“What did she tell you, my love?” inquired Mr. Vernon.
Agnes forthwith related, in her own natural, simple, yet agreeable manner, the entire conversation which had passed between herself and Mrs. Mortimer.
Her father listened with earnest attention; and for some minutes after she had ceased speaking, he remained absorbed in deep thought.
“You are not pleased with the incident of this evening,” said Agnes, at length, and speaking in a timid voice, as she gazed with anxious fondness on her parent’s pensive countenance.
“Once more I assure you, my well-beloved child,” he responded, “that I am not angry with you. But you will, perhaps, be somewhat surprised to hear me declare that I do not believe one syllable of all the old woman told you. In the great world, Agnes, there is no such thing as that sentimentalism and sympathy which she professed to be the motives that led her to visit the cottage ere now. I detected her in two falsehoods—and I have every reason to suspect all the rest.”
“But was it not natural, dear papa, for her to be desirous to behold once more the scene where she had passed many happy days with her deceased husband?” inquired Agnes. “Oh! I can well understand such a feeling—and I therefore honoured and respected her for entertaining it.”
“Yes—there are a few generous hearts that would experience such sentiments,” observed Mr. Vernon; “for perhaps I was too hasty ere now in the sweeping condemnation which I levelled at what I termed the great world. At the same time, Agnes, you must not judge the world by your own pure and unsophisticated soul. And would to God that experience might never be destined to teach you other lessons than those which seclusion and good training have already inculcated: would to God that you might never be compelled to look upon the dark side of human affairs!”
“Have I other lessons to learn—other teachings to undergo—other experience to acquire, beyond what I already know?” asked the ingenuous and candid Agnes.
“Alas! yes—and in a variety of ways,” responded her father, with a sigh. “You have as yet seen only one phase of the world—that of tranquillity, serene happiness, and peace. You have not even heard the storms of that world in the distance. Hitherto your life has been passed under the most genial influences; and you know nothing—absolutely nothing, of what may be termed life. Again I say, therefore, how deeply—how earnestly it is to be wished that your mind may never become acquainted with the bitter teachings of vicissitude or misfortune.”
“I am already well aware, my dear father, from my historical studies and from the perusal of the books which you have selected for me, that mankind pursues many and varied conflicting interests, and that gain is the chief object thus sought after, But I am still at a loss,” continued the beautiful Agnes, “to understand how people can be wicked enough to injure others who have never injured them, and when the infliction of such injury can confer no benefit upon the individual who is guilty of such flagrant wrong. Suppose, for instance, that this Mrs. Mortimer who was here just now, should in reality entertain some evil design towards me, how could she possibly acquire any personal advantage from the pursuit of such conduct?”