Mrs. nating Mrs. Warren came to live at the Warren, saw Miriam at her request and gave Great House. little hope that she would ever be anything She took up the Rectory people most but a life-long invalid. She was ordered to warmly, and threw herself with enthusiasm keep as much as possible in a recumbent pointo all manner of benevolent schemes for sition. Mrs. Warren was on the point of the benefit of the parish. To the two girls departing for London. Nothing could exceed she seemed like a good fairy. She had them her sympathy and generosity. At first she constantly to her beautiful house, she gave declared she would postpone her journey, to them lessons in singing, and taught them to assist Mrs. Huxley to nurse her sweet dance; her French maid manufactured their Miriam; but she easily gave up that idea bonnets and dresses; she lavished gifts upon when Mrs. Huxley declared, rather dryly, them, she made pets of them, and was never" that there was not the least occasion; for, weary of inventing schemes for giving them as the case was likely to be tedious, it was pleasure. It was delightful to see their en- better to begin as they could go on." joyment and to receive their gratitude, and Warren, however, loaded Miriam with presshe never suspected the delicate unobtrusive ents. She made Miriam promise to write to care with which poor cold, stiff, Mrs. Huxley her all she read and thought; and for this contrived that the two girls should never purpose, she gave her a supply of fairy-like fall too heavily upon the hands of their beau- paper and a gold pen. Miriam, on her side, tiful patroness. She also tried to inspire promised to write twice a-week at least, and them with a portion of her own reserve; but to tell Mrs. Warren everything that could that was not so easy. Miriam-a mild, shy, amuse her.. Mrs. Warren gave orders to her undemonstrative girl-felt an admiration of gardener to supply the Rectory with fruit, Mrs. Warren that approached to idolatry. It flowers, and vegetables; but either Mrs. took the place of a first love. Mrs. Warren Warren's directions were not clear, or the liked the excitement of being loved with gardener did not choose to act upon them. enthusiasm; but she never calculated the He charged for everything that he sent down responsibility it brought along with it, and and gave as his reason that his mistress paid omitted nothing that could stimulate Miri- him no wages in her absence, but let him am's passionate attachment. Agnes was less pick up what he could. impressionable. She had a precocious After Mrs. Warren's departure, she wrote amount of common sense, and Mrs. Warren's for a month; after that, her letters ceased. fascinations did not take too much hold upon Newspapers supplied their place; and, it her. The Rector was almost as much be- appeared from the notices of fashionable witched as his daughter by the fair widow. life, that Mrs. Warren had taken her place She talked gaily to him, and obliged him to amongst the gayest. At last the newspapers rub up his ancient gallantry, which had fallen ceased; the last that came contained the an into rusty disuse. She dressed all the chil-nouncement that Mrs. Warren had left town dren of his school in green gowns and red for Paris. After this, no more news reached ribbons. She subscribed a painted window the Rectory. The Manor House remained to the church. She talked over two refrac- shut up, and the lodge-keeper said "that tory churchwardens, who had been the tor- the Missis was spending the winter at ment of his life: above all, she admired his Bath." sermons; and, as she was in correspondence with a lord bishop, he had sanguine hopes that her admiration might lead to something better. Mrs. Huxley was the only person who refused to be charmed. She did not contradict the raptures expressed by her husband and daughter, but she heard them in silence. At first Miriam wrote in all the enthusiasm and good faith of youthful adoration. Mrs. Warren had begged she would not count with her letter for letter, but have trust in her unalterable attachment, &c., &c.; and Miriam went on writing, long after all answers had ceased. Everything earthly has its limit; and when reciprocity is all on one When Miriam was sixteen, she fell into side, the term is reached rather earlier than delicate health; a slight accident developed it might otherwise have been. Poor Miriam a spinal affection. A London physician, who lay on her couch, and went through all the with his wife was on a short visit to Mrs. heart-sickening process of disenchantment about the friendship which she had made the | hands will be charming. This furniture will light of her life. She rejoiced moodily in look to more advantage there than it does her physical sufferings, and hoped that she here: and when I have seen you comfortably should soon die, as she could not endure such settled, I shall leave you, to seek my formisery long. The young believe in the eter- tune." nity of all they feel. She was roused from this sorrow of sentiment by a real affliction. Scarlet fever broke out in the parish. Mr. Huxley.caught it, and died, after a fortnight's illness. A life insurance for a thousand pounds, and a few hundreds painfully saved and laid by in the Bank of England, was all the provision that remained to his family. "My dear, you are so rash, and you talk so fast, I don't hear one word you say," said Mrs. Huxley, querulously. "I was talking aunt, about a cottage I had seen this morning," said Agnes, gently. "I thought it would just suit us." "I am sure I should not like it. It will have stone floors, which will not do for Miriam. You talk so wildly of going to seek A fortnight after the funeral, Mrs. Huxley your fortune. I am sure I don't know what and Agnes were sitting sadly before the fire, is to become of us. You are so sanguine : which had burned low, on a dull, chill No- no good ever comes of it. You were all so vember evening. Miriam lay on her couch, set up with Mrs. Warren, and you see what and could scarcely be discerned in the deep-came of it." ening shadow. The dusk was gathering "Well, aunt, my belief is, that Mrs. thick, the curtains were not drawn; both Warren would be as good as ever, if she only without and within, the world looked equally saw us; but she cannot recollect people out desolate to these three women. The silence of sight." was broken only by the sighs of poor Mrs. Huxley; the dull firelight showed her widow's cap, and the glaze of tears upon her pale clay-like cheeks. At length Agnes roused herself. She had taken the lead in the house since the family troubles, and now moved briskly about the room, endeavoring to impart something like comfort. She replenished the fire, trimmed the lamp; and made the old servant bring in tea. Agnes threw in an extra spoonful of green spread a tempting slice of toast, and placed a small table between Mrs. Huxley and Miriam, who both began insensibly to be influenced by the change she had produced. When tea was over they became almost cheerful. After tea, Mrs. Huxley took out her knitting, and Agnes brought out her work-basket. "Now listen, dear aunt; for I have schemed a scheme, which only needs your approval." "That will go a very little way towards doing good," sighed Mrs. Huxley. "She loves flattery, and she likes fresh people," said Miriam, bitterly. Agnes went to the piano, and began to play some old hymn tunes very softly. "Agnes, my dear, I cannot bear music. Do come back and sit still," said her aunt. The next morning Agnes persuaded her aunt to go with her to the Green, to look at the cottage; and, after some objections, Mrs. Huxley agreed that it might be made to do. Whilst making arrangements for the removal, Agnes thought seriously how she was to obtain a situation of some kind, and anxiously examined what she was qualified to undertake. She knew that she had only herself to depend upon. A few days afterwards the postman brought a letter with a fereign postmark. It was Mrs. Warren's handwriting. Agnes bounded with it into the parlor, exclaiming, "See! who was right about Mrs. Warren? It is for you." Miriam turned aside her head. Mrs. Huxley put on her spectacles; and, after turning the letter over half-a-dozen times, "Oh, it will go further than you think!" opened it. A bank-note for twenty pounds said Agnes, cheerfully. "I was up at the fell out. The letter was written in the kindGreen this morning, and I heard that Sam est tone. She had just seen the mention of Blacksmith is going to leave his cottage for Mr. Huxley's death, and wrote on the spur another that is nearer to his smithy. It of the moment. She was full of self-reproach struck me that the one he is leaving would for her neglect; begged them to believe she just suit you, and Miriam, and old Mary. loved them as much as ever; spoke of Miriam There is a garden; and the cottage in your with great kindness, but without any spe ciality; begged to be informed of their plans | random benefits. They are no better than for the future; and, in a hasty postscript, snares. said, that the enclosure was towards erecting a tablet to the memory of her dear friend, or for any other purpose they preferred. Nothing could be kinder or more delicate; but Miriam was nearly choked with bitter feelings. The letter showed her how completely she had faded away from Mrs. Warren's affection. She vehemently urged her mother and cousin to send back the money. Have nothing to do with her." Agnes would not be warned. She wished to go out into the world, to make her own way. She had no fears for herself. She argued and persuaded, and at last her aunt consented. Miriam was over-ruled, and a grateful acceptance was written to Mrs. Warren, fixing that day three weeks for her departure. be!" "The die is cast now!" said Agnes, when she returned from carrying her letter to the Agnes undertook to answer the letter; post. "I wonder what my future lot will which she did with great judgment. Even Miriam was satisfied. She mentioned her own desire to find a situation as preparatory governess, and asked Mrs. Warren if she had it in her power to recommend her. As soon as could reasonably be expected, the answer came, adressed to Mrs. Huxley, begging that Agnes might at once join the writer in Paris, where, she had not the least doubt, she would be able to place her advantageously. Minute directions were given for the journey. On arriving in Paris, Agnes was to proceed at once to the Hotel Raymond, where Mrs. Warren was staying. "How kind! how very kind!" exclaimed Agnes. "You see her heart is in the right place after all!" "It is certainly very kind; but I do not like you to take so long a journey alone, you are too young. I cannot feel it either right or prudent," said Mrs. Huxley. "My dear Agnes," said Miriam, "you shall not be trusted to the mercy of that wo man. She cares for nothing but excitement. She has no notion of obligation, and will be as likely as not to have left Paris by the time you arrive, if the fancy has taken her for visiting Egypt or Mexico. I know what she is, and you shall not go." "My dear aunt, as I am to make my own way in the world, the sooner I begin the better. I am to take charge of others, and I must learn to take care of myself. My dear Miriam, you are unjust. I place very little dependence on the stability of Mrs. Warren's emotions; but she always likes people when they are with her. It is an opening I am not likely to have again, and the sooner I avail myself of it the better." 66 Agnes, be warned, I entreat you. No good will ever come out of that woman's CHAPTER THE SECOND. THE diligence rolled heavily into the Court of the Messageries Royal in Paris, towards the middle of a keen, bright day in the last week of December. A fair, elegant English girl, in deep mourning, looked anxiously out of the window of the coupé, in search of some one to claim her. "Is there any one waiting for you, Ma'mselle?" asked the good-natured conductor. "Will it please you to alight?" "I see no one," said Agnes, who was bewildered with the noise and bustle. "I must have a coach to go to this address, please." "Mrs. Warren, Hotel Raymond," read the conductor, looking at her keenly. "You want to go there, do you? Well, I will see. Your friends ought not to have left you to arrive alone. But the English are so droll!" In a few minutes he returned. "Now, Ma'mselle, here is a coach. The driver is my friend; he will see you safe. You may trust him. I would go with you myself, but-" "You have been very kind to me," said Agnes, gratefully. Her command of French was very limited, and she said this in English; but the look that accompanied it spoke the language which needs no interpreter. "Pardon. No thanks; it is my duty. Ma'mselle is too generous! There is no oocasion." And the gallant conductor put back the five-franc piece that Agnes tendered with some embarrassment; for, during the journey he had shown her kindness that she felt could not be repaid in money. She took from her purse a half-crown piece English money. This the conductor put into his left waistcoat pocket, as he said "for a remembrance of| Ma'mselle." The hackney-coach soon arrived at Raymond's. A grand-looking servant came to the door of the coach, and inquired her pleasure, with an elaborate politeness that would have been overwhelming at any other time; but Agnes scarcely noticed him. She eagerly handed him Mrs. Warren's card; but what little French she could command bad entirely departed, and she could not utter a word. The garçon took the card, looked at it with a slight gesture of surprise, and returned to the house. In the meantime the coachman dismounted, took down the modest luggage, and demanded his fare. Agnes alighted, gave the man what he asked, and he had just driven away, when the garçon returned, accompanied by another. The sight of a young, and extremely pretty English girl in deep mourning and sitting upon her trunk, had by this time attracted a group of curious spectators. The fate of Agnes Lee was trembling in the balance. Already, a man, no longer young, who had lost his front teeth, and who looked as if he had no bones in his body, and a woman with a hard, insolent, determined face, varnished with cajolery, approached her. The woman addressed her in passably good English, but Agnes seemed not to hear. At this crisis a grave, middle-aged man made his way from the street. He looked round with surprise at the persons crowding in the court, and his eye fell on Agnes. He went up to her. The man and woman both shrank back from his glance. "What is the meaning of all this, my child? How came you here, and what do you want?" "Ma'mselle is under a meestake," said the new comer who evidently believed that he spoke English like a native. "Madame He spoke with a certain benevolent austerWarren is no more here-she departed two ity. His tone roused Agnes; she looked up days since for Marseilles." and passed her hand in a bewildered way over her forehead; but she could not recollect or explain her story. Mechanically she gave him Mrs. Warren's letter directing her to the Hotel Raymond, and looked acutely at him as his eye glanced over it. Agnes looked stupidly at him. She had heard what he said perfectly, and she was quite calm; but it was the calmness that makes the heart stand still, and turns the life within to stone. "She told me to come here. She knew I was to come." Agnes spoke with stiffened lips and a voice that did not seem her own. "She may have left some message-some letter for Ma'mselle," suggested the first garçon. "I will inquire." Agnes sat down upon her trunk. See felt convinced that Mrs. Warren had gone and left no directions about her. She had just five francs and a half a guinea left of money. Her position presented itself to her with perfect lucidity; but she felt no alarm, only a horrible stillness and paralysis of all emotion. The garçon returned he had a letter in his hand. Madame Warren had departed for Marseilles, en route for Sicily. She had left no message or direction. The letter had arrived a few hours after her departure, but they did not know where to forward it. Agnes looked at the letter. It was her own, stating the time she would arrive in Paris, and requesting to be met. She gave it back to the garçon without speaking, and rested her head dreamily and wearily upon her hand. "My poor child, you cannot remain here. They ought not to have left you here for a moment. You must come in and speak to my wife. We will see what can be done." The loiterers dispersed the new-comer was the proprietor of the hotel. Desiring a porter to take up her trunk, he led her into a private office, where a pleasant-looking woman of about forty sat at a desk sur rounded by account-books and ledgers. She looked up from her writing as they entered. He spoke to her in a low voice, and gave her the letter to read. "Mais c'est une infamie!" said she, vehemently, when she had read it."You have done well to bring her in-it was worthy of you, my friend. Heavens! she is stupified with cold and fear! Agnes stood still, apparently unconscious of what was passing; she heard, but she could give no sign. At length sight and sound became confused, and she fell. When she recovered, she was lying in bed, and a pleasant-looking nurse was sitting beside her, dressed in a tall white Normandy cap and striped jacket. She nodded and smiled, and shewed her white teeth, when you can tell them something definite about Agnes opened her eyes, shook her head, and your prospects. Anything you could say jabbered something that Agnes could not now would only alarm them." comprehend. The girl felt too weak and too dreamy to attempt to unravel the mystery of where she was and how she came there. In a short time, the lady she had seen sitting in the office among the day-books and ledgers came in. She laid her hand gently on her forehead, saying, in a cheerful voice, "You are better now. You are with friends. You shall tell us your story when you are stronger. You must not agitate yourself." Agnes endeavored to rise, but sank back; the long journey and the severe shock she had received had made her seriously ill." The doctor who had been called to revive her from her long trance-like swoon ordered the profoundest quiet, and, thanks to the Samaritan kindness of her new friends, Agnes was enabled to follow the doctor's directions: for two days she lay in a delightful state of repose, between waking and dreaming. Everything she needed was brought to her, as by some friendly magic, at precisely the right moment. On the third day she felt almost well, and expressed a wish to get up and dress. Her hostess took her down to a pleasant parlor beyond the office. There were books, and prints, and newspapers; she was desired to amuse herself, and not to trouble her head with any anxiety about the future she was a visitor. 66 Two days afterwards M. Raymond came to her and said, "Do not think we want to get rid of you; but, if it suits you, I have heard of a situation. Madame Tremordyn wants a companion-a young lady who will be to her as like a daughter as can be got for money. She is a good woman, but proud and peculiar; and, so long as her son does not fall in love with you, she will treat you well. The son is with his regiment in Algiers just now; so you are safe. I will take you to her this afternoon." Madame Tre They went accordingly. mordyn-an old Bréton lady, stately with gray hair and flashing dark gray eyes, dressed in stiff black silk-received her with stately urbanity, explained the duties of her situation, and expressed her wish that Agnes should engage with her. The salary was liberal, and Agnes thankfully accepted the offer. It was settled that she should come the next morning. "Recollect your home is with us," said M. Raymond. "Come back to us if you are unhappy." That night Agnes wrote to her aunt the history of all that had befallen her, and the friends who had been raised up to her, and the home that had offered in a land of strangers. But, with all this cause for thankfulness, Agnes cried herself to sleep that night. She realized for the first time that she was alone in her life, and belonged to nobody. CHAPTER THE THIRD. M. Raymond, the proprietor, came in. Agnes had not seen him since the day he brought her into his house. He was a grave sensible man. To him she told her whole story, and gave him Mrs. Warren's letters ALL who have had to live under the dyto read. My good young lady," said he, nasty of a peculiar temper, know that it can as he returned them, "we have only a little neither be defined nor calculated upon. It strength, and should not waste it in super- is the knot in the wood that prevents the fluities; we need it all to do our simple duty. material from ever being turned to any good This lady was too fond of the luxury of doing account. Madame Tremordyn always degood, as it is called; but I cannot under-clared that she was the least exacting person stand her thoughtlessness. There must be in existence; and, so long as Agnes was some mistake; though, after incurring the responsibility of sending for you, no mistake ought to have been possible." Agnes tried to express all the gratitude she felt; but M. Raymond interrupted her. She was far from realizing all the danger she had escaped; she knew it in after years. "I shall write home," she said; "my aunt and cousin will be anxious until they hear." "Let them be uneasy a little longer, till always in the room with her, always on the alert watching her eye for any thing she might need so long Madame was quite satisfied. Madame Tremordyn had a passion for every thing English. She would be read aloud to at all hours of the day or night. Agnes slept upon a bed in her room, whence she might be roused, if Madame Tremordyn herself could not rest; and woe to Agnes if her attention flagged, and if she did not |