“I am bewildered when I think of all that!” returned Miss Vernon, in a mournful tone. “It was last evening that she came to me—that she sought me out in my retirement—that she announced herself as my parent; and my heart’s feelings gave me the assurance that she was indeed what she represented herself to be. Then I agreed to accompany her—for she told me that she was unhappy, and she claimed my love and my duty as a daughter. Oh! my dear madam, you can doubtless understand how joyous—how delightful were my emotions on thus encountering a mother whom I had never known till then! I only thought of giving way to those delicious feelings—until I found myself left in the charge of strangers. Then it was that I grew afraid—that vague and undefinable apprehensions took possession of my soul—that I became suspicions of all and everything—and that I fled! Foolish, mistaken creature that I was! That one false step of mine threw me into the hands of a monster, who would perhaps have killed me had you not rescued me from his power.”
Agnes paused, and arranged her hair—her dark, luxuriant, glossy hair—floating so wildly and yet so beauteously in its dishevelled state, over her shoulders;—and now, as the tint of the rose had returned to her cheeks, and her eyes had recovered their witching softness of expression, she appeared transcendantly lovely to the view of the old woman, whom the moon-light enabled to survey the charming creature seated opposite to her.
Suddenly the vehicle stopped;—and Agnes, hastily looking from the windows, beheld a row of handsome houses on one side, and an enclosure of verdant shrubs and plants on the other.
“This is not Stamford Street, madam,” she said to Mrs. Mortimer.
“No, my dear child,” was the almost whispered reply: “but it is a place of safety to which I have brought you. Do you imagine that I, who have saved your life this night, could intend you any harm? Wherefore be thus ever suspicious respecting your best friends?”
These words not only reassured Agnes, but made her blush at what she deemed to be her ingratitude towards her deliverer;—and, pressing the old woman’s hand fervently, she murmured, “Forgive me, I implore you!”
“Think no more of it, my love,” said Mrs. Mortimer, as she alighted from the vehicle: then, turning towards the maiden, she added, “Remain in your place for a few minutes until I have aroused the people of the house: the chill air of the early morning will give you cold, lightly clad as you are.”
Agnes signified an assent; and the old woman hastened up to the front door of the house at which they had stopped. She knocked and rang: but some time elapsed ere the summons was answered. At length a domestic, who had huddled on some clothing, made his appearance; and, to Mrs. Mortimer’s query whether his master were at home, an affirmative reply was given.
“Then hesitate not to arouse him—for I have called upon a matter of great importance to his lordship,” said the old woman.
“Certainly I will do so, madam,” returned the domestic; “since you assure me that your business is pressing. But will you not walk in and await his lordship’s readiness to receive you?”