CHAPTER VIII.

On reviving came the dread feeling that I must go.  Go whither?  I had no home.  I could not return to my uncle who had cast me adrift.  The inquisitive glance of his grim housekeeper would annihilate me.  But go I must, and that speedily.

With weary head and aching heart I commenced packing my little wardrobe.  My bridal attire I hastily covered from sight that it might remain until time and mildew should obliterate it.  My dream of love was past.  I felt that my youth and beauty were buried in that crushed pile of broken flowers, pale silk, and dishevelled lace.

I had concluded my work, and was tying my bonnet-strings, when a knock at the door announced Mr. Bristed.  He appeared surprised at seeing me arranged for my journey.

“So soon, Agnes?” said he.  “You are not yet able to leave.”

But as I expressed very emphatically my ability and determination to start immediately, he saw expostulation would be useless.

“Well,” said he, “let me hear where you contemplate going.”

I told him I should take the railway or coach to some point, I cared not where; any distant city or village from whence I could advertise for another situation.  I was too hopeless then to care whither I went.

“And do you think I would permit you to leave me thus at random, going, you know not where, without any preconceived plans?  Oh my poor, poor child, to be thrown thus upon the world!”

He walked the floor several times, apparently in great agitation; then, suddenly pausing, said abruptly, almost violently, “It must not be!  Agnes, don’t go,” lowering his voice, and placing his hand gently on my shoulder; “stay with me—­become my wife.  I love you and will cherish you.  No rude blast that my arm can shield you from shall assail you.  My life has been one of gloom, you can render it one of sunshine.  Stay, dear one, oh, stay!” and in his transport he seized my hands.

“What do you mean, Mr. Bristed?” said I, recoiling from him.  “Surely, you must forget yourself and the circumstances which have so recently occurred; you have accused me of loving your brother, how, then, can I transfer my affections to you?  Oh, you are cruel, cruel!”

“Forgive me,” said he, penitently; “I will do anything for you, Agnes—­take you away, if you wish; only let me go with you and see that you are properly cared for.”

I shook my head.

“Richard may seek to find you; you may fall again into his evil hands if you insist on going thus alone.”

“Mr. Bristed,” said I, “thus far I have acted as you directed.  I will depart at your solicitation; but further than this, I must be free.  If Richard seeks me out, and I can aid him, I will do so.  Degraded and fallen though he be, my love will not shrink from him.  I will help him to rise.”

“You are a noble woman, Agnes,” he said with a sad smile, “God protect you!” and he left me.