Volume Iii Part 8 (1/2)
”Ring the bell then, love, and let my servant take your packages down.”
Agnes obeyed ... her trunk ... aunt Betsy's original trunk, and the dear Empton book-box, were lodged on the driving-seat and the d.i.c.key of the carriage; and William was just mounting the stairs to say that all was ready, when another carriage was heard to stop, and another knocking resounded against the open street-door.
”Oh! it is aunt Barnaby!” cried Agnes in a voice of terror.
”Is it?” replied Miss Compton, in the lively tone of former days. ”I shall be exceedingly glad to see her.”
”Can you be in earnest, aunt Betsy?” said Agnes, looking very pale.
”Perfectly in earnest, my dear child,” answered the old lady. ”It will be greatly more satisfactory that she should be an eye-witness of your departure with me, than that you should go without giving her notice....
Perhaps she would say you had eloped and robbed the premises.”
”Hus.h.!.+...” cried Agnes ... ”she is here!”
Mrs. Barnaby's voice, at least, was already with them. It was, indeed, the return of this lady which they had heard; and no sooner had she dismissed her hackney-coachman than she began questioning the servant of the house, who was stationed at the open door, expecting Miss Compton and her niece to come down.
”What carriage is that?... Whose servant is that upon the stairs?...
You have not been letting the lodgings, I hope?” were the first words of the widow.
”Oh! dear no, ma'am!” replied the maid; ”everything is just as you left it.”
”Then who is that carriage waiting for?”
”For a lady, ma'am, who is come to call on your young lady.”
”MY young lady!... unnatural hussy!... And what fine friends has she found out here, I wonder, to visit her?... Be they who they will, they shall hear my opinion of her.” And with these words, Mrs. Barnaby mounted the last stair, and entered the room.
The two unsnuffed tallow candles which stood on the table did not enable her at the first glance to recognize her aunt, who was wrapped in a long silk cloak, much unlike any garment she had ever seen her wear; but the sable figure of Agnes immediately caught her eye, and she stepped towards her with her arm extended, very much as if about to box her ears. But it seemed that the action was only intended to intimate that she was instantly to depart, for, with raised voice and rapid utterance, she said, ”How comes it, girl, that I find you still here?...
Begone!... Never will I pa.s.s another night under the same roof with one who could so basely desert a benefactress in distress!... And who may this be that you have got to come and make merry with you, while I ...
and for your expenses too.... Whoever it is, they had better shew no kindness to you, ... or they will be sure to repent of it.”
Mrs. Barnaby then turned suddenly round to reconnoitre the unknown visiter. ”Do you not know me, Mrs. Barnaby?” said Miss Compton demurely.
”My aunt Betsy!... Good G.o.d! ma'am, what brought you here?”
”I came to take this troublesome girl off your hands, Mrs. Barnaby: is not that kind of me?”
”That's the plan, is it?” retorted the widow bitterly. ”Now I understand it all. Instead of coming to comfort me in my misery, she was employing herself in coaxing another aunt to make a sacrifice of herself to her convenience. Take her; and when you are sick and sorry, she will turn her back upon you, as she has done upon me!”
”Oh! do not speak so cruelly, aunt Barnaby!” cried Agnes, greatly shocked at having her conduct thus described to one whose love she so ardently wished to gain.... ”Tell my aunt Compton what it was you asked of me, and let her judge between us.”
”Shut the door, Agnes!...” said Miss Compton sternly; and then, re-seating herself, she addressed Mrs. Barnaby with an air of much anxiety and interest: ”Niece Martha, I must indeed beg of you to tell me in what manner this young girl has conducted herself since she has been with you, for, I can a.s.sure you, much depends upon the opinion I shall now form of her. I have no longer any reason to conceal from you that my circ.u.mstances are considerably more affluent than anybody but myself and my man of business is aware of.... Nearly forty years of strict economy, niece Martha, have enabled me to realize a very respectable little fortune. It was I, and not my tenant, who purchased your poor father's moiety of Compton Basett; and as I have scarcely ever touched the rents, a little study of the theory of interest and compound interest will prevent your being surprised, when I tell you that my present income is fifteen hundred per annum, clear of all outgoings whatever.”
”Is it possible!” exclaimed Mrs. Barnaby, with an accent and a look of reverence, which very nearly destroyed the gravity of her old aunt.
”Yes, Mrs. Barnaby,” she resumed, ”such is my income. With less than this, a gentlewoman of a good old family, desirous of bringing forward a niece into the world in such a manner as to do her credit, could not venture to take her place in society; and I have therefore waited till my increasing revenues should amount to this sum before I declared my intentions, and proclaimed my heiress. Such being the case, you will not be surprised that I should be anxious to ascertain which of my two nieces best deserves my favour. I do not mean to charge myself with both.... Let that be clearly understood.... The doing so would entirely defeat my object, which is to leave one representative of the Compton Basett family with a fortune sufficient to restore its former respectability.”
”And everybody must admire such an intention,” replied Mrs. Barnaby, in an accent of inexpressible gentleness; ”and I, for one, most truly hope, that whoever you decide to leave it to, may deserve such generosity, and have a grateful heart to requite it with.”