Woman As She Should Be | Page 3

side; have pity
on me, for I sink, I sink, I sink."

So deep an effect had the loss of her young companion, and the
remembrance of her last hours, produced on Agnes, that she fell into a
dejection, from which nothing could rouse her, and her physical powers
soon gave unmistakable evidences of their sympathy with the mind, by
alarming prostration of strength. The physician, on being applied to,
recommended the usual restorative, change of air and scene; and a
pleasant summer's retreat was selected as Agnes's residence, for a few
weeks. Mrs. Denham would fain have accompanied her niece, but a
violent attack of the gout, to which Mr. Denham was subject, rendered
it impossible for her to leave him, and with many tender charges and
injunctions, Agnes was consigned to the care of a friend, travelling in
that direction.
Great was the change to Agnes, yet not the less beneficial on that
account. The absence of the glitter and show of fashionable life, the
quiet that reigned around, the beauty of the scenery, the kindness and
simplicity of the scattered inhabitants,--all delighted her; and the group
of admirers, who were wont to surround her, would scarcely have
recognized, in the warm-hearted, enthusiastic girl, who, in simple attire,
might daily be seen rambling through the fields, or, with a book in hand,
seated beneath a favorite oak, the accomplished and fashionable Miss
Wiltshire.
The lady with whom she resided was a clergyman's widow, who,
deprived by an untimely death of her natural protector and provider,
sought to augment her scanty means, by opening her house during the
summer months to casual visitors. She had been beautiful once, and she
was young still; but the glow and the freshness of life's youth had
vanished, not so much before time as sorrow, for peculiarly distressing
circumstances had attended the loss of her dearest friend, and now,
disease had almost, unsuspected, commenced its insidious ravages on a
naturally delicate constitution.
A mutual friendship was speedily formed between these two, so
strangely thrown together by circumstances. Agnes was charmed with
Mrs. Goodwin's sweet, pensive face, and gentle manners, while her
character, so beautifully exemplifying the power of religion to give

support and happiness, under all circumstances, won her deepest regard.
On the other hand, the genuine warmth, the unsophisticated manners,
still uncorrupted by daily flatteries and blandishments, the lofty and
gifted mind, all delighted Mrs. Goodwin, who had never before formed
an acquaintance with a female possessing so many attractions, and she
gazed at her with wonder and admiration, not unmixed with a sentiment
of tenderness and pity, as she thought of life's slippery paths, and of the
injurious influences of worldly pursuits and worldly gayeties.
But to the city Agnes must again return, for the roses have come back
to her cheeks, her previous dejection has vanished under the kind and
salutary ministrations of her friend, and she has no reasonable excuse
for remaining longer; besides, her friends have become impatient at her
stay,--the light and life of their dwelling,--how can they consent to her
tarrying longer; so the long and interesting conversations on high and
holy themes, which she had scarcely ever before heard alluded to but in
church, must be relinquished, and the quiet scenes of Nature exchanged
for the bustle and show of city life.

CHAPTER III.
A twelvemonth has elapsed, since the events recorded in our first
chapter. In the drawing-room of a spacious mansion, in the suburbs of
the city where Agnes Wiltshire resided, is seated a young man,
apparently perusing a volume which he holds in his hand, but, in reality,
listening to a gay group of young girls, who are chattering merrily with
his sister at the other end of the apartment. Scarcely heedful of his
presence, for he is partly concealed by the thick folds of a rich damask
curtain,--or, perhaps, careless of the impression produced, they rattled
gaily on, for not one of them but in her heart had pronounced him a
woman-hater; for were he not such, could he have been insensible to
the sweetest and most fascinating smiles of beauty?
But the last sound of their retreating footsteps, the echo of their merry
laugh, has died away, and Arthur Bernard emerges from his retreat, in
the enclosure of the window.

"I declare, Arthur, it is positively too bad," exclaimed Ella, his sister, a
gay and pretty young girl; "you are certainly the most agreeable
company in the world. Not a syllable to say beyond 'yes,' or 'no,' 'good
morning,' or 'good evening.' I am really ashamed of you. You are a
woman-hater, I really believe. I am sure the girls all set you down as
such."
"I am much obliged for their good opinion, and shall endeavor to
deserve it," was the