"It is very difficult to surprise me with anything," said Harrington, drawing nearer to the door, through which he saw glimpses of orange-colored drapery disappearing into an inner room.
"You must not say that, for I had expected some surprise at the view from this particular point," she answered, evidently wishing to detain him on the door step.
"Yes, it is very fine; but you will find the wind rather keen. Allow me."
Harrington pushed the door wide open, and Agnes was obliged to pa.s.s into the apartment beyond. She seemed relieved to find it empty, and when her guest looked toward the opposite door, observed; "I am in disgrace, you see, mammy has shut herself up."
"And yet I have some desire to see her, if it were only to excuse the fright we gave her last night, by allowing you to enter without knocking."
"Oh, she did not mind it in the least. It was nothing, I a.s.sure you."
"Still I would like to speak with her."
Agnes grew pale about the lips, a sign of emotion that did not escape her guest; but it pa.s.sed off in an instant, and she was slowly approaching the inner door, when it opened, and the object of their conversation presented herself.
CHAPTER XVII.
THAT WOMAN.
Harrington was, indeed, surprised when he saw this woman. She was evidently ten years older than she had appeared at a distance, and, though that seemed an impossibility, darker too. The Madras kerchief certainly had been refolded since her return to the house, for it came low upon the forehead, and the hair visible beneath it was thickly scattered with white. She stooped somewhat, and her gait was slow, almost shuffling. Not a vestige of the imperious air that had rendered her so picturesque a few minutes before, remained. She appeared before him simply as a common-place light mulatto of rather more than middle age, who might have been an upper house servant in her day, but nothing more. On closer inspection, even the orange-tinted shawl was soiled and held around her person in a slovenly manner, as rich cast-off garments usually are by the servants who inherit them.
At first, Harrington would not believe that this was the same woman whose appearance had made so deep an impression on him, for a heavy sort of sluggishness, both of thought and feeling, lay on her features, while those that had aroused his attention so keenly, were active and full of intelligence. The woman did not sit down, but stood by the open door, looking stupidly at Agnes Barker, as if waiting for some command.
"Well, Miss Agnes, I"se here, what does the master please to want?"
It was rather difficult for James Harrington, self-possessed as he was, to answer that question. The woman had taken him by surprise. Her appearance was so completely that of a common-place servant, that he was silenced by the very surprise she had given him. But for her dress, he would not have believed in her ident.i.ty with the person he had seen in the open air, and that was worn with a slovenliness altogether unlike the ease remarkable in the person whom she represented, without conveying an impression of absolute ident.i.ty.
Harrington had spent his early life in the South, and was at no loss to comprehend the peculiar cla.s.s to which this woman belonged. He answered her quietly, but still with suspicion:
"Nothing, aunty, except that you will oblige me with a gla.s.s of water."
The woman shuffled across the room, and brought him some water, which she placed scrupulously on a plate, by way of waiter, before presenting it. Her air--the loose, indolent gait, like that of a leopard moving sleepily around its lair--convinced him that she had been nothing more than a common household slave, out of place in her cold, and almost poverty-stricken northern home. He drank the water she gave him, and handing back the gla.s.s, inquired if she did not feel lonely and chilled by the cold climate?
"I"se allus warm and comfortable where dat ere chile is," said the woman, looking at Agnes, "any place "pears like home when she"s by, and I "xpect she feels like dat where old aunty is, if she is poor."
"She is happy in having one faithful friend," answered Harrington, more and more satisfied that the woman was simply what she seemed.
A strange smile quivered for a moment around Agnes Barker"s lip, but as Harrington turned his glance that way, it subsided into a look of gentle humility.
"You will inform the ladies that I shall return to-night. It proved a chilly day for sketching, and finding myself nearer my own home than the mansion-house, I stole a few moments for poor, old, lonesome mammy here."
Harrington had arisen as she commenced speaking, and with a grave bend of the head, promised to convey her message.
The two women watched him as he crossed the rude garden, and mounted his horse; then drawing hurriedly back into the house, they closed the door.
"What could have brought him here? Did she send him?" inquired the slave-woman anxiously, and all at once a.s.suming the haughty air natural to her, while a keen intelligence came to her features.
"No," answered Agnes, "she is ill in bed; I am sure she has not seen him this morning. It must have been accident that brought him in this direction."
The slave-woman looked searchingly in the girl"s face.
"Did he know that you came this way?"
"That is impossible."
"It should not be impossible. You have been months in his house, Agnes--I did not expect so little progress."
Agnes was annoyed, and put aside the subject with an impatient gesture.
"What have you been doing, girl?" persisted the woman, "remember your own destiny is in this more than mine."
"But why select this man, so difficult of access, so unattainable?"
"Because he has wealth and power."
"There is some other reason, mammy. Let me know it!"
"Well, know it, then--I believe that woman loves him--I know that she loved him once."
"I know that she loves him _yet_," said Agnes, with a sinister smile.
"For I witnessed a scene last night, when she came to after they had dragged her from the water, which settled that in my mind; but what do you care for that? How will it help us?"
"What do I care for that--I--I--what does the hungry man care for food, or the thirsty one for water? What do I care, child? Listen: I hate that woman--from my soul I hate her!"
"Then it was hatred of her, not love for me, that brought us here!"
"It was both, Agnes--do not doubt it. When I avenge the wrongs of my life on her, you must be a gainer."
"I do not understand you."
"It is not necessary; obey me, that is enough."
"But how has Mrs. Harrington wronged you?"
"How has she wronged me, Agnes! Be quiet, I am not to be questioned in this way."
"But, I am no longer a child to be used blindly. You have objects which I do not comprehend--motives which are so rigidly concealed that I, who am to help work them out, grope constantly in the dark. I am told to listen, watch, work, even steal, and am left ignorant of the end to be accomplished."
"Have I not told you that it is your marriage with Mr. James Harrington, the real owner of all the property which his father is supposed to possess? Am I not working to make you the richest lady of the North, the wife of a man whom all other men hold in reverence; and in this am I not securing the dearest and sweetest vengeance that mortal ever tasted?"
"But I do not think Mr. Harrington cares for me, or ever will."
"What have you been doing, then?" cried the woman fiercely. "You have beauty, or, if not that, something far more powerful--that subtle magnetism which all men feel a thousand times more forcibly, deep knowledge; for have I not taught you what human hearts are worth, and how to dissect them, leaf by leaf? You have coolness, self-control, and pa.s.sion when it is wanted. Have I not trained you from the cradle for this one object, and dare you talk of its failure?"
"Mammy, let us understand each other. Cannot we accomplish the same thing, and both be gratified? I do not love Mr. James Harrington, but there is one of the name that I do love, heart and soul."