Lewie Part 21

When Mr. Wharton called, he was admitted to the Governor; and the two former friends, after a cordial greeting, were closeted together for a long time. He confirmed all that Agnes said of her brother, and a.s.sured the Governor that it was the opinion of physicians that he could not recover, and might not last a month. He spoke long and feelingly of the devotion of Agnes to her brother, in attendance upon whom, in his loneliness and imprisonment, she had worn out health and strength.

The eyes of the Governor now glistened with emotion as he said, "Well, well, I hope I shall not be doing wrong. At what time do you leave in the morning, Mr. Wharton?"

"In the very first train. Agnes cannot be longer from her brother's bedside."

"Can you bring her here for one moment before you leave?"

"Certainly."

"Well, then, tell her to lie down to-night, and sleep in peace; and may Heaven bless a sister so devoted, and a friend so true."

The Governor was not so well when Mr. Wharton and Agnes called the next morning; but Ruth. appeared, her face radiant with joy, and, throwing her arms around Agnes' neck, she put into her hand a _sealed paper_.

XX.

Twice Free.

"Oh liberty!

Thou choicest gift of Heaven, and wanting which Life is as nothing."--KNOWLES.

Oh! the suns.h.i.+ne, and the glad earth, and the singing of the birds of early spring, to the prisoner, sick, and worn, and weary! How the feeble pulse already begins to throb with pleasure, and life which had seemed so valueless before, looks lovely and much to be desired now.

The official announcement of the pardon reached Hillsdale almost as soon as Agnes herself, and the friends of the young prisoner lost no time in removing him as gently and as comfortably as possible, to his uncle's kind home at Brook Farm. Here nothing was left undone by his devoted friends to soothe his declining days; and with a heart overflowing with grat.i.tude and love, Lewie sank quietly towards the grave.

He was very gentle now, and the change in him was so great, that his sister doubted not that repentance and faith had done their work. His own doubts and fears were many, though sometimes a glimmering of hope would beam through the clouds which seemed to have gathered about him.

One day, after a long conversation with Agnes upon the love and mercy of G.o.d, he said:

"Well Agnes, it may be, there is hope for me too; I know He is all-powerful and all-merciful; why, as you say, should not his mercy extend even to me?"

"He is _able_ and _willing_ to save unto the uttermost," said Agnes.

"Unto--the--uttermost! Unto--the--uttermost!" repeated the sick youth slowly; then looking up with his beautiful eye beaming with expression;--

"Yes, Agnes," said he, "I will trust him!"

Day by day he grew weaker, and at times his sufferings were intense; but such a wonderful patience and calmness possessed him, and he seemed so to forget self in his thought for others, that Mrs. Wharton said, in speaking of him:

"I never so fully realized the import of the words '_a new creature_.'

Who would think that this could be our impetuous, thoughtless Lewie, of former times."

"You must make some allowance for the languor of sickness, my dear,"

said Mr. Wharton, who of course did not see so much of the invalid as those who had the immediate charge of him.

"Weakness, I grant, would make him less impetuous and violent," answered his wife, "but would it make him patient, and docile, and considerate, if there were not some radical change in his feelings and temper?"

During the last few days of his life, and when the flickering flame was hourly expected to die out, his uncle saw more of him, and he, too, became convinced of the change in Lewie, and was certain that for him to die would be gam. And at last, with words of prayer upon his lips and a whisper of his sister's name, he sank away as gently as an infant drops asleep.

"How like he looks," said old Mammy, with the tears streaming down her withered cheeks, "how like he looks, with the bonny curls lying round his forehead, to what he did the day he lay like death at the Hemlock's, when he was only two years old."

Mrs. Wharton's mind immediately reverted to the scene, and to that young mother's prayer of agony, "Oh, for his life! his life!" and as she thought over the events of that short life of sin and sorrow, she said within herself, "Oh! who can tell what to choose for his portion! Thou Lord, who knowest the end from the beginning, choose Thou our changes for us, and help us in the darkest hour to say, 'Thy will be done.'"

And in the quiet spot where the willow bends, and the brook murmurs, by the side of his mother, and near the grave of Rhoda Edwards, rest the remains of _Lewie_.

It is strange how much a human heart may suffer and yet beat on and regain tranquillity, and even cheerfulness at last. It is a most merciful provision of Providence, that our griefs do not always press upon us as heavily as they do at first, else how could the burden of this life of change and sorrow be borne. But the loved ones are not forgotten when the tear is dried and the smile returns to the cheek; they are remembered, but with less of sadness and gloom in the remembrance; and at length, if we can think of them as happy, it is only a pleasure to recall them to mind.

So Agnes found it, as after a few months of rest and quiet in her uncle's happy home, the gloom of her sorrow began to fade away, the color returned to her cheek, and she began to be like the Agnes of former times. And now that health and energy had returned, she began to long for employment again, and though she knew it would cost a great struggle to leave her dear friends at Brook Farm, she began to urge them all to be on the watch for a situation for her as governess or teacher.

At length, one day, some months after her brother's death, Mr. Wharton entered the room where she was sitting, and said:

"Agnes, there is a gentleman down stairs, who would like to engage you to superintend the education of his children."

If Agnes had looked closely at her uncle's face, she would have observed a very peculiar expression there; but only laying aside her work, she said:

"Please say to him, uncle, that I will come down in one moment."

With a quiet step and an unpalpitating heart, Agnes opened the parlor door, and found herself alone with--Mr. Harrington!

And here we will end our short chapter, though enough was said that morning to make it a very long one, as it certainly was an eventful one in the history of Agnes.

XXI

The Winding Up or the Turning Point, whichever the Reader likes Best.

"Still at thy father's board There is kept a place for thee And by thy smile restored, Joy round the hearth shall be."--MRS. HEMANS.

"He will not blush that has a father's heart, To take in childish plays a childish part, But bends his st.u.r.dy back to any toy That youth takes pleasure in, to please his boy."--Cowper

"What do you think, Calista?--what _do_ you think?" asked Miss Evelina Fairland of her sister, about two years after she had asked these same questions before. "There are masons, and carpenters, and painters, and paperers, and gardeners, at work at the old Rookery; a perfect army of laborers have been sent down from the city. What can it mean?"

"I cannot imagine, I am sure," answered Miss Calista, "unless Mr.

Harrington is really going to settle down, and look out for a wife at last." And Miss Calista looked in the gla.s.s over her sister's shoulder, and both faces looked more faded and considerably older than when we saw them last.

"Do you know," said Miss Evelina, "that I really believe Agnes Elwyn thought the man was in love with _her_?"

"Absurd!" exclaimed Miss Calista. "Besides, if he ever had entertained such a thought, he would not, of course, think of anything of the kind since that affair of her brother's. Such a disgrace, you know!"

The appearance of the old Rookery changed so rapidly, that it seemed almost as if the fairies had been at work; and in a few weeks, glimpses of a fair and elegant mansion, with its pretty piazzas and porticos, could be seen between the n.o.ble oaks which surrounded the mansion. And now Miss Calista and Evelina, who kept themselves informed of all that was going on at the Rookery, reported that "the _most magnificent_ furniture" had come, and the curtains and pictures were being hung, and it was certain that the owner of the place would be there soon.

At length a travelling carriage, in which was seated Mr. Harrington, with a lady by his side, and two little girls in front, was seen by these indefatigable ladies to drive rapidly through the street, and out towards the Rookery. The lady was in mourning, and her veil was down.

Who could she be?