"How can there be any way but yours in what concerns me, dear aunt Betsy?"
"Bless you, my dear!... I will not be a tyrant ... at least not a very cruel tyrant; but my happiness will be injured for the rest of my life, Agnes, if the next time you see this gentleman and his family, it is not in such a manner as to make them perceive, without the necessity of their listening to an old woman's long story about it, that you are not an unworthy match for him in any way.... Let this be managed, and everything will end well.... There will be no risk of your witnessing, either in the words or looks of these noble ladies whom you call your friends, any struggle between their partiality for you and their higher hopes for him. He will ever remember with pleasure that he waited not for this to offer you his hand and heart; and trust me YOU will never remember with sorrow that you did wait for it before you accepted him. Do you agree with me?"
"Indeed I do!" fervently replied Agnes. "But could they see me at this moment, would not your wish be answered? Could they doubt for a moment, while seeing you, and seeing the style of all about you, that I am something more than the poor hopeless dependant of Mrs. Barnaby?"
"That is not it.... That would not do at all, child," replied the old lady, sharply. "It shall not be the poor dependant of anybody that this noble-hearted Colonel Hubert shall come to woo. Love him as much as you will, the world may say, and his family may think too, that his rank and station led you to accept him. I will save you both from this danger. Colonel Hubert shall not try his chance with you again till you are the independent possessor of fifteen hundred pounds a-year. When I die, Agnes, if you behave well in the interim, I will bequeath my bees to you, and all the furniture of my two pretty rooms at Compton Basett, as well as all the reserved rents in the shape of allowances, coals, wood, attendance, and the like, which will be mine while I live. This, my dear, shall come to you in the way of legacy, in case I continue to be pleased with your behaviour; but there is no way for me to atone for the injury I have done to the representative of my family by suffering her to remain six months with Mrs. Barnaby, but making her at once the independent possessor of the Compton property."
"My dear, dear aunt!" said Agnes, most unfeignedly distressed, "there can be no occasion at this moment to talk of your doing what, in my poor judgment, would be so very wrong.... Should I be so happy as to make Colonel Hubert known to you, I would trust to him to discuss such subjects.... Oh! what delight, aunt Betsy, for you to have such a man for your friend!... and all owing to me!"
There was something so ingenuous, so young, so unquestionably sincere in this burst of feeling, that the old lady was greatly touched by it. "You are a sweet creature, Agnes," she replied, "and quite right in telling me not to discuss any matters of business with you.... I shall touch on no such subjects again, for I see they are totally beyond your comprehension. Nevertheless, I must have my way about not introducing myself to Colonel Hubert's family, or himself either, in lodgings. Write to your kind friends, my dear; tell them that your old aunt Compton has left her retirement to take care of you, and tell them also that she feels as she ought to do.... But, no; you write your own feelings, and I will write mine.... But this must be to-morrow, Agnes; ... it is past twelve o'clock, love. See! that gay thing on the chimney-piece attests it.... I must shew you to your room, my guest; hereafter I shall be yours, perhaps."
Peggy being summoned, the two ladies were lighted to the rooms above.... These were in a style of great comfort, and even elegance; but one being somewhat larger than the other, and furnished with a dressing-room, it was in this that Agnes found her trunk and book-box; and it was here that, after seeing that her fire burned brightly, and that Peggy was standing ready to assist in undressing her, the happy Miss Compton embraced, blessed, and left her to repose.
It was a long time, however, before Agnes would believe that anything like sleep could visit her eyes that night. What a change, what an almost incredible transition, had she passed through since her last sleep! It was more like the operation of a magician's wand than the consequence of human events. From being a reprobated outcast, banished from the roof that sheltered her, she had become the sole object of love and care to one who seemed to have it in her power to make life a paradise to her. How many blissful visions floated through her brain before all blended together in one general consciousness of happy security, that at last lulled her to delicious sleep! She was hardly less sensible than her somewhat proud aunt of the pleasure which a reunion with her Cheltenham friends, under circumstances, so changed, would bring; and her dreams were of receiving Lady Elizabeth Norris and her niece in a beautiful palace on the shores of a lovely lake, while Colonel Hubert stood smiling by to watch the meeting.