth, but do it as kindly as you can.... Emily will help you ... to-morrow morning you shall tell me your decision.... I can resolve on nothing till I hear it."
Colonel Hubert, as soon as he had said this left the room, nor did they see him again that night.
The morning came, and he met Lady Stephenson at the breakfast table, but Lady Elizabeth did not appear, sending down word, as was not unusual with her, that she should take her chocolate in her own room. Sir Edward was not in the room when he entered, and he seized the opportunity to utter a hasty and abrupt inquiry as to the answer he might expect from herself and their aunt.
"From me, Montague," she replied, "you cannot fear to hear anything very harshly disagreeable. In truth, I have been so long accustomed to believe that whatever my brother did, or wished to do, was wisest—best, that it would be very difficult for me to think otherwise now; besides, I cannot deny, though perhaps it hardly ought to be taken into the account, that I too am very much in love with Agnes Willoughby, and that ... though I would give my little finger she had no aunt Barnaby belonging to her ... I never saw any woman in any rank whom I could so cordially love and welcome as a sister."
In reply to this, Colonel Hubert clasped the lovely speaker to his heart; and before he had released her from his embrace, or repeated his inquiry concerning Lady Elizabeth, Sir Edward Stephenson entered, and the conversation became general.
For many hours of that irksome morning Colonel Hubert was kept in the most tantalizing state of suspense by the prolonged absence of the old lady from the drawing-room. But at length, after Sir Edward and his lady had set off for their second morning ramble without him, he was cheered by the appearance of the ancient maiden, who was his aunt's tirewoman, bringing in her lap-dog, and the velvet cushion that was its appendage; which having placed reverently before the fire, she moved the favouritefauteuilan inch one way, and the little table that ever stood beside it an inch the other, and was retiring, when Colonel Hubert said, ... "Is my aunt coming immediately, Mitchel?"
"My lady will not be long, Colonel.... But her ladyship is very poorly this morning," and with a graceful swinging courtesy she withdrew.
The Colonel trembled all over, "very poorly," as applied to Lady Elizabeth Norris, having from his earliest recollection always been considered as synonymous to "very cross."
"She will refuse to see her!" thought he, pacing the room in violent agitation.... "and in that case she will keep her word.... She will never be my wife!"
"Bless me!... How you do shake the room, Colonel Hubert," said a very crabbed voice behind him, just after he had passed the door in his perturbed promenade. "If you took such a fancy early in the morning, when the house maid might sweep up the dust you had raised, I should not object to it, for it is very like having one's carpet beat;... but just as I am coming to sit down here, it is very disagreeable indeed."
This grumble lasted just long enough to allow the old lady (who looked as if she had been eating crab apples, and walked as if she had suddenly been seized with the gout in all her joints,) to place herself in her easy chair as she concluded it, during which time the Colonel stood still upon the hearth-rug with his eyes anxiously fixed upon the venerable but very hostile features that were approaching him. A moment's silence followed, during which the old Lady looked up in his face with the most provoking expression imaginable; for cross as it was, there was a glance of playful malice in it that seemed to say,—
"You look as if you were going to cry, Colonel."
He felt provoked with her, and this gave him courage.—"May I beg of you, Lady Elizabeth, to tell me what I may hope from your kindness on the subject I mentioned to you last night?" said he.
"Pray, sir, do you remember your grandfather?" was her reply.
"The Earl of Archdale?... Yes, madam, perfectly."
"You do.... Humph!... And your paternal grandfather, with his pedigree from Duke Nigel of Normandy; did you ever hear of him?"
"Yes, Lady Elizabeth," replied the Colonel in a tone of indifference; "I have heard of him; but he died, you know, when I was very young."
There was a minute's silence, which was broken by another question from Lady Elizabeth.
"And pray, sir, will you do me the favour to tell me who was the grandfather of Miss Willoughby?"
"I have little, or indeed no doubt, Lady Elizabeth, that Miss Willoughby is the granddaughter of that Mr. Willoughby, of Greatfield Park, in Warwickshire, who lost the tremendous stake at piquet that you have heard of, and two of whose daughters married the twin sons of Lord Eastcombe.... I think you cannot have forgotten the circumstances."
Lady Elizabeth drew herself forward in her chair, and fixing her eyes stedfastly on the face of her nephew, said, in a voice of great severity, "Do you mean to assert to me, Colonel Montague Hubert, that Agnes Willoughby is niece to Lady Eastcombe and the Honourable Mrs. Nivett?"
"I mean to assert to you, madam, that it is my firm persuasion that such will prove to be the fact. But I have not considered it necessary, Lady Elizabeth Norris, for the son of my father to withhold his affections from the chosen of his heart, till he was assured he should gain all the honour by the selection which a union with Lady Eastcombe's niece could bestow;... nor should I have mentioned my belief in this connexion, by way of a set-off to the equally near claim of Mrs. Barnaby, had you not questioned me so particularly."
Had Colonel Hubert studied his answer for a twelvemonth, he could not have composed a more judicious one: there was a spice of hauteur in it by no means uncongenial to the old lady's feelings, and there was, too, enough of defiance to make her take counsel with herself as to whether it would be wise to vex him further. It was, therefore, less with the accent of mockery, and more with that of curiosity, that she recommenced her interrogatory.
"Will you tell me, Montague, from what source you derived this knowledge of Miss Willoughby's family?... Was it from herself?"
"Certainly not. If the facts be as I have stated, and as I hope and believe they will be found, Miss Willoughby will be as much surprised by the discovery as your ladyship."
"From whom, then, did you hear it?"
"From no one, Lady Elizabeth, as a matter of fact connected with Agnes. But something, I know not what, introduced the mention of old Willoughby's wild stake at piquet at the club the other day.... The name struck me, and I led old Major Barnes to talk to me of the family. He told me that a younger son, a gay harum-scarum sort of youth, married some girl, when he was in country quarters, whom his family would not receive; that, ruined and broken-hearted by this desertion, he went abroad almost immediately after his marriage, and has never been heard of since."
"And this is the foundation upon which you build your hope, that Mrs. Barnaby's niece is also the niece of Lady Eastcombe?... Ingenious certainly, Colonel, as a theory, but somewhat slight as an edifice on which to hang any weighty matter.... Don't you think so?"
"I hang nothing on it, Lady Elizabeth. If I did not feel that Miss Willoughby was calculated to make me happy without this supposed relationship, I certainly should not think her so with it. However, that your ladyship may not fancy my imagination more fertile than it really is, I must add, that when at Clifton, I did hear from the Misses Peters, whom I have before mentioned to you, that the father of Agnes went abroad after his marriage, and moreover that no news of him in any way ever reached his wife's family afterwards."
Lady Elizabeth for some time made no reply, but seemed to ponder upon this statement very earnestly. At length she said, in a tone from which irony and harshness, levity and severity, were equally banished,—"Montague!... there are some of the feelings which you have just expressed, in which I cannot sympathise; but a very little reflection will teach you that there is no ground of offence to you in this ... for it would be unnatural that I should do so. You tell me that your father's son need not deem the honour of a relationship to Viscountess Eastcombe necessary to his happiness in life. So far I am able to comprehend you, although Lady Eastcombe is an honourable and excellent personage, whose near connexion with a young lady would be no contemptible advantage (at least in my mind) upon her introduction into life. But we will pass this.... When, however, you proceed to tell me that your choice in marriage could in nowise be affected by the rank and station of those with whom it might bring you in contact, and that, too, when the question is, whether a Mrs. Barnaby, or a Lady Eastcombe, should be in the foreground of the group, you must excuse me if I cannot follow you."
Nothing is so distressing in an argument as to have a burst of grandiloquent sentiment set aside by a few words of common sense. Colonel Hubert walked the length of the drawing-room, and back again, before he answered; he felt that, as his aunt put the case, he was as far fromfollowinghis assertion by his judgment as herself; but ere his walk was finished, the image of the desolate Agnes, as he had seen her the night before, arose before him, and resumed its unconquerable influence on his heart. He took a hint from her ladyship, threw aside all mixture of heat and anger, and replied.—
"Heaven forbid, Lady Elizabeth, that I should attempt to defend any such doctrine:... believe me, it is not mine.But, in one word, I love Miss Willoughby; and if I can arrive at the happiness of believing that I am loved in return, nothing but her own refusal will prevent me from marrying her. This is my statement of facts; I will attempt no other, and throw myself wholly upon your judgment to smooth, or render more rugged, the path which lies before me."
The old lady looked at him and smiled very kindly. "Montague," said she, "resolve my doubts. Is it the mention of your pleasant suspicions respecting Miss Willoughby's paternal ancestry,... or your present unvarnished frankness, that has won upon me?... Upon my honour, I could not answer this question myself;... but certain it is that I do feel more inclined to remember what a very sweet creature Agnes is at this moment, than I ever thought I should again when our conversation began."
Colonel Hubert kneeled down upon her foot-stool, and kissing her hand, said, in a voice that spoke his happiness, "It matters not to me what the cause is, my dearest aunt.... I thank Heaven for the effect!... and now ... do not think that I am taking an unfair advantage of this kindness, if I ask you to remember the position of Miss Willoughby at this moment. With such views for the future as I have explained to you, is it not my duty to remove her from it?"
"What then do you propose to do?" demanded Lady Elizabeth.
"Ican do nothing,"... he replied;... "whatever aid or protection can be extended to her, must come from you ... or Lady Stephenson;... and that I should rather it came from you, who have long been to me as a mother, can hardly surprise you. Sir Edward is an excellent young man,... but he has prejudices that I should not like to battle with on this occasion. It is from you, and you only, Lady Elizabeth, that I either hope or wish to find protection for my future wife."
Again Lady Elizabeth pondered. "Did not Agnes tell us," she said at length, "did she not say in her letter to Lady Stephenson, that she had applied to some aged relation in Devonshire, by whom she hoped to be extricated from her present terrible embarrassment?"
"It is very likely," replied Colonel Hubert, "for she spoke to me of such a one, and hoped that Thursday ... that is to-morrow, is it not?... would bring an answer to her application."
"Then, Montague, we must wait to hear what this Thursday brings forth before we interfere to repeat the offer of protection which it is possible she may not want.... And Heaven grant it may be so,... for if she is to be your wife, Colonel Hubert, and it is pretty plain she will be, will it not be better that you should follow her with your addresses to the lowliest roof in Devonshire, than that she should take refuge here, where every gossip's finger will be pointed at her?"
It was impossible to deny the truth of this, and Colonel Hubert cared not to avow that all the favour she had bid him hope for was but conditional, and that till the avowal of his love should be sanctioned by his aunt and sister, he was still to hold himself as a rejected man. He dared not tell her this, lest the feelings he had conquered with so much difficulty should return, upon learning that it was not yet too late to encourage them.
As patiently as he could, therefore, he awaited the expected letter from Agnes, and well was he rewarded for doing so. The letter itself, modest and unboastful as it was, gave a sufficiently improved picture of her condition to remove all present anxiety on her account; and though he certainly had no idea of the transformation she had undergone, from a heart-broken, penniless dependant, into a petted, cherished heiress, he was soothed into the belief that it would now cost his aunt and sister infinitely less pain than he had anticipated, to extend such a degree of favour to his Agnes as might lead her to confirm the hope on which he lived.
But it was not the letter of Agnes that produced the most favourable impression upon Lady Elizabeth; the postscript of Miss Compton was infinitely more powerful in its effect upon her mind. Of Agnes, personally, she never thought without a degree of partial admiration, that nearly approached to affection; and vague as the hope was respecting the family of her father, it clung very pertinaciously to the old lady's memory, while a certain resemblance which she felt sure that she could trace between the nose of Agnes and that of the honourable Miss Nivett, Lord Eastcombe's eldest daughter, was doing wonders in her mind by way of a balance-weight against the rouge and ringlets of Mrs. Barnaby; yet, nevertheless, the notion that not "horrid Mrs. Barnaby" only, but a host of aunts and cousins of the same breed, might come down upon her in the event of this ill-assorted marriage, kept her in a sort of feverish wavering state, something between good and ill humour, that was exceedingly annoying to her nephew.
The keen-sighted old lady at once perceived that the postscript to Agnes's letter was not written by a second Mrs. Barnaby, and from that moment she determined, much more decisively than she chose to express, that she would torment Colonel Hubert with no farther opposition.
After a short consultation between the aunt and niece, that letter was despatched, the receipt of which was mentioned before Miss Compton and Agnes left London for Clifton. Had Colonel Hubert been consulted upon it, he would perhaps have suggested, as an improvement, that the proposed meeting should take place the following week in London; but, on the whole, the composition was too satisfactory for him to venture upon any alteration of it, and again he called patience to his aid, while many miserably long days were wasted by the very slow and deliberate style in which the man and maid servant who managed all Lady Elizabeth's worldly concerns, set about preparing themselves and her for this removal. It was with a degree of pleasure which almost atoned for the vexation of this delay that he learned Sir Edward's good-natured compliance with his beautiful bride's capricious-seeming wish of revisiting Clifton. Colonel Hubert pertinaciously refused to let his gay brother-in-law into his confidence, till the time arrived for presenting him to Miss Willoughby, as to his future wife. Did this reserve arise from some unacknowledged doubt whether Agnes, when the pressure of misfortune was withdrawn, would voluntarily bestow herself on a man of his advanced age? Perhaps so. That Agnes was less than eighteen, and himself more than thirty-five, were facts repeated to himself too often for his tranquillity.
At as early an hour, on the morning after her arrival at Clifton, as Agnes could hope to find her friend Mary awake, she set off for Rodney Place. It was a short walk, but a happy one, even though she had yet to learn whether Lady Elizabeth Norris and her party were or were not arrived.
But there was something at the bottom of her heart that made her very tolerably easy ... more so perhaps than she confessed to herself ... on this point. Every day made the mysterious fact of Miss Compton's being a woman of handsome fortune more familiar to her, and every hour made it more clear that she had no other object in life than to make that fortune contribute to the happiness of her niece. It followed, therefore, that, not having altogether forgotten the fact of Colonel Hubert's declaration at a moment when all things, but his own heart, must have pleaded against her, some very comfortable ground for hope to rest upon, was discoverable in the circumstances of her present position.... "There will be no danger," thought she, "that when he speaks again, my answer should be such as to make him fancy himself too old for me."
The servant at Rodney Place who opened the door to Agnes, was the same who had done her the like service some dozen of times during her last visit at Clifton, but he betrayed no sign of recognition when she presented herself. In fact, the general appearance of Agnes was so greatly changed from what he had been accustomed to see it when she was clothed in the residuum of the Widow Barnaby's weeds, that till she smiled, and spoke her inquiry for Miss Peters, he had no recollection of her.
As soon, however, as he discovered that it was the Miss Willoughby who had left all his ladies crying when she went away, he took care to make her perceive that she was not forgotten by the manner in which he said, "Miss Peters, ma'am, is not come down stairs yet; but she will be very happy to seeYOU, ma'am, if you will please to walk up."
As the early visitor was of the same opinion, she scrupled not to find her way to the well-known door, and without even the ceremony of a tap, presented herself to her friend. It is probable that Mary looked more at the face and less at the dress of the visitor than the servant had done, for, uttering a cry of joy, she sprang towards her, and most affectionately folded her in a cordial embrace.
"My sweet Agnes!... This is so like you! At the very instant you entered, I was calculating the probabilities between to-day and to-morrow for your arrival. Ah, little girl!... Did I not tell you to address yourself to Miss Compton, of Compton Basett, long ago? What say you to my wisdom now?"
"That you were inspired, Mary, and that I deserved to suffer a good deal for not listening to such an oracle.... But had I done so, I should have never known...."
"The difference between the extreme of Barnaby misery and Compton comfort?" said Mary, finishing the sentence for her.
Agnes blushed, but said with a happy smile, "Yes ... assuredly I may say so."
Miss Peters looked at her, and laughed. "There is something else you would not have known, I am very sure, Agnes, by that conscious face, ... and it must be something very well worth knowing by that look of radiant happiness which I never saw on your fair face before ... no, not even when for the first time you looked down upon Avon's dun stream; for then, if I remember rightly, your joy shewed itself in tears; but now, my dear, you are dimpling with smiles, though I really believe you are doing all you can to hide them from me. Say why is this?... wherefore ... what should it mean?"
"Mary!... There is not an event of my life, nor a thought of my heart, that I would wish to hide from you.... But how can I begin telling you such very long and incredible stories as I have got to tell, just as you have finished dressing, and are ready to go down to breakfast?" said Agnes.
"Breakfast?" replied her friend.... "I would rather go without breakfast for a month than not hear the beginning, middle, and end of all your adventures from the moment you left this house in crape and bombasin, with your cheeks as white as marble, and your eyes full of tears, up to this present now, that you have entered it again in as elegant a morning toilet as London can furnish, with your cheeks full of dimples, and your eyes dancing in your head with happiness, notwithstanding all your efforts to look demure.... Come, sit down again, Agnes, and tell me all."
"Tell you all I will, depend upon it, but not now, dear Mary.... Think of all your mother's kindness to me.... Shall I sit here indulging in confidential gossip with you, instead of paying my compliments to her and the rest of the family in the breakfast-room?... No, positively no. So come down stairs with me directly, or I will go by myself."
"Aunt Compton is spoiling you, child; that is quite clear.... You used to be obedient to command, and ever ready to do as I desired, but now you lay down the law like a Lord Chancellor. Come along, then, Miss Agnes; but remember that, as soon as breakfast is over, I expect, first to be taken to the Mall (have I not got nice lodgings for you?) and introduced to Miss Compton, of Compton Basett, and then taken to our old seat on the rock, then and there to hear all that has befallen you."
To this Agnes agreed, and they descended together. The interest and the pleasure that her entrance excited among the family group already assembled round the breakfast-table, was very gratifying to her. Mrs. Peters seemed hardly less delighted than Mary; the two girls kissed her affectionately, and gazed at her with as much admiration as astonishment, which is tantamount to saying that they admired her much; good Mr. Peters welcomed her very cordially, and inquired with the most scrupulous politeness for the health of Mrs. Barnaby; and James told her very frankly that he was delighted to see her, and that she was fifty times handsomer than ever.
The conversation that followed was perfectly frank, on the part of Agnes, in all that related to the kindness of her aunt Compton, and the happiness she enjoyed from being under her care; but, from delicacy to them, she said as little as possible about Mrs. Barnaby; and from delicacy to herself, made no mention whatever either of Colonel Hubert or his family.
As soon as the breakfast was over Mrs. Peters declared her intention of immediately waiting on Miss Compton; an attention to her aunt which Agnes welcomed with pleasure, though it still farther postponed the much-wished for conversation with her friend Mary. The whole family declared their eagerness to be introduced to the old lady, of whom Miss Willoughby spoke with such enthusiasm; but as the discreet Mrs. Peters declared that at this first visit her eldest daughter only must accompany her; the rest yielded of necessity, and the three ladies set out together.
"I expect to find this new aunt a much more agreeable personage, my dear Agnes, than your former chaperon, though she was my dear sister.... But on one point I flatter myself I shall find them alike."
"I hope this point of resemblance is not of much importance to your happiness, my dear Mrs. Peters," replied Agnes, "for if it be, you are in a bad way; since night and day are infinitely less unlike than my two aunts in all things."
"Yes, but it is of great importance to my happiness, particularly for this evening, Agnes," replied Mrs. Peters. "The point of resemblance I want to find is in the trusting you to my care. We are going to a party this evening where I should particularly like to take you, ... and it will be impossible, you know, to arrange exchange of visits, and manage that an invitation shall be sent and accepted by aunt Compton, on such very short notice. Do you think she will let you go with us?"
"Ask her, my dear Mrs. Peters," replied Agnes with a very happy smile, "and see what she will say to it."
"I will, if I do not find her too awful," was the answer.
The manner in which Miss Compton received and entertained her visitors, was a fresh source of surprise to Agnes. Though thinking very highly of her intellect, and even of her conversational powers, she had anticipated some symptoms of reserve and shyness on the introduction of so perfect a recluse to strangers. But nothing of the kind appeared. Miss Compton was pleased by the appearance and manner of both mother and daughter, and permitted them to perceive that she was so, rather with the easy flattering sort of courtesy with which a superior treats those whom he wishes should be pleased with him, than with any appearance of themauvaise hontewhich might have been expected. Nor must this be condemned as unnatural, for it was, in fact, the inevitable result of the state of mind in which she had lived. With keen intellect, elastic animal spirits, and a position that places the owner of it fairly above the reach of annoyance from any one, (an elevation, by the by, that few of the great ones of the earth can boast,) it is not an introduction to any ordinary society that can discompose the mind, or agitate the manners.
Mrs. Peters did not find aunt Compton too awful, and therefore prefered her request, which, like every other that could have been made likely to promote the pleasure of Agnes, was not only graciously but gratefully complied with. A question being started as to the order in which the party should go, Mr. Peters's carriage not being able to take them all at once, Miss Compton settled it by saying,—"Agnes has her own carriage and servants here, but she must not go alone; and perhaps, if she calls at your house, Mrs. Peters, you will have the kindness to let her friend Mary accompany her, and permit her carriage to follow yours."
This being settled, Mrs. Peters and her daughter rose to take leave; and Mary then hoped that Agnes, by returning with them, would at length give her the opportunity she so earnestly desired of hearing all she had to tell. But she was again disappointed, for when the young heiress asked her indulgent aunt whether she would not take advantage of the lovely morning to see some of the beauties of Clifton, she replied,—"I should like nothing so well, Agnes, as to take a drive with you over the beautiful downs you talk of. Will you spare her to me for so long, Miss Peters?"
"I think you deserve a little of her, Miss Compton," answered the young lady; "and with the hope of the evening before me, I will enter no protest against the morning drive."
The mother and daughter then took leave, and as they left the house, they exchanged a glance that seemed to express mutual congratulation on the altered condition of their favourite.
"Well, mamma, you will be rewarded this time for obeying my commands like a dutiful mother, and permitting me to make a pet of this sweet Agnes.... There is nothing in the Barnaby style here.... I was sure Miss Compton, of Compton Basett, must be good for something," said Mary.
"If I may venture to hope, as I think I may," replied her mother, "that she will never be the means of bringing me in contact with my incomparable sister-in-law again, I may really thank you, saucy girl as you are, for having so taken the reins into your own hands. I delight in this Miss Compton. There is a racy originality about her that is very awakening. And as for your Agnes, what with her new young happiness, her graceful loveliness, now first seen to some advantage, her proud and pretty fondness for her aunt, and her natural joy at seeing us all again under circumstances so delightfully altered, I really do think she is the most enchanting creature I ever beheld."
The superintending the toilet of Agnes for the party of that evening was a new and very delightful page in the history of the spinster of Compton Basett. The fondest mother dressing a fair daughter for her first presentation, never watched the operations of the toilet more anxiously; and in her case there was a sort of personal triumph attending its success, that combined the joy of the accomplished artist, who sees the finished loveliness himself has made with the fond approval of affection.
Partly from her own native good taste, and partly from the wisdom of listening with a very discriminating judgment to the practical counsels of an experiencedmodiste, the dress of Agnes was exactly what it ought to have been; and the proud old lady herself could not have desired an appearance moredistinguéethan that of her adopted child when, turning from Peggy and her mirror, she made her a sportive courtesy and exclaimed,—
"Have you not made a fine lady of me, aunt Betsy?"
When Miss Compton's carriage stopped at Rodney Place, it was Mrs. Peters, instead of her daughter, who took a place in it.
"Mary is excessively angry with me," said she, as they drove off, "for not letting her be your companion; but I think it morecomme il faut, Agnes, that I should present you to Mrs. Pemberton myself. She is a vastly fine lady; ... not one of us humble Bristolian Cliftonites, who pique ourselves rather upon the elevation of our lime-stone rock above the level of the stream that laves our merchants' quays, than on any other species of superiority that we can lay claim to. Mrs. Pemberton is none of us.... She has a house in London and a park in Buckinghamshire, and flies over the Continent every now and then with first-rate aristocratical velocity; but she has one feeling, sometimes shared by more ordinary mortals, which is a prodigious love of music. This, and a sort ofbesoin, to which she pleads guilty, of holding a salon every evening that she is not from home, forces upon her, as I take it, the necessity of visiting many of us who might elsewhere scarcely be deemed worthy to approach her foot-stool. We met her at the Parslowes, where the girls' performances elicited a very gracious degree of approbation. An introduction followed; she has honoured me by attending a concert at my own house, and this is the fourth evening we have passed with her. Now you have thecarte du pays, and I think you will agree with me, that it is much better I should make myentréewith you on my arm, than permit you to follow with the damsels in my train."
Agnes confessed that she thought the arrangement much more conducive to the dignity of her approach, and thanked her companion for her thoughtful attention.
"Perhaps it is not quite disinterested, Agnes.... I am rather proud of having such an exotic to produce.... What a delightful aunt Compton it is!... Carriage perfect ... servants evidently town-made ... white satin and blonde fit for an incipient duchess! If your little head be not turned, Agnes, you will deserve to be chronicled as a miracle."
"I have had enough to steady the giddiest craft that ever was launched, my dear Mrs. Peters," replied Agnes; "and it would be silly, indeed, to throw my ballast overboard, because I am sailing before the wind."
"Then your head is not turned; ... that is what you mean to say, is it not?"
"No," replied Agnes, laughing, "my head is not turned,—I feel almost sure of it.... But why do you make such particular inquiries respecting the state of my head at present, Mrs. Peters? Shall I be called upon to give some illustrious proof of its healthy condition to-night?"
"Yes, my dear.... You will assuredly be called upon to sing, and you must prove to my satisfaction that you are not grown too fine to oblige your friends."
"Is that all?... Depend upon it I will do whatever you wish me."
Mrs. Pemberton's drawing-room was full of company when they entered it, but that lady espied them the moment they arrived, and stepped forward with so much eagerness to receive them, that Agnes thought Mrs. Peters had, in her account of the acquaintance between them, hardly done justice to the degree of favour she had risen to. But a few minutes more convinced her, that even she, unknown as she was, might flatter herself that some portion of this distinguished reception was intended for her; for Mrs. Pemberton took her hand and led her to a seat at the upper end of the room with an air of such marked distinction, as, spite of the philosophy of which she had just been boasting, brought a very bright flush to her cheeks, if it did not turn her head. A few words, however, spoken by that lady to one of those beside whom she placed her, explained the mystery, and proved that Mrs. Peters had deemed it prudent to intimate her intention of bringing a young friend with her beforehand.
"Miss Eversham, you must permit me to introduce this young lady to you—Miss Willoughby.... Miss Eversham.... From a little word in Mrs. Peters' note this morning, I flatter myself that I shall have the gratification of hearing you sing together. This lady's voice is a contralto, Miss Willoughby, and from what I have heard of your performance at Mrs. Peters', before I had the pleasure of being acquainted with her, your voices will be delightful together."
This most unexpected address was not calculated to restore the composure of Agnes, and it was not without some effort that she summoned courage enough to answer the numerous questions of Miss Eversham, (an elderly young lady too much inured to exhibition to have any mercy upon her,) when, as an excuse for withdrawing her attention for a moment, from the ceaseless catechism that tormented her, she turned away her eyes to look upon the company, and beheld the profile of Colonel Hubert, as he bent to speak to a lady seated on a sofa near which he stood. This was not an occurrence very likely to restore her composure, but at least it spared her any farther anxiety respecting the effort necessary for receiving the attentions of her neighbour properly, for she altogether forgot her vicinity, and became as completely incapable of hearing her farther questions, as of answering them.
"Had he seen her?... Did he know she was at Clifton?... Was his aunt,—was Lady Stephenson there?... How would he address her?... Would their intercourse begin from the point at which it had broken off, or would her altered circumstances, by placing each in a new position, lead to a renewed proposal, and an answer?... Oh how different from her former one!"
These were the questions that now addressed themselves to her, making her utterly incapable of hearing the continued string of musical interrogatories which went on beside her. The short interval during which Colonel Hubert retained his attitude, and continued his conversation seemed an age, and expectation was growing sick, and almost merging in despair, when at last the lady turned to answer a question from her neighbour, and Colonel Hubert stood upright and cast his eyes upon the company.
Her emotion was too powerful to permit bashfulness to take any part in it; she sought his eye, and met it. In a moment all suffering was over, and all anxiety a thousand fold overpaid, for the look she encountered was all her heart could wish. At the first glance, indeed, he evidently did not know her; it was that of a wandering speculative eye that seemed looking out for occupation, and had she quite understood it aright, she might have perceived that it was arrested by a sort of sudden suspicion that it had found something worth pausing upon. But this lasted not above the tenth part of an instant, and then he darted forward; his fine proud countenance expressive of uncontrollable agitation, and the rapidity with which he approached her was such as to show pretty plainly that he forgot it was a crowded drawing-room he was traversing.
By the time he reached her, however, short as the interval was, the glow that had lighted up her face when it first arrested his eye had faded into extreme paleness, and when he spoke to her, she trembled so violently as to be quite unable to articulate. Colonel Hubert perceived her agitation, and felt that it approached in some degree to his own. Had he been twenty-five, this would have probably been all he wished to see; as it was, he felt a dreadful spasm at the heart, as the hateful thought occurred that after what had passed there might be two ways in which it might be interpreted. But it was a passing pang; and longing to present her to his aunt and sister, and at the same time release her from the embarrassing curiosity so conspicuous in the manner of her neighbour, he held the hand she extended to him while he said—
"Let me lead you to Lady Elizabeth, Miss Willoughby; both she and Lady Stephenson are in the next room, and will be delighted to see you."
Agnes rose, and though really hardly able to stand, replied, with all the voice she had, that she should be greatly obliged if he would lead her to them, taking his offered arm as she spoke. At this moment Sir Edward Stephenson crossed the room with his eyes fixed upon her, and with evident curiosity to find out who it was his stately brother-in-law was escorting so obsequiously. The extreme beauty of Agnes, and the remarkable elegance of her dress and appearance had, in truth, already drawn all eyes upon her, and the whispered enquiries of many had been answered by Mrs. Pemberton, with the information that she was an heiress, and the first amateur singer in England. The foundation of these assertions had reached her by the note of the judicious Mrs. Peters, who, while asking permission to bring a young friend, took the opportunity of hinting the two interesting facts above mentioned, and the effect of their repetition among her guests doubtless added not a little to the interest with which Agnes was looked at.
Sir Edward Stephenson was among those who had heard of the heiress-ship and the voice, but the name had not reached him; and while looking at the elegant girl in white satin, who lent upon Colonel Hubert's arm, not the slightest resemblance between her and the fair girl in deep mourning that he had once or twice seen at Cheltenham occurred to him.
There was a stoppage in the door-way between the two rooms, and it was at this moment Sir Edward said in the ear of the colonel, "Who is your fair friend?"
"Do you not know her, Sir Edward?... It is Miss Willoughby."
"What the girl ... the person we saw at.... Nonsense, Montague! Who is it?"
Colonel Hubert shrugged his shoulders at the incredulity of his brother-in-law, and quietly replying, "I have told you all I know," took advantage of a movement among the crowd in the door-way, and led his fair companion through it.
In the short interval occasioned by this stoppage, Agnes so far recovered her composure as to become very keenly alive to the importance of the next few moments to her happiness.... Should Lady Elizabeth look harshly, or Lady Stephenson coldly upon her, of what avail would be all the blessings that fate and affection had showered upon her favoured head?... And then it was that for the first time she felt the full extent of all she owed to Miss Compton; for the consciousness that she was no longer a penniless, desolate dependant came to her mind at that moment with a feeling ten thousand times more welcome than any display of her aunt's hoarded wealth had ever brought; and the recollection that, in speaking of her to Mrs. Peters, Miss Compton had almost pompously called her "my heiress," and "the inheritor of my paternal acres, and some twenty thousand pounds beside," which at the time had in some sort been painful for her to listen to, was at that agitating moment recalled with a degree of satisfaction that might have been strangely misinterpreted had those around been aware of it.... Some might have traced the feeling to pride, and some to vain self-consequence; but, in truth, it arose from a deep-seated sense of humility that blessed anything likely to lessen the awful distance she felt between herself and Hubert in the eyes of his relations.
But with all the aid she could draw from such considerations her cheek was colourless, and her eyes full of tears when she found herself standing almost like a culprit before the dignified old lady, whose favour she had once gained in a manner so unhoped for, whom she feared she had deeply offended since, and on whose present feelings towards her hung all her hopes of happiness in life.
It was not at the first glance that her timid but enquiring eye could learn her sentence, for the expressive countenance of the old lady underwent more than one change before she spoke. At first it very unequivocally indicated astonishment ... then came a smile that as plainly told of admiration (at which moment, by the way, her ladyship became impressed with the firmest conviction that the nose of the honourable Miss Nivett, and that of Miss Willoughby, were formed on the same model), and at last, whatever intention of reserve might have possessed her, it all melted away, and she held out both her hands with both aspect and words of very cordial welcome.
The heart of Agnes gave a bound as these words reached her; and the look of animated happiness which succeeded to the pale melancholy that sat upon her features when she first approached, touched the old lady so sensibly, that nothing but the presence of the crowd around prevented her throwing her arms around her in a fond embrace.
Lady Stephenson was from the first instant all affectionate kindness, and even Sir Edward, who had hitherto never appeared to think it necessary that his lady's singing favourite should occupy much of his attention, now put himself forward to claim her acquaintance, apologizing for not having known her at first by saying,—
"The change of dress, Miss Willoughby, must be my excuse; you have left off mourning since I saw you last."
Agnes smiled and bowed, and appeared not to have been in the least degree affronted; in fact, she was at that moment too happy to be otherwise than pleased with everybody in the world.
Meanwhile, Colonel Hubert stood looking at her with love, admiration, and astonishment, that fully equalled that of his aunt; but the contemplation did not bring him happiness. Without settling the balance very accurately in his own mind, perhaps, he had hitherto felt conscious that his station and fortune (independent at least, if not large) might be set against her youth ... that constant stumbling-block of his felicity ... and her surpassing beauty. But there was something in the change from simplicity of dress, that almost approached to homeliness, to the costly elegance of costume that was now before him, which seemed to indicate a position to which his own no longer presented so very favourable a contrast. She no longer appeared to be the Agnes to obtain whom he must make a sacrifice that would prove beyond all doubt the vastness of his love, and he trembled as he beheld her the principal object of attention, and the theme of avowed admiration throughout the room.
Lady Elizabeth very unceremoniously made room for her next herself, by desiring a gentleman who occupied the seat beside her, which was on a small sofa filling the recess by the chimney, to leave it.
"I beg a thousand pardons, sir, but I see no other place in the room where we could hope for space to sit thustête-à-têtetogether, and did you know how near and dear she was to me, you would, I am sure, excuse me."
The gentleman, though not a young one, assured her with the appearance of much sincerity that to yield a seat to such a young lady could be considered only as honour and happiness by every man. Having thus established her restored favourite at her side, Lady Elizabeth began to whisper innumerable questions about Miss Compton.
"How came it, my dear," said she, "that when opening your heart to Emily and me upon the subject of your unfortunate situation with Mrs. Barnaby, you never referred to the possibility of placing yourself under the protection of Miss Compton?"
"Because my aunt Compton having quarrelled with my aunt Barnaby had refused to take any further notice of me,—Mrs. Barnaby at least led me to believe during the six or seven months I passed with her, that every application on my part to Miss Compton would be vain, ... and it was only the dreadful predicament into which Mrs. Barnaby's arrest threw me, that gave me the desperate courage which I thought necessary for applying to her. But I have since learned, Lady Elizabeth, that at any time, one word from me would have sufficed to make her leave her retirement, as she now has done, and remove me from my dreadful situation."
"But it appears that she is not only a kind aunt, but a wealthy one, my dear child.... Excuse the observation, Agnes, ... situated as we now are together, you cannot deem it impertinent, ... but your dress indicates as great and as favourable a change in pecuniary matters, as your letter, and your happy countenance, announces in all others.... Miss Compton, I presume, is a woman of fortune?"
"Her fortune is larger than I imagined it to be," replied Agnes. "She lived with great economy before she adopted me."
"And do you know what her intentions are, Agnes?" rejoined the persevering old lady. "It is only as the aunt of Colonel Hubert ... remember this, my dear ... it is only as Colonel Hubert's aunt that I ask the question."
Agnes blushed with most happy consciousness as she replied. "The interest you so kindly take in me confers both honour and happiness, and however averse to boast of the kindness bestowed, and promised by my dear aunt, I can have no wish to hide from you, Lady Elizabeth, all she has said to me. She knows the honour that has been done me by Colonel Hubert, and knows too, that nothing but the fear of your displeasure could have made me hesitate to accept it; ... and she says, that should no such displeasure interfere, she would bestow a fortune on me."
"Well, my dear, ... I don't believe that any such displeasure is likely to interfere. When will you introduce us to her?"
"To-morrow, Lady Elizabeth!..." Agnes eagerly replied, "if you will give us leave to wait upon you."
"Yes, that is right, my dear, quite right.... She must call on me first, ... and yet I am not quite sure of that either.... I rather think the friends of the gentleman should wait upon the friends of the lady, ... and so I will call upon her to-morrow morning, and remember, when you have introduced us to each other, you may go away; we must talk on business. What is her address?"
Agnes gave the address very distinctly, which was repeated in the same manner by Lady Elizabeth, just as Mrs. Pemberton approached to entreat her permission to lead her to the pianoforte. "You are going to sing, my dear child! Very good.... I shall be delighted to hear you.... And you must get me a place where I can both look at, and listen to her, Mrs. Pemberton," said Lady Elizabeth.
Considerably surprised, but much pleased to find that the acquaintance she had condescended to make with Mrs. Peters had led to her having the honour of receiving so intimate a friend and favourite of her most illustrious guest, Mrs. Pemberton rather ostentatiously performed the service required of her, and Agnes once more stood up to sing with Lady Elizabeth's arm-chair almost as near to her as on the happy night when she first won the old lady's heart at Cheltenham.
But where was Colonel Hubert?... He had stood anxiously watching the first few words that passed between his aunt and Agnes; and when he saw her cavalier dismission of her neighbour, and the cordial style of amity with which she pursued her conversation with the beautiful interloper, he almost forgot his doubts and fears in the happiness of seeing one obstacle so decidedly removed, and prudently denying himself the pleasure of being near them, lest his presence might render the conversation less confidential, he withdrew to the other room, and only appeared again before the eyes of Agnes when he took his place beside her to turn over the pages of her song.
For the first few moments Agnes feared that she was too happy to sing; ... but she tried, and found that her voice was clear, and was determined that it should soon be steady, for she wished ... let youthful ladies judge how ardently ... to renew the impression which she had made on Colonel Hubert on that never-to-be-forgotten morning when she first dared to fancy he loved her.
Nor were her wishes vain. She sang as well, and he felt as strongly as before. Her pleasure as she watched this was perfect, but his was very far from being so; he saw that she was the centre of attraction, and not only, as before, the admired of every eye, and the enchanter of every ear, but also the most distinguished, fashionable, and important young lady present.
There was not, however, a shadow of the paltry feeling called jealousy in this; the pang that smote his heart arose from memory, and not from imagination. Could he, as he now saw this elegant girl the centre of fashion, and the petted favourite of his own proud aunt, forget the generous devoted passion of the unfortunate Frederick? Could he forget that he had used all the influence which the young man's affection to himself had lent him, to make him abandon an attachment so every way calculated to ensure his happiness?... Could he forget that Frederick was now living an exile from his country, the victim of unhappy love, while he, his trusted confidant, but most pernicious adviser, remained to profit by the absence he himself had caused, and to drain the cup of happiness which his hand had dashed from the lips of his wretched friend?
As long as Mrs. Barnaby continued to hang about her, and in some degree to overshadow her with the disgrace of her vulgar levity, Agnes could not be loved without a sacrifice, and the youth and splendid fortune of Frederick Stephenson, as well as the peculiarly strong feelings of his family on the subject, might have stood as reasons why another, less fettered by circumstances, might have married her, though he could not. But how stood the matter now? Agnes had been snatched from Mrs. Barnaby, and borne completely beyond the sphere of her influence; Stephenson's proud brother seemed to bow before her, while his wife selected her as a chosen friend; and worse, a thousand times worse than all the rest, he had learnt, while he wandered among the company before the music commenced, that Agnes was the proclaimed heiress of fifteen hundred a-year. This last, however, for his comfort, he did not believe; but there was enough without it, to make him feel that, should he even be so blessed as to teach her to forget the difference of their age, and make her young heart his own, he must, by becoming her husband, appear to the friend who had trusted him, as one of the veriest traitors under heaven.
Such thoughts were enough to jar the sweetest harmony; and the evening was altogether productive of more pain than pleasure to the unfortunate Colonel Hubert, who having staked his happiness on a marriage, only to be obtained by the consent of his aunt, was now suffering martyrdom from a plethora of success, and would have gladly changed his condition back to what it had been when, regardless of consequences, he had laid his heart at the feet of Agnes by the light of her one tallow-candle in Half-moon Street, while her sole protectress lay imprisoned in the Fleet.
When the party broke up, Colonel Hubert, leaving his aunt to the care of Sir Edward, escorted Mrs. Peters and the four young ladies down stairs, where another shock awaited him on hearing her servant enquire which carriage should be called up first, for before answering, Mrs. Peters turned to Agnes, and said,—
"To which name are your servants accustomed to answer, my dear? Miss Compton told me you would have your own carriage here, but perhaps this might only be another mode of saying you would have hers. Shall they call Miss Compton's carriage, or Miss Willoughby's, Agnes?"
"They will answer to either, I believe," replied Agnes, carelessly, for she was waiting for Colonel Hubert to finish something he was saying to her.
"Call Miss Willoughby's carriage, then," said Mrs. Peters to the servants in waiting.... And "Miss Willoughby's carriage! Miss Willoughby's carriage!" resounded along the hall, and through the street.
Miss Compton was not long kept waiting for the appearance of her promised visitor on the following morning, for before twelve o'clock Lady Elizabeth Norris arrived. Agnes very punctually obeyed the commands that had been given her, and having properly introduced the two old ladies to each other, left them together, and hastened at length to satisfy the anxious curiosity of her friend Mary, by giving her a full account of all the circumstances that had led to the happy change in her prospects.
Her tale was listened to with unbroken attention, and when it was ended Miss Peters exclaimed—
"Now then, I forgive you, Agnes, and only now, for not returning the love of that very pleasant person Frederick Stephenson; ... for I do believe it is nearly impossible for a young lady to be in love with two gentlemen at once, and I now perceive beyond the shadow of a doubt, that the superb colonel turned your head from the very first moment that you looked ... not up on, but up to him. How very strange it is," she continued, "that I should never have suspected the cause of that remarkable refusal!... I imagine my dulness arose from my humility; I was conscious myself that I should quite as soon have taken the liberty of falling in love with the autocrat of all the Russias, as with Colonel Hubert, and it therefore never occurred to me that you could be guilty of such audacity; nevertheless, I will not deny that he is a husband to be proud of ... and so I wish you joy heartily.... But do tell me," she added after a moment's meditation, "how you mean to manage about Mr. Stephenson?... Your first meeting will be rather awkward, will it not?"
"I fear so," replied Agnes, gravely. "But there is no help for it, and I must get over it as well as I can ... fortunately none of the family have the slightest idea of any such thing, and I hope they never will."
"I hope so, too, dear. But it would be very unpleasant, would it not? if, upon hearing what is going on, he were to burst in among you, and insist upon shooting Colonel Hubert."
This was said playfully, and without a shadow of serious meaning; but it rendered Agnes extremely uneasy, and it required some skill and perseverance on the part of Miss Peters to remove the effect of what she had said. There were, however, too many pleasant points of discourse among the multitude of subjects before them, for her young spirits to cling long to the only one that seemed capable of giving her pain, and on the whole their long and uninterrupted conference was highly gratifying to them both.
While this was going on in Rodney Place, something of the same kind, but without any drawback at all, was proceeding in the Mall, between the two old ladies, the result of which may be given more shortly by relating what passed between Lady Elizabeth and her nephew afterwards, than by following them through the whole of their very interesting, but somewhat desultory conversation.
Colonel Hubert was awaiting the return of his aunt with much anxiety; an anxiety, by the way, which proceeded wholly from the fear that what she might have to report should prove his Agnes to beun meilleur partithan he wished to find her. This singular species of uneasiness was in no degree lessened by the aspect of the old lady as she entered the drawing-room in which he was waiting to receive her.
"This is a very singular romance, Montague, as ever I remember to have heard of," she began. "Here is this pretty creature, who was introduced to us as niece and adopted child, as I fancied, of the vulgarest and most atrociously absurd woman in England, without money or wit enough to keep her out of jail, and now she turns out to be a young lady of large fortune, perfectly well educated, and well descended on both sides of her house ... and all this, too, without any legerdemain,denouements, or discoveries.... I wish you joy heartily, Montague.... Her fortune is exactly what was wanted to make yours comfortable ... she has fifteen hundred a year, part of which is, by Miss Compton's account, a very improvable estate in Devonshire;—but I suspect the old lady will like to give a name to your second son, or should you have no second son, to a daughter. Nor can I blame her for this. By her account, Compton of Compton Basett has endured long enough in the land to render the wish that it should not pass away a very reasonable one; especially for the person who holds, and has to bequeath the estate, to which it has for centuries been annexed; so that point, I presume, you will not cavil at. You must take care, however, that the liberal-minded old gentlewoman, in making this noble settlement on her niece, does not leave herself too bare.... She talked of thetriflethat would follow at her death.... This ought not to be a trifle, and were I you, Montague, I would insist that the amount settled on Agnes at your marriage should not exceed one thousand a-year.... This, with the next step in your profession, will make your income a very sufficient one, even without the regiment which you have such fair reason to hope for."
During the whole of this harangue, Colonel Hubert was suffering very severely; till by the time her ladyship had concluded, his imagination became so morbidly alive, that he almost fancied himself already in the presence of his injured friend ... he fancied him hastening home to be a witness at his marriage, and gazing with a cold reproachful eye as the beauty, the wealth, the connexions of Agnes were all shewn to be exactly what his friends would have approved for him, had not a false, a base, an interested adviser, contrived to render vain his generous and honourable love, that he might win the precious prize himself.
What a picture was this for such a mind as Hubert's to contemplate!... Had not Lady Elizabeth been exceedingly occupied by the curious and unexpected discoveries she had made concerning the race and the rents of the Comptons, she must have perceived how greatly the effect of her statement was the reverse of pleasurable to her auditor; but in truth her attention was not fixed upon him, but upon Miss Compton, whom she considered as one of the most remarkable originals she had ever met with, and ceased not to congratulate herself upon the happy chance which had turned her yielding kindness to her nephew into a source of so much interesting speculation to herself.... Receiving no answer to the speech she had made, she added very good-humouredly,—
"That's all, Mr. Benedict.... Now you may depart to look for the young lady, and you may tell her, if you please, that upon the whole I very much doubt if the united kingdoms might not be ransacked through, without finding any one I should more completely approve in all ways as the wife of Montague Hubert.... Poor Sir Edward!... How he will wish that all his anxieties respecting his hare-brained brother had been brought to a termination by the young man's having had the wit to fall in love with this sweet girl instead of you; ... but I doubt if Frederick Stephenson has sufficient taste and refinement of mind to appreciate such a girl as Agnes.... He probably overlooked her altogether, or perhaps amused himself more by quizzing the absurdities of the aunt, than by paying any particular attention to her delicate and unobtrusive niece. It required such a mind as yours, Montague, to overcome all the apparent obstacles and objections with which she was surrounded.... I honour you for it, and so, perhaps, will your giddy-headed friend too, when he comes to know her. She is a gem that we shall all have reason to be proud of."
Colonel Hubert could bear no more, but muttering something about wishing immediately to write letters, he hurried out of the room, and shut himself into the parlour which had been appropriated to his morning use. Without giving himself time to think very deliberately of the comparative good and evil that might ensue, he seized a pen, and wrote the following letter to Mr. Stephenson.
"Dear Frederick,"We parted painfully, and my regard for you is too sincere for me to endure the idea of meeting again with equal pain. I have had reason since you left England, to believe, that notwithstanding the very objectionable manners and conduct of Mrs. Barnaby, her niece, Miss Willoughby, is in every way worthy of the attachment, you conceived for her; nay, that her family and fortune are such as even your brother and sisters would approve. I will not conceal from you that there are others who have discovered (though not so early as yourself) the attractions and the merits of Miss Willoughby; but who can say, Frederick, that if your early and generous devotion were made known to her, she might not give you the preference over those who were less prompt in surrendering their affections than yourself? If, then, your feelings towards her continue to be the same as when we parted at our breakfast table at Clifton ... and this I cannot doubt, for Agnes is not formed to be loved once, and then forgotten ... if you still love her, Frederick, hasten home, and take the advantage which your early conceived and unhesitating affection gives you over those who saw her more than once, before they discovered how important she was to their happiness."Notwithstanding the impatience with which you listened to my remonstrances on the subject of a connexion with Mrs. Barnaby, I believe that they were in truth the cause of your abandoning a pursuit in which your heart was deeply interested; and so believing, I cannot rest till I have told you that a marriage with Miss Willoughby no longer involves the necessity of any personal intercourse with Mrs. Barnaby. They are separated, and probably for ever."Believe me, now and for ever,"Very faithfully your friend,"Montague Hubert."
"Dear Frederick,
"We parted painfully, and my regard for you is too sincere for me to endure the idea of meeting again with equal pain. I have had reason since you left England, to believe, that notwithstanding the very objectionable manners and conduct of Mrs. Barnaby, her niece, Miss Willoughby, is in every way worthy of the attachment, you conceived for her; nay, that her family and fortune are such as even your brother and sisters would approve. I will not conceal from you that there are others who have discovered (though not so early as yourself) the attractions and the merits of Miss Willoughby; but who can say, Frederick, that if your early and generous devotion were made known to her, she might not give you the preference over those who were less prompt in surrendering their affections than yourself? If, then, your feelings towards her continue to be the same as when we parted at our breakfast table at Clifton ... and this I cannot doubt, for Agnes is not formed to be loved once, and then forgotten ... if you still love her, Frederick, hasten home, and take the advantage which your early conceived and unhesitating affection gives you over those who saw her more than once, before they discovered how important she was to their happiness.
"Notwithstanding the impatience with which you listened to my remonstrances on the subject of a connexion with Mrs. Barnaby, I believe that they were in truth the cause of your abandoning a pursuit in which your heart was deeply interested; and so believing, I cannot rest till I have told you that a marriage with Miss Willoughby no longer involves the necessity of any personal intercourse with Mrs. Barnaby. They are separated, and probably for ever.
"Believe me, now and for ever,
"Very faithfully your friend,
"Montague Hubert."
The effort necessary for writing and dispatching this letter by the post, was of service to him; it tended to make him feel more reconciled to himself, and less impatient under the infliction of hearing the favoured position of Miss Willoughby descanted upon. But much anxiety, much suffering, still remained.... How should he again meet Agnes?... Despite a thousand dear suspicions to the contrary, he could not wholly conquer the belief that it was her indifference, or some feeling connected with the disparity of their age, which dictated the too-well-remembered words.... "I never will be your wife;" and his best consolation under the terrible idea that he had recalled a rival to compete with him, arose from feeling that if, when his own proposals and those of Frederick were both before her, she should bestow herself on him, he might and must believe that, spite of his thirty-five years, she loved him; ... but though he hailed such comfort as might be got from this, it could not enable him to see Agnes, while this uncertainty remained, without such a degree of restraint as must convert all intercourse with her into misery.
Agnes meanwhile was indulging herself with all the happy confidence of youthful friendship in relating to her friend everything that had happened since they parted, and returned to the Mall soon after Lady Elizabeth had left it, with a heart glowing with love, gratitude, hope, and joy. The narrative with which Miss Compton welcomed her, was just all she wished and expected; and when told that the evening was to be passed at the lodgings of Lady Elizabeth Norris, she thanked the delighted old lady for the intelligence with a kiss that spoke her gladness better than any words could have done.
The evening came, and found the aunt and niece ready to keep their engagement, with such an equality of happiness expressed in the countenance of each, as might leave it doubtful which enjoyed the prospect of it the most. The pretty dress of Agnes, with all its simplicity, was rather more studied than usual; and it was the consciousness of this, perhaps, which occasioned her to blush so beautifully when Miss Compton made her a laughing compliment upon the delicate style of it....
"You look like a lily, my Agnes!" said the old lady, gazing at her with fond admiration. "You have certainly got very tired of black, my dear child, for I perceive that whenever you wish to look very nice, you select unmixed white for your decoration."
"I think it best expresses the change in my condition," replied Agnes. "Oh! my dear aunt, ... howvery, veryhappy you have made me!"
Nothing could be more gratifying than the manner in which they were received by Lady Elizabeth, Lady Stephenson, and Sir Edward; ... but Colonel Hubert was not in the drawing-room when they entered. For a short time, however, his absence was not regretted, even by Agnes, as she was not sorry for the opportunity it gave her of receiving the affectionate congratulations of her future sister, and it was with a feeling likely to produce much lasting love between them, that the one related, and the other listened to, the history of Colonel Hubert's return from London, of his first bold avowal of his love to his aunt, and of the comfort he had found in the reception given to this avowal by Lady Stephenson herself; ... but still Colonel Hubert came not; and at length Lady Elizabeth exclaimed, with a spice of her usual vivacity,...