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WHY DID THE GOVERNESS FAINT?

We were all sitting together in the evening, and my sister Fanny had been reading aloud from the newspaper.  For my father’s benefit, she had read all the political articles, and all about business, till he had said he had heard enough, and there was nothing in the papers, and then had left the room.  So Fanny looked over the marriages and deaths, and read about the weather in New York and Chicago, and some other things that she thought would interest us while we were sewing.  Suddenly I looked up, towards where Miss Agnes was sitting, far away at the other end of the room.  She was leaning back in her chair, and, all in a moment, I thought she looked white, as though she had fainted.  I did not say a word, but got up and went quietly towards her.  I found she had fainted quite away, and her lips were pale, and her eyes shut.  I opened the window by her; for the night was cool, and all the windows were closed.  There came in a little breeze of fresh air, and then I ran to fetch a glass of water.  When I returned, I found Miss Agnes reviving a little.  The air and the water served to refresh her, and very gradually she came back to herself.  As she opened her eyes, she looked at me wonderingly, then round the room,—­then a shudder came over her, as if with a sudden painful memory.

“I’m better,—­thank you for the water,” she said; and then she rose up and went to the window, and leaned against the casement.  I had a glimpse of her face; so sad a face I had never seen before.

For Miss Agnes was not often sad, though she was quiet in her ways and manners.  She could be gay, when it was the time to be gay.  She was our governess,—­that is, she taught Mary and Sophy and me.  Fanny was too old to be taught by her, and had an Italian master and a French teacher; but she practised duets for the piano with Miss Agnes, and read with her,—­and she made visits with her, for Miss Agnes was a favorite everywhere.  She had a kind word for everybody, and listened kindly to all that was said to her.  She talked to everybody at the sewing societies, had something to say to every one, and when she came home she had always something to tell that was entertaining.  I often wished I could be one-quarter as amusing, but I never could succeed in making my little experiences at all agreeable in the way Miss Agnes did.  I have tried it often since, but I always fail.  Only the other day, I quite prided myself that I had found out all about Mrs. Endicott’s going to Europe, and came home delighted with my piece of news.  She was going with her husband; two of the children she was to leave behind, and take the baby with her; they were to be gone six months; and I even knew the vessel they were going in, and the day they were to sail.  My intelligence was very quickly told;—­Miss Agnes and many others would have made a great deal