Arlington's and returned to Brook Farm, that she received with delight a summons to come to her mother at C----. The idea that her mother really _wished_ for her, and that she could be in any degree useful to her, made her heart bound with joy; and then, too, the idea of being so near her brother, to endeavor to exercise a restraining influence upon him, was happiness in itself for Agnes.

She found her mother greatly changed: anxiety of mind and bodily suffering had worn upon her, till her face, which might still have been young and blooming, was faded and wrinkled. She was glad to see Agnes, only because now she could be _useful_ to her; and Agnes often found her whole stock of patience brought into requisition, in endeavoring to gratify the changing whims and fancies of a nervous invalid. Lewie was in ecstasies at his sister's arrival; for he did dearly love Agnes, and he now pa.s.sed all his leisure time at his mother's room. Agnes thought him more gentle and tractable, and hoped that he really exercised some control over his pa.s.sionate temper; but it was only, for the time, the want of provocation, and the restraining influence of his sister's presence, which kept him from any serious out-break. The grace of G.o.d alone could materially change Lewie Elwyn now.

Agnes remained many months in attendance upon her mother, who failed very gradually. As she grew weaker, she became more exacting; and though never betrayed into any expression of affection for Agnes, yet she was not willing to have her out of her sight for a moment. The consciousness of being useful to her mother, was sufficient reward for sleepless nights and days of close confinement; and Agnes resisted all Lewie's entreaties that she would leave the sick room for a while each day, and take a stroll with him.

Had Lewie been inclined to dissipation, this would have been a dangerous time for him; for his wonderful musical powers made him such a favorite, that no gathering was thought complete without him. As long as Agnes was at C----, he preferred spending his evenings with her to any party of pleasure; and after he could no longer enjoy her society, and when he began again to mingle in scenes of festivity, though sometimes betrayed into excesses, he never was habitually dissipated.

Mrs. Elwyn lingered on, becoming weaker and weaker, until, after Agnes had been with her about six months, she perceived that she was failing more rapidly, and at length was informed by the physician, that her mother could live but very few days longer. Agnes hastily summoned Mr.

and Mrs. Wharton, who arrived only in time to witness the death-bed scene. Just before her death, Mrs. Elwyn seemed to awake to a sudden realization of the great mistakes of her life with regard to her son and daughter. She seemed to see now, as clearly as others had seen all along, the evils of her own management, and to trace the unhappy results to their proper source. It was sad to hear her, when all too late to remedy these evils, lament over "a wasted life--a worse than wasted life;" and so, with words of remorse upon her lips, she, who had had such power for good in her hands, pa.s.sed away from earth.

And Agnes returned to her uncle's house, leaving her brother at college.

As soon as she had taken a little time to recruit, and to consider, she began to look about for a situation as governess, much against the wishes of every member of her uncle's family, who would have considered it a privilege to keep her always with them. About this time, a distant relative of Mrs. Wharton's, a Mr. Fairland, in pa.s.sing from his Western home to the city, stopped to make them a visit. He was a plain, kind-hearted man, and seemed to take a particular interest in Agnes, with whose father and grandfather he had been intimately acquainted. Mr.

Fairland had made quite a fortune by successful speculation, in a large Eastern city; but the extravagance of his wife and daughters, who were not willing to be outdone in dress or establishment by any of their neighbors, made such rapid inroads upon his newly-acquired wealth, that Mr. Fairland soon became convinced that it was leaving him as rapidly as it came. So he thought it the part of prudence to beat a retreat at once; and, in spite of the tears and remonstrances of his wife and eldest daughters, he removed the whole family to the beautiful village of Wilston, near which place he owned some fine and flourishing mills.

It was while speaking of his new home, and its many beauties, at Mr.

Wharton's breakfast table, that Mr. Fairland mentioned the only drawback to his happiness there, which, he said, was the want of the advantages of education for his younger children, who were running wild without any instruction, as their mother was unwilling to allow them to attend the village school. He had long been looking, he said, for a governess for them--one who would bring them up with right habits and principles, at the same time that she was instructing their minds.

Agnes seized the first opportunity in which she could find Mr. Fairland alone, to propose herself as governess to his children. This was more than Mr. Fairland had dared to hope for, and her proposal was hailed by him with grat.i.tude and joy. He wished her to return immediately with him; but Agnes had some preparations to make, and her uncle was not willing to part with her quite yet: he promised, however, to bring her himself in the course of a month. A serious illness, however, deranged all Mr. Wharton's plans and as soon as he was able to travel, business of the utmost importance called him to the city; so that Agnes, who disliked to keep Mr. Fairland waiting for her any longer, wrote to him when he might expect her, and, much against Mrs. Wharton's wishes, set out alone in the stage for Wilston.

XIII.

NEW SCENES FOR AGNES.

"The stranger's heart! oh, wound it not!

A yearning anguish is its lot; In the green shadow of the tree, The stranger finds no rest with thee."

"And when may we expect to be favored with the presence of this paragon of perfection, and embodiment of all wisdom, papa?" asked Miss Evelina Fairland, with what was intended for the utmost girlish sprightliness of manner; for, although it was only at breakfast, Miss Evelina never laid aside her manner of extreme youth, as she thought it best to be continually in practice.

Her father answered quietly, that he expected Miss Elwyn by the afternoon stage.

"Is she one of these prim, _old-maidish_ governesses, like our poor old Miss Pratt?" asked Miss Calista, a lady of something over thirty, and rather the worse for twelve years' wear, in the way of b.a.l.l.s and parties, the theatre and the opera. Indeed, at the breakfast table, Miss Calista looked considerably older than she really was, with her pale, faded cheeks, and her hair "en papillottes;" but, in the afternoon, by the use of a little artificial bloom, some cork-screw ringlets, and a manner as gay and girlish as that of her sister, she appeared quite another creature.

To Miss Calista's question Mr. Fairland, with an amused pucker about the mouth, answered:

"Oh, I shall tell you nothing about her looks; you must wait and judge for yourselves. There's one thing I will say, however. I suppose you can't alter your looks, girls; but, as far as manners are concerned, I wish very much that I could place my two eldest daughters under Miss Elwyn's tuition."

"Perhaps she will condescend to take a cla.s.s, twice or three times a week, in 'manners for six-pence,'" said the sprightly Miss Evelina. "I should like to see Calista and myself curtseying, and walking, and leaving and entering a room, as we used to be obliged to do for old Miss Pratt. Wouldn't you, Calista?"

"Let's see," said Mr. Fairland, whose reminiscences were not always of the most agreeable nature to the young ladies--"let's see. How long is it since you and C'listy _were_ under the care of Miss Pratt? I think it must be nigh twenty years."

"Twenty years, papa!--absurd!" shrieked Miss Calista; "why, you must be losing your memory!"

Now, if Mr. Fairland's daughters were touchy on the subject of their _ages,_ their father was no less so on that of his _memory,_ as Miss Calista well knew when she made the foregoing remark.

"Losing my memory indeed, Miss C'listy! My memory is as sound as ever; and, to prove it to you, I will inform you, that I shall be sixty-four years old this coming August; and by the same token, you are just exactly half my age; and if you don't believe it, you may just take a look at the family record, in the big Bible."

"C'listy's _scratched out her date,"_ said little Rosa, "and so has Evelina."

"Hold your tongue, you impertinent little minx!" said Miss Calista; "I really hope the prinky old governess who is coming will be able to whip a little manners into you. I really wonder you can allow the children to be so pert, mamma!"

The lady addressed as _"mamma"_ was the second wife of Mr. Fairland, a rather handsome, but very languid lady of forty, who was sleepily sipping her coffee during the foregoing conversation. Now, as Mrs.

Fairland did not look much older (perhaps not at all older, at the breakfast table,) than the oldest of her step-daughters, the young ladies quite prided themselves on so youthful a "mamma;" and when in company, or at the various watering-places to which, in former tunes, they had succeeded in dragging their parents, they hung round her, and asked her permission to do this and that, with the most child-like confidence in her judgment.

This was by no means relished by the step-mother, who had no fancy for matronizing daughters so nearly her own age, and who wished no less fervently than the young ladies themselves, that something in the shape of a husband would appear to carry each of them off. She never failed after such a display of filial affection on their part to explain to those near her; that the young ladies were her _step-daughters;_ and to mention how odd it sounded to her when she was first married, to hear those great girls as tall as herself, call her "mamma."

It was a beautiful evening in the pleasant month of July, when Agnes entered the lovely village of Wilston, and drove through its one long street, to the s.p.a.cious and rather showy dwelling of Mr. Fairland. Agnes had heard much of the beauty of Wilston, but her heart was now so oppressed with many agitating emotions, at the near prospect of the new and strange scenes upon which she was about to enter in so new a character, that not even the loveliness of the landscape, with its variety of hill, and dale, and wood-land, on the one hand, and on the other the peaceful lake tinged with crimson by the setting sun, had power to win her attention.

Yet we need not fear for Agnes, that in thus appearing in the character of a governess, she will lose aught of her gentle dignity, or quiet self-possession. Agnes was a _lady_ in every sense of the term, and place her where you would, or under whatever circ.u.mstances, she would invest her occupation with a dignity all her own, and make it honorable; winning from all around her an involuntary respect and homage. Though ever kind and amiable, and ready to oblige, she will never _cringe_ to those who, by the favors of fortune, are placed for the time in circ.u.mstances more prosperous than her own. Tried, she may be by their arrogance, and airs of a.s.sumed superiority; but with the inward conviction which in spite of her modesty she must possess, that in all that is of real and true worth she is far above them, she will toil on undisturbed in her vocation, anxious only to fulfil her duty towards G.o.d, and toward those whom He has placed under her influence; and to acquit herself well of the high responsibility resting upon her.

Mr. Fairland met Agnes at the door, with his kind pleasant face, and with both hands extended to give her a cordial welcome to his roof. Mrs.

Fairland rose languidly from her chair to receive the governess, and gave her a ceremonious, and to Agnes a most chilling greeting. The young ladies were out walking; but presently a troop of noisy children, who from some part of the grounds where they were at play, had seen the arrival of the stranger, came bursting rudely into the room. These, as Agnes supposed, were her future pupils, and a most unpromising set they at first sight appeared.

The eldest, "Tiney," was a heavy, dull looking girl of about ten years of age. Her eyes had no more brightness or expression in them than two b.a.l.l.s of lead, and her flabby colorless cheeks hung down each side of her mouth, giving that feature much the expression of a bull-dog, while a sullen fierceness about her face, increased the resemblance to that animal. Her teeth, utterly unacquainted with the action of a brush, were prominent, so that her lip seldom covered them, and her uncombed hair hung rough and s.h.a.ggy around her unattractive face. Agnes at once guessed that this poor child was deficient in intellect, and unamiable in temper.

The next, _Rosa,_ was a wild, handsome little gipsey, with eyes as black as jet, and as bright as diamonds, a brilliant color shining through her sunburnt cheek, and with straight black hair, no better cared for than her sister Tiney's.

The third little girl, _Jessie,_ was very fair, with beautiful deep blue eyes, and golden curling hair; but the curls were all in tangles, for no one took the trouble to keep them in order, except on great occasions, when the poor child was put to the torture of having it brushed and combed, and laid in ringlets, which for the time were the special pride of her mother.

"You'll have enough to do, Miss Agnes, to tame all these rough spirits," said Mr. Fairland, "they have been running wild ever since we left the city, and a more rude and ungoverned set of little desperadoes, it has never been your lot to meet with, I'll venture to say." And then addressing them, he said, "come here, children, what do you stand there gaping for, with your thumbs in your mouths, as if you had never seen anybody before? Tiney! Rosa, you witch! Jess, my chicken! come up here this minute, and speak to Miss Elwyn."

But Tiney only pouted her ugly mouth and scowled; and Rosa, making a sudden dart for her mother's chair, retreated behind it, peering out her black eyes occasionally, to take a look at the stranger; while Jessie ran and sprang into her father's lap, hiding her little tangled head on his shoulder. And now a whooping and shouting made known the approach of Master Frank, the son and heir, a young individual of about four years of age, who, nothing daunted by the stranger's appearance, made for his father's chair, and proceeded to dislodge his sister Jessie from her seat, and to establish himself in her place. Jessie screamed, and scratched, and pulled in vain. Frank, though younger, was much the strongest, and the fight ended by the sudden descent of Miss Jessie to the floor, and the ascension of Master Frank into the vacated place.

"Be quiet now, will you, Frank, and speak to Miss Elwyn," said his father.

"Hallo! is that Miss Elwyn?" exclaimed Master Frank, aloud; "why, C'lista said she was old and ugly."

"Well, C'listy didn't know, did she?" said his father.

"And Ev'lina said she'd train us well, and whip us, and shut us up, and be awful cross all the time. She doesn't look like that, does she, papa?"

"No, she does not," said his father; "and I guess Evelina must have been mistaken too."

Agnes was all this time looking at Frank, very much amused, and laughing quietly at the description which had been given of her to the children.

"You think I do not look so very terrible, then, Master Frank," said she; "do you think you will ever like me?"

"I don't know," said Master Frank, boldly; "if you don't make me _mind,_ I'll like you."

"But she _is_ going to make you mind, Master Frank," said his father; "and, do you know, I have promised Miss Elwyn that she shall do just what she pleases with you all, and n.o.body shall interfere."

"In _school hours,"_ said Agnes.

"Yes, in school hours, and out of school hours, except when their mother or I are present: they are always to obey you, Miss Elwyn. I wish that to be understood in the family. But, my dear," said he to his wife, "perhaps Miss Elwyn would like to change her dress before tea."

Mrs. Fairland languidly directed Tiney to show Miss Elwyn to her room; but the only notice taken of this command by Miss Tiney was a stupid, sullen stare. Agnes had risen to leave the room; but perceiving that Tiney did not stir, she turned, and putting out one hand toward Rosa, said, in her own bright, winning way: