Woman As She Should Be | Page 8

ever mentioned Agnes's name,
and yet, he could not conceal from himself that he felt an interest in her,
beyond that he had ever experienced for any other woman.
"Absence is love's food," so poets say, and Arthur proved the truth of
the observation. While spending his college vacations at home, he had
often met with her before; and, even then, she charmed him as no other
woman ever did, but when report told of her engagement to Edward
Lincoln, honor forbade him any longer to cherish hopes which he had
allowed to tint with their bright hues his dreams of the future.
He had shunned her society as far as possible from that time while at
home, and striven, while at college and during his year's sojourn in
foreign lands, to banish her image from his remembrance, and vainly
imagined he had succeeded; but the flame, though it may be dimmed,
was by no means quenched, and was ready, at the slightest
encouragement, to burst forth with renewed vigor.
But we have digressed. Mrs. Bernard's drawing-room presented a
picture of comfort and elegance as Agnes entered it on the evening of
Ella's party. A few select friends were gathered there, all apparently
perfectly at home, and amusing themselves without restraint, according
to their diversified inclinations. Some were examining the choice
engravings that lay scattered on the tables; others were standing in a
group round the piano, admiring some new music which Ella had that
day received; while the elder members of the party were gathered round

the fireside, enjoying its cheerful blaze, and merrily discussing the
events of the season. Innocent amusement seemed to be the rule of the
evening, and Agnes, though she had left home unusually depressed in
spirits, felt a glow of pleasure thrill through her heart as she
contemplated the scene, and responded with her usual sweet, though,
latterly, pensive smile, the kind greetings of her friends.
"How pale Miss Wiltshire looks to-night," observed one young lady to
another who was seated at the piano as Agnes entered the apartment.
"She does, indeed, pale and sad both," was the response.
Arthur, who had overheard the remark, could not help admitting to
himself its correctness, as he crossed the room to pay his respects to
Agnes, and as, unobserved, he watched her closely, it was evident to
him that, while with her usual unselfishness, she strove to promote the
happiness of others by entering cheerfully into conversation, from the
half suppressed sigh, and the shadow that at intervals stole over her
face, some painful subject, very foreign from the scene around,
occupied her thoughts.
"I am afraid you are not well to-night, Miss Wiltshire," he at length said,
in a tone low and gentle as a woman's, for Agnes, seated on a corner of
the sofa, and imagining herself unobserved by the rest of the company,
had for a moment closed her eyes, as though to shut out surrounding
objects, while an expression of mental anguish flitted across her
features.
How precious to the aching heart is human sympathy. The words were
nothing in themselves, but the tenderness of tone in which they were
spoken, told plainly that it was anything but a matter of indifference to
the speaker, and Agnes, blushing deeply as she met Arthur's
compassionate glance, felt the conviction, darting like a ray of sunbeam
through her mind, that to at least one person in the world she was
dearer than aught else beside.
"I have only a slight headache," was her reply to his kind inquiry, and
one which was strictly correct, for the headache was the result of

mental agitation during the day.
"I shall recommend you, then, to sit quite still, while I constitute myself,
for the evening, your devoted knight; and shall, therefore, remain here,
ready to obey your slightest behests, be they what they may."
"I shall certainly then insist, in the first place, that others be not
deprived of the pleasure of your company for my gratification. I should
be selfish, indeed, if I allowed you to do so."
"Notwithstanding, here I am, and here I intend to remain until I am
forced away," said Arthur, smiling as, seating himself comfortably
beside her on the sofa, he drew a portfolio from the centre table, which
contained some sketches taken during his recent tour, and, in pointing
out the different places and relating his adventures in each, Agnes
became so much interested as to forget her headache, and even the
anxiety which had weighed down her mind but a short time before.
There was one picture that seemed particularly to attract her attention.
It was the sketch of a small church, whose white walls peeped out from
the midst of thick foliage, and whose opened doors seemed to welcome
the