Volume Iii Part 7 (1/2)
CHAPTER VI.
AGNES RECEIVES ANOTHER UNEXPECTED VISIT.--MRS. BARNABY RETURNS TO HER LODGINGS AND CATCHES THE VISITER THERE.
The seven or eight months elapsed since the reader parted from Miss Compton, pa.s.sed not over the head of the secluded spinster as lightly as the years which had gone before ... for her conscience was not quite at rest. For some time the vehemence of the indignation and disgust excited by Mrs. Barnaby, during their last interview, sustained her spirits, much as a potent but noxious dram might have done; and during this time the fact of Agnes being her inmate and companion, was quite sufficient to communicate such a degree of contamination to her, as made the choleric old lady turn from all thought of her with most petulant dislike. The letter of Mrs. Barnaby, demanding an allowance for Agnes, reached her just when all this violence was beginning to subside, and acting like turpentine on an expiring flame, made her anger and hatred rage again with greater fury than ever. This demand was refused, as we have seen, in the harshest manner possible, and the writing this insulting negative was a considerable relief to the spinster's feelings.
But when this was done, and all intercourse, as it should seem, finally closed between herself and the only human being concerning whom she was capable of feeling any lively interest, her anger drooped and faded, and her health and spirits drooped and faded too. She remembered, when it was too late, that it was not Agnes's fault that she was living with Mrs. Barnaby; and conscience told her, that if she had come forward, as she might and ought to have done, at the time of her brother's death, the poor child might have been saved from the chance of any moral resemblance to the object of her aversion, however much she might unhappily inherit the detestable Wisett beauty. Then, too, came the remembrance of the beautiful vision, whose caresses she had rejected when irritated almost to madness by the tauntings of Mrs. Barnaby; and the idea that the punishment allotted to her in this world for this flagrant act of injustice, was the being doomed never to behold that fair young creature more, lay with a daily increasing weight of melancholy on her spirits.
It was on the afternoon of a fine September day that the letter of Agnes reached her. As usual, she was sitting in her bower, and her flowers bloomed and her bees hummed about her as heretofore, but the sprightly black eye that used to watch them was greatly dimmed. She had almost wholly lost her relish for works of fiction, and reading a daily portion of the Bible, which she had never omitted in her life, was perhaps the only one of all her comfortable habits that remained unchanged.
It would be no easy matter to paint the state into which the perusal of Agnes's letter threw her. Self-reproach was lost in the sort of ecstasy with which she remembered how thriftily she had h.o.a.rded her wealth, and how ample were the means she possessed to give protection and welcome to the poor orphan who thus sought a refuge in her bosom. All the strength and energy she had lost seemed to rush back upon her as her need called for them, ... and there was more of courage and enterprize within that diminutive old woman than always falls to the lot of a six-foot-two dragoon.
Her resolution as to what she intended to do was taken in a moment, and without any weakening admixture of doubts and uncertainties as to when and how; but she knew that she should want her strength, and must therefore husband it. Her step was, therefore, neither hurried nor unsteady as she returned to the house, and mounted to her sitting-room.
The first thing she did on entering it was to drink a gla.s.s of water, the next to endite a note to the postmaster at Silverton, ordering a chaise and four horses to be at Compton Basett by daybreak to take her the first stage towards London. She then rang her bell, gave her note to Peggy Wright, the farmer's youngest daughter, who was her constant attendant, and bade her request that her father, if in the house, would come to her immediately. There was enough in the unusual circ.u.mstances of a letter received, and a note sent, to excite the good farmer's curiosity, and he was in the presence of his landlady as quickly as she could herself have wished.
”Sit down, Farmer Wright,” said Miss Compton, and the farmer seated himself.
”I must leave Compton Basett to-morrow morning, Farmer Wright,” she resumed. ”My niece--my great niece, I mean, Miss Willoughby, has written me a letter, which determines me to go to London immediately for the purpose of taking charge of her myself.”
”Sure-ly, Miss Compton, you bean't goen' to set off all by your own self for Lunnun?” exclaimed the farmer.
”Not if I can manage before night to get a couple of servants to attend me.”
Farmer Wright stared; there was something quite new in Miss Betsy's manner of talking.
”You are a very active man, farmer, in the haymaking season,” continued Miss Compton with a smile; ”do you think, that to oblige and serve me, you could be as much on the alert for the next three or four hours as if you had a rick to save from a coming storm of rain?”
”That I wool!” replied Wright heartily. ”Do you but bid me do, Miss Betsy, and I'll do it.”
”Then go to your sister Appleby's, and inquire if her son William has left Squire Horton's yet.”
”I need not go so far for that, Miss Compton; Will is down stairs with my missus at this very minute,” said the farmer.
”That is fortunate!... He is not likely to go away directly, is he?”
”No, not he, Miss Betsy; he is come to have a crack with our young 'uns, and it's more likely he'll stay all night than be off in such a hurry.”
”Then, in that case, have the kindness, Farmer Wright, to saddle a horse, while I write a line to the bank.... I want you to ride over to Silverton for me, to get some money.”
”And I'll do it,” replied her faithful a.s.sistant, leaving the room.
Fortunately for her present convenience, Miss Compton always kept a deposit of about one hundred pounds in the bank at Silverton in case of need, either for the purpose of making the loans which have been already mentioned as a princ.i.p.al feature in her works of charity, or for any accidental contingency. Beyond this, however, she had no pecuniary transactions there, as her habitual secrecy in all that concerned her money affairs made it desirable that her agent should be more distant.
This fund, however, was quite sufficient for the moment, for, as will be easily believed, Miss Compton had no debts.
Farmer Wright speedily re-appeared, equipped for his ride.
”You will receive ninety-seven pounds sixteen and two-pence, Wright,”
said the spinster, giving her draught.
”Would it suit you best to receive the rent, Miss Betsy, before you set off?” said the farmer. ”It will make no difference, you know, ma'am, if I pays it a fortnight beforehand.”