CHAPTER CLXXX.

AGNES AND TREVELYAN.

In spite of her anxiety to place confidence in Mrs. Mortimer--in spite

of the deep obligation under which she believed herself to be lying

towards her, Agnes could not subdue a partial feeling of uneasiness

when she found that she was in a strange house, evidently the abode of

a rich person.

She gazed round the walls covered with splendid pictures--on the

chandelier suspended to the ceiling--on the elegant and costly

furniture--the superb mantel-ornaments--and down upon the luxurious

carpet, so thick that her tiny feet were almost imbedded in it, as if

she were walking in snow.

Whose dwelling could it be? Assuredly not Mrs. Mortimer’s--for she

was only treated as a visitress. At length, after the lapse of a few

minutes, the young maiden ventured to ask, “Who are the friends, madam,

with whom you propose to leave me?”

“Does not that very question, Agnes, imply a suspicion injurious to

me?” said Mrs. Mortimer, evasively.

“Oh! no--no!” exclaimed Miss Vernon, in a melting tone of the

profoundest sincerity. “But may I not ask so simple a question without

being liable to such a distressing imputation?”

“Can you not leave yourself in the hands of one who has saved your life

and who wishes you well?” said the old woman, speaking in a voice of

mingled reproach and conciliation.

“Yes--certainly, madam,” was the immediate answer: “but you yourself

are not going to remain here--inasmuch as you have ordered the

cabriolet to wait for you.”

“True, Agnes: because I have business of importance to transact at an

early hour this morning, and at a considerable distance hence. Reassure

yourself, my darling girl,” continued the iniquitous hag: “you will be

delighted to meet the person whom you will presently see. Indeed, it

is only a little surprise which I am preparing for you--and, after all

I have done for you, you surely will not deny me the pleasure which

I promise myself in beholding the interview between yourself and the

owner of this splendid mansion.”

By degrees, as Mrs. Mortimer spoke, the countenance of Agnes brightened

up; for it struck the young maiden that it was her mother whom she

was now to meet--and this idea grew into a positive conviction by the

time the old woman had uttered the last words of her sentence. She was

accordingly about to express renewed gratitude for the happy surprise

thus reserved for her, when the door opened and the domestic returned

to the apartment.

“Madam, will you follow me?” he said, addressing himself to Mrs.

Mortimer.

“My dear child,” observed the old woman, turning towards Agnes and

patting her face with a show of affection, “you will remain here

for a few minutes--a very few minutes; and then,” she added, with

a sly smile, which meant as much as to intimate that she read the

hope entertained by Agnes, and should speedily have the pleasure of

gratifying it,--“and then, my love, you will not scold me for having

kept you a little in suspense.”

Tears of gratitude trembled upon the long dark lashes of the beauteous

maiden, although her lips were wreathed in smiles:--but when Nature

melts into April softness, ’tis with mingled rain and sunshine.

While Agnes remained alone in the handsome parlour, cradling herself in

the hope that the lapse of a few minutes would see her embraced in the

arms of her mother, Mrs. Mortimer was conducted into another apartment,

where she found herself in the presence of Lord William Trevelyan, who

had dressed himself with as much despatch as possible.

“Well, madam,” he said, in a hasty and even anxious tone, “what has

brought you hither at this unseasonable hour?--whom have you with

you?--and wherefore this desire, as expressed to my domestic, to see me

alone in the first instance?”

“My lord, it is Agnes Vernon who has accompanied me, and who is in the

room which I have just left,” answered the old woman.

“I thought so--I was afraid that it was so, when the servant gave me a

description of her--a very rapid and partial one, it is true, inasmuch

as he beheld her only for a few moments. But, great heavens! madam,”

continued the young nobleman, speaking with singular and unusual

vivacity, “what means this strange proceeding?”

“That Agnes required an asylum, and I brought her hither,” was the

response.

“And do you for an instant imagine, madam, that I am capable--that I

would be guilty--that I----But, enough! I will say no more to you: I

see through your real character--and I loathe and despise it! My God!

to think that I should have enlisted a common procuress in my service!

Oh! how can I ever look Agnes in the face?--how venture to accost

her, after having thus offered her the most flagrant of insults? But,

tell me, vile woman,” he exclaimed, seizing Mrs. Mortimer forcibly by

the wrist, while his tone and manner alike indicated the most painful

excitement,--“tell me, I say, by what detestable artifices you have

induced that innocent and unsuspecting maiden to accompany you hither?”

“My lord, you will be ashamed of yourself for this unworthy conduct

towards me, when you come to know all,--yes, ashamed and astonished at

the same time,” said Mrs. Mortimer, assuming an air of offended dignity

and wounded pride.

“How!--speak!” ejaculated Lord William, dropping the woman’s arm and

surveying her with mingled surprise and repentance.

“I shall not waste precious time in entering into details,” resumed

Mrs. Mortimer. “Yesterday morning I saw Agnes and induced her to peruse

your letter. She was offended, and tossed it indignantly back to me.”

“Ah!” cried the nobleman, his countenance assuming an expression of

extreme vexation.

“Yes--and here it is,” continued Mrs. Mortimer, producing the epistle

from her reticule, and laying it upon the table.

“But she read it, you say?” exclaimed Lord William.

“Every word,” was the response. “Nevertheless, though softened and even

pleased at first, she subsequently thought better of it, and rejected

the communication in the manner I have described. I was disheartened,

and felt unwilling to return to you with such unwelcome intelligence.

An hour ago I quitted the house of a friend in Stamford Street; and in

that same street the following adventure occurred to me.”

The old woman then related precisely the same anecdote which she had

already told to Agnes, relative to the pretended rescue of that young

lady from the power of a man who was bearing her along insensible in

his arms.

The young nobleman was astounded; and his manner denoted incredulity.

“I perceive that your lordship puts no faith in my narrative,” said

Mrs. Mortimer, who conjectured what was passing in his mind: “but

the tale which Agnes can tell you, will corroborate it. She herself

will inform you how she fell into the power of the ruffian from whom

it was subsequently my good fortune to deliver her; and if you place

confidence in her words, you will perforce be led to accord the same

favour to mine?”

“And her tale--what is it?” demanded the nobleman, impatiently.

“Yesterday she discovered the mother whom she had lost since her

infancy,” answered Mrs. Mortimer.

“Her mother!” exclaimed Trevelyan. “And where is that mother? who is

she? Tell me, that I may hasten to her at as early an hour as possible,

and implore of her to accord me the hand of her daughter.”

“Be not so hasty, my lord. I am totally unacquainted with Agnes

Vernon’s mother; and she herself--poor artless girl! knows, I believe,

but little more. It is however certain that the young lady was induced

to accompany her newly-found parent from the cottage--that she was

consigned to the care of two ladies named Theobald, and dwelling in

Stamford Street--that in the night she became the prey to vague and

unfounded terrors, which induced her to attempt an escape from the

house--and that she fell into the hands of the man from whom I rescued

her.”

“And wherefore have you brought her hither?” asked Lord William. “Why

not have conducted her back to the ladies to whose care her mother had

consigned her--or to the cottage where she has dwelt so long?”

“I have put you in the position of one who may perform a chivalrous

action, and thereby win the permanent esteem, gratitude, and love of

this beautiful creature whom you adore,” said Mrs. Mortimer; “and

now you appear inclined to load me with reproaches. Yes--I perceive

that reproaches _are_ trembling upon your lordship’s tongue;--and I

who have done all I could to serve you, shall experience nought save

ingratitude. Oh! short-sighted lover that you are! Here is a young girl

whom I pick up as it were houseless and homeless--and I am already

half-way with her to your mansion, before I even learn from her lips

how she came in Stamford Street at all, or that she has friends there.

But when I do glean those facts, I find that she has escaped from the

guardianship of those friends: and could I suppose that they would be

willing to receive her again? Now, my lord, it is for you to grant her

an asylum--to treat her with all imaginable delicacy and attention--and

to leave me to find out her mother, that you may restore the lost

daughter to the distracted parent. Doubtless the Miss Theobalds will

give me the desired information: and then calculate the amount of

gratitude that will be due to you! In spite of her father--whoever he

may really be, and whatever opposition he might raise--Agnes is yours;

and you gain the object of your heart’s dearest wishes.”

“And think you, woman,” exclaimed Lord William Trevelyan, unable any

longer to subdue his resentment,--“think you that I will blast the

fair fame of this young lady by retaining her for even a single hour

beneath my roof?--think you that I will obtain for her the inevitable

reputation of having been my mistress, previously to becoming my wife?

No--a thousand times no! And do you imagine that I read not your

heart aright? do you suppose that I am your dupe? I tell you, vile

woman, that in bringing the innocent and artless Agnes hither, you

fancied you would be throwing in my way a temptation which I could

not resist,--a temptation which would thaw all my virtuous principles

and honourable notions, and lead me to sacrifice the purity of the

confiding girl to my passion. Yes--such was your base calculation: or

you would at once and unhesitatingly have conducted her either to the

abode of her friends in Stamford Street, or home to her own cottage!

Ah! madam, because I belong to the aristocracy, you imagine that I

must necessarily be as vile, depraved, and unprincipled as ninety-nine

out of every hundred individuals who bear lordly titles. But you have

deceived yourself--grossly deceived yourself: and you shall at once

have the proof that you are so deceived! Follow me.”

Thus speaking, Lord William advanced rapidly towards the door,

imperiously beckoning the vile woman to accompany him.

“Whither are you going, my lord?” she demanded, finding that she had

indeed over-reached herself--that the nobleman’s principles were more

profoundly rooted than she had imagined--and that all her trouble was

likely to go unrewarded.

“Follow me, I say: as you have done this amount of mischief, you shall

at least see it remedied to the utmost of my power;”--and the nobleman

burst from the room, literally dragging the old woman with him.

In less than a minute they entered the apartment where Agnes was

anxiously--oh! most anxiously awaiting the presence of her mother;--and

the moment the door was opened, she darted forward to precipitate

herself into the arms of her parent.

But, recognising Lord William Trevelyan, she stopped short with a cry

of mingled disappointment, surprise, and alarm; while an ashy pallor

overspread her countenance.

“Reassure yourself, Miss Vernon--I am your friend, and a man of

honour!” were the encouraging words which Trevelyan hastened to address

to her.

“And my mother?” said the young maiden, bending a look of earnest

appeal upon Mrs. Mortimer, who however shrank back in confusion.

“Your mother is not here, Miss Vernon,” exclaimed the nobleman:

“neither does this woman know where to find her. An act of the greatest

imprudence has been committed in bringing you hither----”

“Oh! what do I hear?” cried Agnes, clasping her hands. “Is this your

house, my lord? If so,” she added, with dignity succeeding grief, “I am

innocent of any intention to intrude: indeed, your lordship might full

well conceive that I should not have come hither of my own accord--oh!

no--not for worlds!”

And tears rolled down the cheeks of the gentle girl for she felt

humiliated in the presence of the very man in whose eyes, if her young

heart had a preference, she would have fain appeared in another light.

“Oh! Miss Vernon, it is you who do not understand me!” ejaculated Lord

William, advancing and taking her hand. “If I spoke of the imprudence

which had been committed, it was on your account only! For believe me

when I declare that I should be proud,--yes, and in the enjoyment of

an elysian happiness, could you enter this mansion to remain here--to

command here, with honour to yourself! But I will not avail myself of

this opportunity to urge a suit that I have already ventured to prefer,

and in the prosecution of which I unfortunately selected so improper an

agent.”

As he uttered these words, he bent an indignant look upon Mrs.

Mortimer, who turned away petulantly and made for the door.

“Stop, woman!” cried the young nobleman, hastening to detain her: “I

cannot yet part with you, intolerable as your presence has become to

me. “Miss Vernon,” he continued, again turning toward the maiden, whose

sense of humiliation had vanished, and who in her heart of hearts now

rejoiced in the conviction that Lord William Trevelyan was indeed as

noble in nature as he was in name,--“I need scarcely observe that

circumstances compel me to procure for you an asylum for the remainder

of the night as speedily as possible. You will permit me to conduct you

to the abode of a lady of my acquaintance,--a lady who will receive

you with open arms, and who will to-morrow--or rather, in a few hours’

time--herself conduct you to the abode of your friends in Stamford

Street, or to your own home near Streatham.”

With these words, the nobleman took the hand of the blushing Agnes, and

led her from the house to the vehicle that was still waiting.

“Now, madam, you may depart,” he said sternly to Mrs. Mortimer, as soon

as he had seated himself in the cab, opposite to Agnes.

The old woman turned sulkily away, muttering threats of vengeance;

but these were unheeded by the chivalrous Trevelyan, who gave hasty

instructions to the driver, and the vehicle rolled rapidly on towards

Kentish Town.

Agnes could not do otherwise than appreciate all the delicacy of

Lord William’s conduct towards her; for it is no disparagement to

the extreme artlessness of her mind to state that she comprehended

wherefore he had compelled Mrs. Mortimer to wait until they had quitted

the house. But she could scarcely collect her bewildered ideas into

a settled state--so rapid was the whirl of incidents and adventures

through which she was doomed to pass on this memorable night. Had

she paused to reflect upon her position, with that seriousness which

it required, she would have requested the nobleman to conduct her

at once to the dwelling of the Misses Theobald: but he had deported

himself towards her with the generosity of a brother, and she acted

in obedience to his suggestions without waiting to analyse them. In a

word, she was full of confidence and ingenuous reliance in him; and she

felt as if she had suddenly found a stanch and sincere friend in the

midst of cruel difficulties and deep embarrassments. A dreamy kind of

repose stole over her as she was borne along in the vehicle: and yet

she not only heard the few remarks which her companion addressed to

her, but likewise answered them in a befitting manner.

On his side Trevelyan was a prey to the strangest excitement; accident

having not only thus procured him the acquaintanceship of her whom

he loved so fondly, but having likewise placed them in a relative

position, establishing as it were a friendship--almost an intimacy.

Moreover, had he not touched her delicate white hand--touched it

gently, it is true, and without venturing to press it,--but still

touched it, and even held it for a few moments in his own? Had he

not discovered, too, that if she appeared surpassingly lovely when

seen from a distance, a nearer contemplation of her charms was only

calculated to enhance his admiration and strengthen his devotion? And,

lastly, had not the musical tones of her silver voice been breathed in

his hearing, wafting words that were addressed to himself, and making

every fibre in his heart vibrate deliciously to the dulcet sounds?

Yes--all this he felt and appreciated; and he was happy.

[Illustration]

The conversation that passed between them during the drive to Kentish

Town was slight, and chiefly confined to such observations as a

well-bred gentleman would address to a lady under circumstances of

embarrassment, and to such responses as those remarks were calculated

to elicit. The young nobleman was careful to avoid any allusion to

the letter which he had sent to Agnes, or to the circumstances that

had thus thrown them so singularly together; and she, understanding

his forbearance and perceiving his unwillingness to take the least

advantage of her peculiar position, felt her esteem--we might almost

say her _love_--increase in his favour.

In about twenty minutes the cab stopped at the gate of a beautiful

villa; and as the orient sky was now flickering with the first

struggling beams of a summer sunrise, Agnes was enabled to obtain a

tolerably distinct view of the picturesque spot. The fresh breeze,

too, fanned her countenance, recalling the roses to her damask cheeks;

and as she threw back the shining masses of hair from her forehead,

Trevelyan’s eye could trace the blue veins so delicately marked beneath

the white skin of that fair and polished brow.

On alighting at the entrance to the villa, Trevelyan and his beautiful

companion were both struck by the glimmering of lights which shone

through the divisions in the parlour shutters, and the rays of which,

peeping forth, struggled with sickly effect against the dawning of a

new day. Those lights, too, were evidently moving about; and it was

therefore clear that the inmates of the dwelling were astir even at

that early hour.

The summons at the front door was almost immediately responded to by a

female servant, who, in reply to the young nobleman’s questions, stated

that Mrs. Sefton was at home, and had risen thus early in order to make

preparations for removal to a new house which she had taken in another

suburb of London.

Trevelyan and Agnes were accordingly admitted forthwith; and the

domestic conducted them to the parlour, where Mrs. Sefton was busily

engaged in packing up her effects. She was much surprised when

she heard Trevelyan’s voice, and immediately apprehended that some

misfortune was in store for her--some evil tidings, perhaps, relative

to Sir Gilbert Heathcote.

But scarcely had Agnes reached the threshold of the apartment,

when--the moment Mrs. Sefton turned to receive her visitors--the young

girl gave vent to an ejaculation of mingled astonishment and joy, and,

bounding forward, was in the next instant clasped in that lady’s arms.

“My dearest--dearest mother!”

“Agnes--my beloved child!”

These were the words which explained to Trevelyan the scene that he now

witnessed.