“I don’t envy him his visitant,” said Cousin George. “Mermaids are cold creatures, I doubt if they have hearts.”
Frank tried hard to enjoy the party at Beverly Hall, but his thoughts would wander to the cottage, and the afternoon found him again by the side of Agnes.
Some part of every day at length saw him at the cottage; the little Nina learned to welcome him with a wild cry of delight.
He always found some good excuse for going. Agnes was to sing him some new song, from some new opera—or he had promised Nina a ride on his pony—or he had not finished a discussion with the father upon some political question.
Agnes had said right when she told Frank he would like her husband: he did like him, and the husband liked Frank, and was as glad to see him as was either Agnes or Nina.
Little did the husband and wife dream of the chain fastened and tightening around his heart—gnawing to that very heart’s core. He was in a dream—a nightmare. He would have given worlds to have been able to keep away from the cottage, from seeing Agnes, but the more he resisted the fascination the less could he overcome it, and the more often did he find himself at the cottage.
Agnes had too pure a heart, and loved her husband too entirely, to dream even that Frank had other feelings for her than those of friendship. The husband was unsuspecting—he knew not, could not know, how all in all his bright Agnes was to the heart of Frank.
The husband and wife loved each other so truly there was no room for doubt in the heart of either.
The winter months had nearly passed. Each day the little fairy Nina grew more interesting and lovely: and then she loved Frank so—he must go and see her. The pretty Nina.
“How remarkably fond your brother seems of solitary rambles,” said Miss Linwood to Clara one day.