“I know not what had occurred between you and him, Agnes, but this I know, he had failed in some diabolical plot he had contemplated. Chance or a friendly Providence had thwarted his purpose. I had him in my power, and compelled him to leave the house, not to return until you have been removed where he will never find you.
“I cannot leave my beautiful bird, my pet dove, where the charms of this wily serpent may ensnare her.”
He ceased. My eyes were dry, my heart turned to stone. I arose, and mechanically moved toward the door.
“Where are you going, Agnes? Tell me of your plans; regard me as your friend, I beg.”
“Take me away—take me away,” I cried hysterically; “I must go! Oh, oh, oh!” I should have fallen, but he caught me in his arms.
CHAPTER VIII.
On reviving came the dread feeling that I must go. Go whither? I had no home. I could not return to my uncle who had cast me adrift. The inquisitive glance of his grim housekeeper would annihilate me. But go I must, and that speedily.
With weary head and aching heart I commenced packing my little wardrobe. My bridal attire I hastily covered from sight that it might remain until time and mildew should obliterate it. My dream of love was past. I felt that my youth and beauty were buried in that crushed pile of broken flowers, pale silk, and dishevelled lace.
I had concluded my work, and was tying my bonnet-strings, when a knock at the door announced Mr. Bristed. He appeared surprised at seeing me arranged for my journey.
“So soon, Agnes?” said he. “You are not yet able to leave.”