Her eyes were bent upon the volume which she held in her delicate, white hands; and her little feet moved slowly along the gravel-walk—for she was absorbed in the perusal of the book. She had not fastened the white ribbons of the straw-bonnet that she had evidently put on with a hasty negligence; and those ribbons were thrown back over her shoulders, thus allowing a shower of raven curls to descend on each side of the fair face down to the bosom of her dress.
Around that charming creature streamed the flood of sun-light, making her tresses, dark though they were, glitter like hyperions, and imparting a dazzling whiteness to her drapery, which appeared in strong relief amidst the luxuriant green of the trees and shrubs.
Mrs. Mortimer was rejoiced when she beheld the young lady in the garden—still more rejoiced when she observed that Agnes was approaching that part of the hedge behind which the harridan was concealed.
Several minutes however elapsed before the beauteous creature was sufficiently nigh for Mrs. Mortimer to address her; because she not only advanced slowly, but stopped two or three times when she met with a passage of more than ordinary interest in the work she was reading. It was the novel of “Ivanhoe” that thus rivetted her attention; and she was in the midst of the exalting scene of the combat between Brian de Bois-Gilbert and Wilfred of Ivanhoe.
Suddenly she was startled by hearing her name mentioned;—and she glanced around almost in affright—but no one met her view.
“Miss Vernon—dear Miss Vernon,” repeated the voice: “approach nearer to the hedge—’tis a friend who thus addresses you.”
The maiden instantly recognised the peculiar tones of the old woman who had called upon her nearly a week previously; and, without giving any response, she stood undecided how to act.
“Pray do not refuse to hear me—pray do not go away, Miss Vernon,” resumed Mrs. Mortimer, whose form the young lady could now distinguish through the hedge. “I have something of importance to communicate—and not for worlds would I injure a hair of your head.”
“But I promised my father not to hold discourse with any one who came not with a letter from him,” said Agnes, at length breaking silence: “and moreover,” she added, with some degree of hesitation, “I am afraid that you do not mean any good towards me.”
“Alas! Miss Vernon, can you entertain such cruel suspicions regarding me?” cried Mrs. Mortimer, as if deeply afflicted at the mistrust implied in the maiden’s words. “Of what benefit would it be for me to injure you? or, indeed, how could I possibly injure you?”