“Fear not, my darling Agnes,” replied the mother: “I shall be as anxious to embrace you to-morrow as you possibly can be to see me.”
While this conversation was in progress between the two ladles in the hackney-coach, the sun had set—twilight had become absorbed in the shades of night—but the vehicle was now proceeding along the Blackfriars-road, which was brilliant with the gas-lamps stretching away in two approximating lines, and ultimately becoming confounded together on the arching bridge in the distance.
At length the hackney-coach passed out of the Blackfriars-road into Stamford-street; and Agnes, looking from the left-hand window, saw that the three first houses on that side of the way, towards which her eyes were turned, were in a condition so ruinous and dismantled as to strike a chill to her susceptible heart. But the unpleasant sensation almost instantly vanished, when the coach drew up at the door of a house in excellent repair, and presenting, in outward appearance, a remarkable contrast to those dilapidated buildings.
Here Agnes and her mother alighted; and the young maiden no longer thought of the sinister-looking ruins adjoining, when she found herself in a comfortable parlour, where both herself and parent received a cordial welcome from two elderly ladies whose benevolent countenances, agreeable manners, and kind speech were calculated to inspire confidence at once.
The name of these maiden sisters was Theobald; and they were indeed possessed of excellent dispositions and endowed with the most amiable qualities. The moment that Agnes’ mother entered the room, they rose to embrace her with the warmth of an unfeigned friendship; and even before the young maiden was introduced to them, they exclaimed, as if suddenly struck by the same sentiment, “Ah! this is the dear girl whom you have so long pined to recover? We need not wait to be told that she is your daughter: the likeness between you proclaims the fact!”
And then they embraced Agnes in her turn.
The young lady’s mother drew the elder Miss Theobald aside, and said, “I propose to leave my beloved child with you for this night. Circumstances compel me to return home without delay. I have decided upon taking your beautiful little villa at Bayswater, and shall remove all my furniture thither the first thing in the morning. It is fortunate that the sweet dwelling should have been thus in want of a tenant at this moment.”
“I am delighted for your sake, my dear friend,” responded Miss Theobald, “that the villa is unoccupied. We will send one of our servants at day-break to make all the necessary preparations for your reception. Oh! how sincerely—how deeply do I congratulate you upon having recovered your long-lost daughter!” added the kind-hearted woman, in a tone of profound feeling.
“It is indeed a source of indescribable solace to my wounded spirit, as you, my dear friend, may well conceive—for you are acquainted with the principal events of my chequered existence. But I must now depart: it is growing late—and ere I seek my couch this night, I shall have arranged everything for my removal to Bayswater to-morrow.”
With these words the lady turned towards Agnes, saying, “My dearest child, I leave you in the care of these excellent friends, whom it is only necessary to know in order to love.”