On her way up the hill, she paused, and flinging her shawl on the ground, sat down. Opening the vellum-bound book, she read a few sentences in it, with a greedy desire to know the most important portion of its contents, before resigning it into hands that might hereafter deprive her of all knowledge regarding them. But the winds shook and rustled the pages about, till she was obliged to desist, and at last made her way up the hill in a flushed and excited state, leaving her shawl behind.
The moment she rose to a level with the house, the door opened, and the woman whom she claimed as a slave nurse, came forth, advancing towards Agnes with almost ferocious eagerness. She called out:
"Back again so soon! Then there is news."
"Look here," answered Agnes, holding up the volume, from which the jewelled heart still dangled, cleft in twain as it was. "In less than an hour after entering the house I had it safe. Isn"t that quick work?"
"Give it to me--give it to me. You are a good girl, Agnes, a n.o.ble girl, worth a hundred of your lily-faced white folks. Give me the book, honey--do you hear?"
But Agnes, who had again opened the volume, held it back.
"Not yet, mammy--I have only read a little--don"t be too eager--I have a right to know all that is in it!"
"Give me that book. Her secrets belong to me--only to me. Hand over the book, I say!"
"But I wish to read it, myself--who has a better right?"
The dark eyes of the slave flashed fire, and her hands quivered like the wings of a bird when its prey is in sight. She clutched fiercely at the book, hissing out her impatience like a serpent.
"Take it!" exclaimed Agnes fiercely, "but don"t expect me to steal for you again."
"Hist!" answered the woman, crushing the book under her arm; "here comes one of the Harringtons on horseback. Clear that face and be ready to meet him, while I go in and hide Mabel Harrington"s soul!"
CHAPTER XVI.
JAMES HARRINGTON"S RIDE.
James Harrington left the breakfast-table with a restless desire to be alone in the free air. He had not slept during the night, but spent the silent hours in thought, which filled both his heart and brain with excitement. The deep tenderness of his nature warred terribly against its strong moral force, but only as the quick tempests of summer hurled against a rock, beat down all the beautiful wild blossoms and moss upon its surface, but leave it immovable as ever.
As he went forth from his room, Ralph pa.s.sed him, looking restless and anxious.
"Brother James! Brother James!" he said, "I wish to speak with you very much, but not now. I have no heart to say anything just yet!"
James smiled, very gravely, but with a look of gentle patience, that told how completely his strong pa.s.sions were held in control. Few men in his excited state would have proved so thoughtful of others; for he had no idea that Ralph had any more important subject to consult him about, than some shooting excursion in the hills, or a horse-back ride with Lina.
"I am going out for an hour or two," he said; "I have been suffering with headache all night. The air seems close to me in-doors. After I come back, will that be time enough, Ralph?"
"I don"t know. Yes, of course it will--there is no hurry," answered the impetuous boy, "only I"m so vexed and troubled just now."
"Well, come up to my room. It does not matter much if I go or not--this miserable headache will not probably be driven away."
"No, I can wait. You ought to ride out. How pale you are! Why, your face is quite changed! Indeed, brother James, I will not speak another word till you get back. I wonder what has come over us all this morning. Poor mother ill--the General out of sorts--you with a headache, and I, yes, I may as well own up--I have got something so near heart-sickness here, that--but never mind--I"ll shake it off, or know the reason why. But one word, James, did you ever think my mother an illiberal woman?"
"Illiberal, Ralph? Your mother!"
"Well, I mean this. Is she a woman to reject beauty and worth, and everything estimable, because--" James Harrington cut the question short by laying a hand on his brother"s shoulder somewhat heavily.
"Your mother, Ralph, is a woman so much above question in all her actions and motives, that even these half-doubts in her son are sacrilegious."
The color rushed up to Ralph"s forehead. First he had lost confidence in Lina--now, in his mother.
"If you have a doubt of your mother, speak it to her," said James more gently, as he drew on his riding gloves. "After that, I will talk with you!"
"I wonder what has come over me--James is offended; I never saw him so grave before," muttered Ralph, as his brother moved down the hall.
"Everything goes wrong. Even Fair-Star started, as if she would spring at me, when I looked in to see if my mother was up. I will put an end to this!"
Thus half-pa.s.sionately, half in thought, he went in search of Lina.
James Harrington mounted his horse and rode away. He wanted the clear air and freedom of expanse, motion, anything that would distract his thoughts, and bring back the self-control that had almost departed from him. He rode at random along the highway leading to the city, down cross roads and by the sh.o.r.e, sometimes at a sharp gallop, sometimes giving his well-trained horse the head, till both steed and rider flashed like an arrow between the stooping branches.
In this wild way he rode, unconscious of his course, and without any absolute object, save free air and that rapid motion which harmonizes so well with turbulent feelings. The horse took his own way up hill, along sh.o.r.e, up hill again, till all at once he came out on a green shelf in the hills, upon which a single dwelling stood.
He drew up his horse suddenly, for there a little way from the house and some distance before him, stood two women in eager conversation. One had her back toward him, but her left hand was in sight, and in it was an open book, with its leaves fluttering in the wind. The air and dress of this person reminded him so forcibly of Lina"s governess, that he remained a moment looking earnestly that way; not that her presence on the hill would have been particularly remarkable, for on glancing around he recognized by its position, that her nurse"s house must be in that neighborhood. But that very morning he had seen the governess pa.s.sing toward Mrs. Harrington"s room, and her appearance in both these places so nearly at the same time, aroused his curiosity, not to say suspicion.
The object that struck him most forcibly was the female with whom she seemed to be conversing. The stately person, the picturesque costume, composed entirely of rich warm colors, the eager expression of features that must once have been eminently handsome--above all, the air of almost ferocious authority, with which she was speaking, struck him as strangely out of place in that solitary spot. Beyond this, he felt a vague impression, impalpable and formless, of some connection between that woman and former events of his own life. It might have been her dress so foreign to the place, or her humble mode of life. The Madras kerchief, folded in a turban over the black hair falling down each side of her face in the heaviest waves of rippling jet, and the ma.s.sive earrings that gleamed beneath, were in themselves calculated to awake remembrances of an early youth spent in the South, where this picturesque costume was common among the slaves; but the woman"s face fascinated his gaze more than her general appearance. Some recollection too vague for embodiment, arose on his brain so powerfully, that he was unconscious of the time thus spent in gazing upon her.
At last the woman gave a quick glance toward him, and darting forward, s.n.a.t.c.hed at the book in her companion"s hand, talking rapidly.
There was some resistance--an attempt to ward her off--but the book was at last yielded to her impetuosity. He saw it, gathered up under the woman"s arm, concealed by the folds of an orange-colored scarf, overrun with a pattern of many gorgeous colors, which she wore, and carried into the house.
Then the person whose back had been toward him, turned and looked that way. It was Agnes Barker. She saw him, evidently without much surprise, and turning, rather leisurely walked that way, as if it had been the most natural thing in the world to meet him there.
"Oh, Mr. Harrington," she said, coming close to his horse, picking the burs from her dress as she moved along, "can it be possible that you have only reached this point now? I left home half an hour after you rode away--on foot, too, and am here before you."
Harrington did not answer, except with a grave bow, but looked at her searchingly from head to foot.
"Yes," she continued, dragging her veil forward, "I found a rough walk after the storm, everything is so wet and gloomy. The only dry spot upon the sh.o.r.e was around the old cedar, where we had that rather interesting scene last night."
A quiet smile stole over Harrington"s lip. "Indeed," he said, "I must have ridden at a snail"s pace, to let you reach this spot before me--especially if the entire walk was beguiled by the book I just saw you surrender!"
A faint flush stole over Agnes Barker"s forehead, and for an instant her eyes fell; then she looked up again with the pretty deprecating glance of one who had been caught in a meritorious act, which her modesty disclaimed.
"Oh, you must not think me quite insane, Mr. Harrington, if I did bring out my sketch-book, in hopes of stealing some of the beautiful autumn tints from these ma.s.ses of foliage. My good nurse has just been scolding me for sitting on the damp ground, forgetting my shawl behind, and all that. As a punishment, she has carried off my poor book, and threatens to burn it. I have been very imprudent, and very indecorous, you will say," she added, glancing at her dress, with a faint laugh, "but, no doubt my caprice is sufficiently punished by this time; for, if that access of smoke means anything, my poor sketch-book is ashes now."
She spoke a little rapidly, as one does in a fever, but otherwise her manner was the perfection of modest innocence. Indeed, there was no appearance of confusion, which the derangement of her dress was not quite sufficient to account for.
"Well, you come in and rest a while?" she said at last, casting a soft glance upward from her dress. "My good mammy may not be prepared for such company, but she will make you welcome."
"Yes," said Harrington, struck by a sudden wish to see more of the woman who had interested him so much, "I will go in, thank you!"
She turned, as if to precede him, but throwing his bridle over a sapling, he walked rapidly forward, and overtook her just before she entered the house. The door was partly open. Agnes turned upon the threshold.
"I know that my poor book is burned, without asking," she said, in a voice much louder than usual. "You have no idea, Mr. Harrington, how careful nurse is of my health. Do not be surprised if she is very angry with me!"