Volume Ii Part 9 (1/2)
”Can you not stand up, aunt?” said Agnes, whose cheeks were crimsoned at the absurdity of the scene. ”How will you be able to get home if you cannot stand?”
”G.o.d knows, child!... G.o.d only knows what is yet to become of me.... Oh!
Major, I trust myself wholly to you.”
Poor Agnes uttered a sound not much unlike a groan, upon which Stephenson, on whom it fell like a spur, urging him to save her from an exhibition so painfully ridiculous, (for it was quite evident that Mrs.
Barnaby was not really hurt,) proposed that he should escort Miss Willoughby with all possible speed back to Clifton, and dispatch thence a carriage to bring Mrs. Barnaby home.
Major Allen, who desired nothing more ardently than to get rid of him, seconded the proposal vehemently.
”You are quite right, sir; it is the only thing to be done,” he said; ”and if you will hasten to perform this, I will endeavour so to place Mrs. Barnaby as to prevent her suffering any great inconvenience while waiting till the carriage shall arrive.”
”Ought I not to remain with my aunt?” said Agnes to Mr. Stephenson, but in a whisper that was heard only by himself.
”In my opinion, you certainly ought not,” he replied in the same tone.
”Believe me,” he added, ”I have many reasons for saying so.”
Nothing but her earnest desire to do that, whatever it might be, which was the least improper, (for that, as she truly felt, was all that was left her,) could have induced Agnes to propose inflicting so terrible a penance on herself; but strangely as she was obliged to choose her counsellor, there was a grave seriousness in his manner which convinced her he had not answered her lightly; and therefore, as her aunt said not a word to detain her, she set off on her return with as much speed as she could use, saying as she departed, ”Depend upon it, aunt, there shall be no delay.”
Mr. Stephenson again offered her his arm; but she now declined it, and the young man for some time walked silently by her side, wis.h.i.+ng to speak to her, yet honestly doubting his own power of doing so with the composure he desired.
At length, however, the silence became embarra.s.sing, and he broke it by saying, with something of abruptness,--
”Will you forgive me, Miss Willoughby, if I venture to forget for a moment how short a time it is since I have had the happiness of knowing you, ... will you forgive me if I speak to you like a friend?”
”Indeed I will, and be very thankful too,” replied Agnes composedly, ...
for his manner had taught her to feel a.s.sured that she had no cause to fear him.
”You are very kind,” he resumed, with some little embarra.s.sment; ”but I feel that it is taking an almost unwarrantable liberty; and were it not that this walk offers an opportunity which I think I ought not to lose, I might perhaps endeavour to say what I wish to Mrs. Peters.... I allude to Major Allen, Miss Willoughby! I wish you could lead your aunt to understand that he is not a person fit for your society. Though he is probably a stranger here, he is well known elsewhere as a needy gambler, and, in short, a most unprincipled character in every way.”
”Good Heaven!” exclaimed Agnes, ”what shall I do?”
”Can you not venture to hint this to your aunt?” said he.
”She would probably be very angry,” replied Agnes with spontaneous frankness; ”but what is worse than that, she would, I know, insist upon my telling her where I heard it.”
”Say that you heard it from me, Miss Willoughby,” replied the young man.
New as Agnes was to the world and its ways, she felt that there was something very honourable and frank in this proceeding, and it produced so great a degree of confidence in return, that she answered in a tone of the most unembarra.s.sed friendliness.
”Will you give me leave, Mr. Stephenson, to repeat this to Mrs. Peters and Mary?... They will know so much better than I do what use to make of it.”
”Indeed I think you are right,” he replied eagerly, ”and then the anger that you speak of will not fall on you.”
”It will not in that case, I think, fall on any one,” said Agnes. ”My aunt has fortunately a great respect for Mrs. Peters; and if anybody can have influence over her mind, she may.”
Can it be wondered at if, after this, the conversation went on improving in its tone of ease and confidence? It had begun, on the side of the young man, with a very sincere resolution not to suffer his admiration for his lovely companion to betray him into a serious attachment to one so unfortunately connected; but, before they reached Sion Row, he had arrived at so perfect a conviction that he could nowhere find so pure-minded and right-thinking a being to share his fortune, and to bless his future life, that he only refrained from telling her so from a genuine feeling of respect, which perhaps the proudest peeress in the land might have failed to inspire.