"Mammy," said Agnes, with a sudden gush of sympathy, "what is there in General Harrington's family that interests you so much?"

The woman answered her with a keen glance and a single word:"Everything!"

"And will you tell me nothing?"

"No, girl, I will not startle your nerves and confuse your intellect with a history that, as yet, you could not understand. Do not importune me again; I will not submit to it."

"Then I will do nothing more!" said Agnes, petulantly.

"I do not intend that you shall. The whole thing is, I find, beyond your management. I might have known that your first step would be to fall in love with a boy."

"Well, and if I did, has that prevented me carrying out all your directions?"

"It has blindfolded and paralyzed you—that is all!"

"It maddened me to know that he loved another, and yet I acted with coolness throughout."

"What was this penniless boy to either of us, that you should have thwarted, or, at least, delayed all my plans for James Harrington——"

"He is all the world to me!" cried Agnes, "Worth ten thousand General Harringtons and James Harringtons. I tell you, once for all, I would not marry that solemn-faced bachelor, with all his millions, if he were at my feet this instant."

"And this is why you would not obey the directions I gave, regarding your conduct toward him?"

"Obey! why, everything was done to the letter. I followed him to the conservatory, and kept him half an hour that morning talking over Miss Lina's studies. One by one I gathered the flowers so often mentioned in that journal, and tied them in a bouquet, which I offered him; blushing, I am sure, as much as you could wish, for my face burned like flame."

"Well, did he take the flowers?"

"He turned white at the first glance, and put them back with his hand; muttering that the scent of verbena and roses together, always made him faint."

"Ha!—he said that—he turned pale; it is better than I expected?" cried the woman, eagerly. "Well, what else?"

"Nothing more. He went out from the conservatory at once, leaving me standing there, half-frightened to death with the bouquet in my hand; but I turned it to account."

"Well, how?"

"Why, as it produced so decided an effect in one quarter, I concluded to make another experiment, and went into Mrs. Harrington's boudoir with the flowers in my hand. She saw them—started and blushed to the temples—hesitated an instant, and then held out her hand; it trembled like a leaf, and I could see her eyes fill with moisture—not tears exactly, but a sort of tender dew. It was enough to make one pity her, when I kept back the bouquet, saying, that it had just been given to me."

"Well, what followed? You are sure it was the flowers—that she recognized the arrangement at once?"

"It could be nothing else; besides, she became cold and haughty all at once. The blush left her face pale as snow, and she shrouded her eyes with one hand, as if to shut me and my flowers out from her sight. I saw her hand shiver as I fastened the roses upon my bosom; and when I went out into the grounds a short time after, intending to join Mr. Harrington again, a curve in the path gave me a view of her window—and there she stood, looking out so wistfully. Determined to force her jealousy to the utmost, I hurried up to Mr. James Harrington, and began to consult him regarding my pupil's exercise and lessons, the only subject I really believe that he could have been induced to speak about, for he seemed terribly depressed."

"And she stood watching you all the time?"

"No, not all the time; for, when in the eagerness of my subject—remember I am deeply interested in Lina's progress—I reached my hand towards Mr. Harrington's arm, not touching it, though it must have appeared so from the distance, she disappeared from the window, as if a ball had struck her; and I took a short cut through the shrubberies, quite satisfied with the information those two pretty roses had won for us. Now, say if I have been altogether blind or inert?"

"Indeed, I was unjust to think it; this is an important point gained. There is no doubt that the feelings so vividly recorded in that journal exist yet; this knowledge opens everything to us."

"Then I have done pretty well for a blind girl," persisted Agnes, with a touch of sarcasm in her voice; "give me, at least, that praise."

"With one exception, child, you have done well in everything."

"And that exception—I know what you mean, but where Ralph Harrington is concerned, I will not be controlled."

"No one wishes to control you, foolish girl. Be obedient and adroit as you have been, and this blue-eyed girl shall be swept from your path like thistle downs."

"Ah, do this, and I am twice your slave!" cried Agnes, with an impulse of genuine feeling, flinging her arms around the elder woman.

"And you love him so much!" said the woman, returning her caress with a touch of sympathy—"well, child, well—since the reading of that book I have thought better of it. It may be, that your silly caprice for this boy can be indulged without interfering with more important objects. This first love is—well, well, no matter what it is, I would rather not turn it to gall in the bosom of a young girl. So trust me, Agnes, and be faithful."

"I will!"

"Now, listen, child. Have you settled about the old servants?""Indeed I have. The cook is away already—the chambermaid discontented and going to-morrow. As for that uncouth boatman and factotum, I find him hard to manage—he will neither take offence, nor listen to anything I say."

"Let him pass. It will not do for us to frighten off too many at once. But the new cook—what is she?"

"Fresh from Germany, and speaks no English."

"That will do. Now listen. You must intercede with General Harrington for your poor old mammy, up yonder, as chambermaid, when this one is gone."

Agnes opened her eyes wide, and a low laugh broke from her lips, that were at first parted with astonishment.

"Mammy, what can you mean!"

The woman answered as much by the crafty smile, that crept over her face, as by words.

"The old house is cold and lonely, Agnes, and the poor old slave will be much more comfortable in a service-place for the winter, you understand. She must have the place."

"In real earnest?"

"In real earnest."

"Well, it shall be done—but you will keep your word, this time."

"Have I ever broken it to you?"

"I don't know; in fact, until the whole of this affair is made plain to me, all must be doubt and darkness. I know that my mission is to leave distrust and misery wherever my voice reaches, or my step can force itself in that household—yet they have all been kind to me, and most of all, the lady herself."

"She kind to you! I know what such kindness is. A sweet, gentle indifference, that for ever keeps you at arms' length, or that proud patronage of manner, which is more galling still. Oh, yes, I have felt it. Such kindness is poison."

"I did not find it so," said Agnes, with a touch of feeling, "till your lessons began to work. Then, acting like a traitor, I felt like one, and began to hate those I wronged. But, I suppose this is always so."

The woman laughed. "You turn philosopher early, young lady. Most girls of your age are content to feel and act—you must stop to analyze and reflect. It is a bad habit."

"I suppose so—certainly reflection gives me no pleasure," answered the girl, a little sadly.

"Well, well, child, we have no time for sentiment, now. The sun is almost down, and you have a long walk before you—another week, and if you manage to get your poor old mammy a place, we need not chill ourselves to death in these damp woods. She will bring messages back and forth, you know!"

Agnes shook her head, and laughed, "Oh, mammy, mammy!"

The woman mocked her laugh with a sort of good-natured bitterness. "There now, that is easily managed, but there is something else for you to undertake; wait."