The Father and Daughter 10

The Father and Daughter 10

The keeper now told her it was time for her to depart; and she

mournfully arose: but, first seizing her father's hand, she leaned for a

moment her head on his arm; then, bidding God bless him, walked to the

door with the keeper. But on seeing her about to leave him, Fitzhenry

ran after her, as fast as his heavy irons would let him, wildly

exclaiming, "You shall not go--you shall not go."

 

Agnes, overjoyed at this evident proof of the pleasure her presence gave

him, looked at the keeper for permission to stay; but as he told her it

would be against the rules, she thought it more prudent to submit; and

before Fitzhenry could catch hold of her in order to detain her by

force, she ran through the house, and the grated door was closed on her.

 

"And this," said Agnes to herself, turning round to survey the

melancholy mansion which she had left, while mingled sounds of groans,

shrieks, shouts, laughter, and the clanking of irons, burst upon her

ears, "this is the abode of my father! and provided for him by

me!--This is the recompense bestowed on him by the daughter whom he

loved and trusted, in return for years of unparalleled fondness and

indulgence!"

 

The idea was too horrible; and Agnes, calling up all the energy of her

mind, remembered the uselessness of regret for the past, but thought

with pleasure on the advantages of amendment for the present and the

future: and by the time she reached Fanny's door, her mind had recovered

its sad composure.

 

Her countenance, at her return, was very different to what it had been

at her departure. Hope animated her sunk eye, and she seemed full of

joyful though distant expectations: nay, so much was she absorbed in

pleasing anticipations, that she feebly returned the caresses of her

child, who climbed up her knees to express his joy at seeing her; and

even while she kissed his ruddy cheek, her eye looked beyond it with the

open gaze of absence.

 

"I have seen him again," she cried, turning to Fanny; "and he almost

knew me! He will know me entirely, in time; and next, he will know every

thing; and then I shall be happy!"

 

Fanny, to whom Agnes had given no clue to enable her to understand this

language, was alarmed for her intellects, till she explained her plans

and her hopes; which Fanny, though she could not share in them, was too

humane to discourage.

 

"But now," continued Agnes, "let us consult on my future means of

gaining a livelihood;" and finding that Fanny, besides keeping a

day-school, took in shawl-work, a considerable shawl manufacture being

carried on in the town, it was settled that she would procure the same

employment for Agnes; and that a small back room in Fanny's little

dwelling should be fitted up for her use.

 

In the mean while the governors of the bedlam had returned to their

respective habitations, with feelings towards Agnes very different to

those with which they had assembled. But too prudent to make even a

penitent sinner the subject of praise in their own families, they gave

short, evasive answers to the inquiries that were made there.

 

Mr. Seymour, on the contrary, thought it his duty to relieve the

generous and affectionate heart of his daughter, by a minute detail of

what had passed at the meeting; but he had no opportunity of doing this

when he first returned home, as he found there a large party assembled

to dinner. Caroline, however, watched his countenance and manner: and

seeing on the first an __EXPRESSION__ of highly-awakened feelings, and in

the latter a degree of absence, and aversion to talking, which it always

displayed whenever his heart had been deeply interested, she flattered

herself that Agnes was the cause of these appearances, and hoped to hear

of something to her advantage.

 

During dinner, a lady asked Caroline which of her young friends would

accompany her to church, in the capacity of bride-maid. Caroline

started, and turned pale at the question--for melancholy were the

reflections which it excited in her mind. It had always been an

agreement between her and Agnes, that whichever of the two was married

first should have the other for her bride-maid; and the question was

repeated before Caroline could trust her voice to answer it. "I shall

have no bride-maids, but my sisters," she replied at length with a

quivering lip; "I cannot; indeed I wish to have no other now." Then,

looking at her father, she saw that his eyes were filled with tears; and

unable to suppress, but wishing to conceal, his emotion, he abruptly

left the room.

 

There is scarcely any human being whose heart has not taught him that we

are never so compassionate and benevolent towards others, as when our

own wishes are completely gratified--we are never so humble as then.

This was the case with Mr. Seymour: he was about to marry his eldest

daughter in a manner even superior to his warmest expectations, and his

paternal care, therefore, was amply rewarded. But his heart told him

that his care and his affection had not exceeded, perhaps not equalled,

that of Fitzhenry; nor had the promise of his daughter's youth, fair as

it was, ever equalled that of the unhappy Agnes: yet Caroline was going

to aggrandize her family, and Agnes had disgraced hers. She was

happy--Agnes miserable. He was the possessor of a large fortune, and all

the comforts of life; and Fitzhenry was in a madhouse.

 

This contrast between their situations was forcibly recalled to his mind

by the question addressed to Caroline; and, already softened by the

interview of the morning, he could not support his feelings, but was

obliged to hasten to his chamber to vent in tears and thanksgivings the

mingled sensations of humility and gratitude. Caroline soon followed

him; and heard with emotions as violent, her father's description of

Agnes's narration, and her conduct before the governors.

 

"But it is not sufficient," said she, "that you tell me this: you must

tell it wherever you hear the poor penitent's name mentioned, and avow

the change which it has made in your sentiments towards her; you must be

her advocate."

 

"Her advocate! What would the world say?"

 

"Just what you wish it to say. Believe me, my dear father, the world is

in many instances like a spoiled child, who treats with contempt the

foolish parent that indulges his caprices, but behaves with respect to

those, who, regardless of his clamours, give the law to him, instead of

receiving it."

 

"You speak from the untaught enthusiasm and confidence of youth,

Caroline; but experience will teach you that no one can with impunity

run counter to the opinions of the world."

 

"My experience has taught me that already: but, in this case, you do not

seem to do the world justice. The world would blame you, and justly

too, if, while talking of the unhappy Agnes, you should make light of

her guilt: but why not, while you acknowledge that to be enormous,

descant with equal justice on the deep sense of it which she entertains,

and on the excellence of her present intentions? To this what can the

world say, but that you are a just judge? And even suppose they should

think you too lenient a one, will not the approbation of your own

conscience be an ample consolation for such a condemnation? O my dear

father! were you not one of the best and most _unspoilable_ of men, your

anxious attention to what the world will say of your actions, must long

ere this have made you one of the worst."

 

"Enough, enough," cried Mr. Seymour, wounded self-love contending in his

bosom with parental pride, for he had some suspicion that Caroline was

right, "what would the world say, if it were to hear you schooling your

father?"

 

"When the world hears me trying to exalt my own wisdom by doubting my

father's, I hope it will treat me with the severity which I shall

deserve."

 

Mr. Seymour clasped her to his bosom as she said this, and involuntarily

exclaimed, "Oh! poor Fitzhenry!"--"And poor Agnes too!"--retorted

Caroline, throwing her arms round his neck: "it will be my parting

request, when I leave my paternal roof, that you will do all the justice

you can to my once-honoured friend--and let the world say what it

pleases."--"Well, well, I will indulge you by granting your request,"

cried Mr. Seymour; "or rather I will indulge myself." And then,

contented with each other, they returned to the company.

 

A few days after this conversation Caroline's marriage took place, and

was celebrated by the ringing of bells and other rejoicings. "What are

the bells ringing for to-day?" said Agnes to Fanny, as she was eating

her breakfast with more appetite than usual. Fanny hesitated; and then,

in a peevish tone, replied, that she supposed they rang for Miss

Caroline Seymour, as she was married that morning:--adding, "Such a

fuss, indeed! such preparations! one would think nobody was ever married

before!"

 

Yet, spitefully as Fanny spoke this, she had no dislike to the amiable

Caroline; her pettishness proceeded merely from her love for Agnes. Just

such preparations, just such rejoicings, she had hoped to see one day

for the marriage of her dear young lady;--and though Agnes had not

perceived it, Fanny had for the last two days shed many a tear of regret

and mortification, while news of the intended wedding reached her ear

on every side; and she had not courage to tell Agnes what she heard,

lest the feelings of Agnes on the occasion should resemble hers, but in

a more painful degree. "Caroline Seymour married!" cried Agnes, rising

from her unfinished meal: "well married, I hope?"----"O yes, very well

indeed--Mr. Seymour is so proud of the connexion!" "Thank God!" said

Agnes fervently:--"May she be as happy as her virtues deserve!"--and

then with a hasty step she retired to her own apartment.

 

It is certain that Agnes had a mind above the meanness of envy, and

that she did not repine at the happiness of her friend; yet, while

with tears trickling down her cheek she faltered out the words "Happy

Caroline!--Mr. Seymour proud! Well may he be so!" her feelings were

as bitter as those which envy excites. "Oh! my poor father! I once

hoped--" added she; but, overcome with the acuteness of regret and

remorse, she threw herself on the bed in speechless anguish.

 

Then the image of Caroline, as she last saw her, weeping for her

misfortunes, and administering to her wants, recurred to her mind, and,

in a transport of affection and gratitude, she took the paper that

contained the gift from her bosom, kissed the blotted scrawl on the back

of it, and prayed fervently for her happiness.

 

"But surely," cried she, starting up, and running into the next room to

Fanny, "I should write a few lines of congratulation to the bride?"

Fanny did not answer; indeed she could not; for the affectionate

creature was drowned in tears, which Agnes well understood, and was

gratified, though pained, to behold. At length, still more ashamed of

her own weakness when she saw it reflected in another, Agnes gently

reproved Fanny, telling her it seemed as if she repined at Miss Seymour's happiness.