Agnes Cheswick : a novel

Contents

CHAPTER page

I. Introductory, - - - . 5

II. Fresh Influences, - - - 16

Chapter I. Introductory

Two men were walking slowly along the quiet country road. It was a perfect evening in midsummer. One was a man not much past middle life, yet looked already old. He could not be called handsome, but there was such an air of kindly geniality in his whole appearance that one could not help feel attracted to him. He strolled on, his eyes fixed upon the ground. If Dr. Heathcliff looked older than he really was, his companion. Forest Gale, enjoyed the distinction of looking younger. He was really not aware that though just thirty, he looked no more than five and twenty. His face was an exceedingly pleasant one. In figure he was unusually tall, well made and spare. He was the only child of a retired manufacturer, and had been educated to take his father’s place in the commercial world. With this end in view, he had been placed at an ordinary middle-class school, but withdrawn from his studies when he was beginning to understand the value of them, and put into “the business,” and had attained his majority, and was about to be received as his father’s junior partner when the elder Gale died, leaving the son sole master of his enormous wealth.

Perhaps it was well for Mr. Gale that he died before knowing the deep and growing distaste of his son for the business of which he was so proud. Forest had done his father’s will in choosing his career in life partly because he had a curiosity to know how a large business was carried on, and partly because he was prepared to give up a part of his life to please his father, but he had never planned to make business the pursuit of his whole life. He had always intended to give it up upon his father’s death, and as soon as possible after that event he wound up his affairs, retired from his former haunts, and began life more in accordance with his own tastes. Fie traveled, studied and observed. The result was, after eight years of unsettled existence, he bought an estate in the neighborhood of Derbyshire. On first coming there he met Mr. Cheswick, one of the magnates of the place, who had taken a fancy to him, and at whose house he was staying until his own had been put into proper repair. The very day he went to Mr. Cheswick’s he met Dr. Heathcliff there, and in spite of the disparity of years the two men had at once struck a sympathetic vein. This evening Gale had been dining with the doctor, and they had strolled out to taste the freshness of the evening. They had hardly spoken since leaving the house, and it was Gale, who, in the tone of a man continuing an interrupted conversation, broke the silence by saying :

“Then you really do think Miss Cheswick has some reason for the warlike attitude she maintains towards her family

The doctor replied with a half smile :

“Poor, little Agnes ! Yes, she has reason, certainly.’^

“If you were the true friend you call yourself,” said his companion, “you would unravel the mystery for me, as a guest at The Elms, I cannot very well talk about it to Miss Cheswick. An explanation would necessitate my taking one side or the other and I cannot do that. I cannot say Mrs. Cheswick shows much tact or any great sense of justice in her dealing with her daughter ; but neither does Miss Cheswick appear to meet her mother half way. At the same time she is so evidently unhappy that I feel very sorry for her.”

“I see,” said the doctor, ‘‘you won’t offer your sympathy to the daughter, because it might excite hostile feelings against the father, whose guest you are. You coolly deliberate whether, after all, she is not more sinning than sinned against, and finally you declare your wish to hear all the facts that you may pronounce judgment with perfect impartiality.”

Gale burst out laughing as the doctor finished.

“Well,” he said presently, “you must own there is strife enough in the family without m}^ adding to it. I only wish to observe, more in sorrow than in anger, that you might have spared me the trouble of asking by letting me into the secret of it all. You are an old friend of the family and ought to know the whole thing by heart.”

“So I do,” observed the doctor, reflectively, “Agnes is a special favorite of mine, so what could I do better than tell all the secrets of her life to the first stranger who happens to come in my way?”

“lam not a stranger now, and I am very much interested in Miss Cheswick, and have been ever since I knew her. 1 , at least, have a right to come to one of her warm friends for particulars.”

Dr. Heathcliff smiled as he said: “Yes, her enemies are my enemies, too. It may not be prudent, but I do encourage her. I would not advise her to yield, besides, why should she yield ? She is not in the wrong.”

“You let your affection run away with your judgment,” rejoined Gale quietly.

“Possibly — I cannot deny that I love Agnes as if she were my own child, I have always felt constrained to keep an eye on her, partly for her mother’s sake, who was one of the most charming women I ever knew. Agnes is her image.”

“You knew her then? Of course I knew the present Mrs. Cheswick is only Agnes’s stepmother, and I have felt curious about her own mother, but I have never heard her mention her.”

“You shall know her whole story,” said Dr. Heathcliff. “Cheswick and I are the same age, and have known each other from childhood. Twenty-one years ago he married. His bride did not belong to this country. She was a sweet creature, and when I say a sweet creature, I don’t mean a woman who went about with a face like a professional martyr and an angelic smile. I have seen women like that called sweet creatures. Mrs. Cheswick was very beautiful, with the brightest eyes and most spirited face I ever saw. What an intelligence she had ! When I think of it I am tempted to rebel against the seeming waste of nature which could allow an intelligence like hers to perish before it had time to show itself in all its fulness, and just when that happened which would have developed it as nothing else could have done. It was deplorable.”

He paused, lost in thought, and looked as if he would not continue his story. Gale recalled him to himself with affected cynicism.

“Oh, the old story, I suppose. A misunderstood wife pining away into an early grave for want of the excitement of being appreciated.”

“Ah,” said the doctor, “those things may be truly said of other women, but nothing could be more erroneous as regards her. Her husband adored her. He had the intelligence to understand her rare merit. She could not have loved him. She must have seen he was inferior to her. And a woman cannot love a man who is her inferior. She may have had an affection for him, but there is a wide world between affection and xo love. We may feel an affection for many, but our souls are so formed we can have only one love. For one year she was in the house like a radiant being from another world— then it came to an end — she died.’’

Gale experienced a kind of shock from the very abruptness of the announcement, and repeated almost helplessly :

“She died?”

“Yes; a few days after Agnes was born. She had been going or. so well, and then all at once the turn came, and she was dead in a few hours. Cheswick was away ; only I was with her, and I pray I may never be present at such a deathbed again.”

“She did not want to die ?” said Gale.

“Want!” echoed Dr. Heathcliff almost sharply. “It was despair ; she had been almost beside herself with joy when the child was born, and was so glad it was a girl. It seemed as if the very force of her love for it must have kept her alive, but she died — died in the middle of a magnificent summer day, alone, but for servants and myself. Her mother had gone home supposing she was no longer needed. She was so anxious to see her husband before she died, and give the child into

n his keeping, and make some arrangements for its future. That was her bitterest thought, that her child should be given to a stepmother. But she had been dead an hour when he came. He was inconsolable at first — you know the style : would see no one nor speak to any one: and behaved altogether in rather maniacal fashion. At the end of three months he had been persuaded to come out of his seclusion and to travel. At the end of a year he wrote to have the house made ready for himself and his new bride. He had never been able to bear the sight of the child after his wife’s death, and I believe that in his wanderings abroad he had forgotten her ; for I shall never forget his face when he saw her again. Of one thing I am certain — ^he had never mentioned her to his wife ; and from what you have seen of that lady’s character you may judge for yourself if she was pleased either at his omission or her discovery. No doubt the child was the cause of many a private scene. It was not until Mrs. Cheswick’s own family began to grow up that Agnes came prominently into notice, and became the open object of her stepmother’s jealousy and ill will. She is one of those women whose maternal instincts never develop unless they become mothers themselves.

and then their affection is exclusively for their own children. She has an immense amount of family pride and lofty ideas concerning the position of the eldest of the family. She could never forgive Agnes for having been before her own children in coming into the world. The servants are all fond of Agnes ; her nurse was chosen by her mother. As the children grew older the position became more complicated. What Eleanor was old enough to do must of necessity be permitted to Agnes. If Eleanor at seventeen were sufficiently instructed to leave the school room, it would have been ridiculous to keep Agnes there, who was two years older. When all their friends would persist in distinguishing between ‘Miss Cheswick’ and ‘Miss Eleanor,’ it was very painful. There was never any sympathy between Agnes and her stepmother, that you must have seen at once.”

“Of course,” replied Forest. “All that you have said is comprehensible enough as regards Mrs. Cheswick, but it does not account for Cheswick’s indifference to his own child, the daughter of a woman whom you say he adored.”

“The very reason. He knows that he failed in his duty to the child from the beginning. He feels that he ought to have been true to the memory of his first wife. He had not the strength to resist this woman’s attractions. He knows he has fallen, and he would like to forget that he ever stood higher. If you have any knowledge of human nature you will know Agnes is a continual reminder. What does a man in Cheswick’s position know of the character of his daughter ?”

‘True,” said Forest. “Then your theory is that the whole difficulty arises from an inability on either side to read the character of the other ?”

“Partly only; I think Agnes reads the others pretty well, but they have not the most elementary comprehension of her character. They tell you no one can get on with Agnes ; she is so queer.”

“And is she?”

“She has peculiarities, of course. Who, that is worth anything, has not. What are peculiarities but the inequalities of character that break the dead level of conventionality and monotony? Every little grace and beauty of character belonging to one person alone is a peculiarity. Naturally there is nothing which is so bitterly resented by those who do not possess them.”

“And this second girl, Eleanor, who is away, I have heard she is very beautiful ; is it so

“She is marvelously beautiful.”

They were both silent, till the doctor raised his head and nodded in the direction of a young girl who was coming towards them, as he said : “Ah, here comes Agnes now.”

Chapter II. Fresh Influences

As the doctor spoke, the girl, who had been walking slowly along with her eyes bent on the ground, raised them, and, seeing the two men, she made a little gesture of recognition with her hand. Then, quickening her pace, she joined them in a moment, and put her hand into the outstretched hand of the elder.

‘‘Good evening, doctor,” she said, with a smile. “It is three days since I saw you. What have you been doing?”

“Going about my daily work, but my dear child, where are you going? Why are you so flushed?”

A low-voiced conversation took place between them. Gale, seeing that his presence was superfluous, withdrew a few steps and began to consider the face and figure of the young girl who had joined them.

She was small, of slender and delicate build.

i6

She had that creamy complexion which is tinged with color only in moments of exercise. Her teeth and hair were faultless, the latter being one a chestnut color, tinged with gold, fine, silky and abundant. She wore it carefully wreathed around her head in a manner peculiar to herself. Her eyes were her chief beauty ; eyes that could express every emotion from the most perfect tenderness to the fiercest scorn. They were large and dark and clear, full of fire and shaded by long lashes. What struck people most was her high-bred air, and the wonderful grace of all movements. All her features were fine and clear. As the conversation between the two seemed likely to last for some time, he began to try to put some order into his thoughts. This was their conversation :

'‘What ruffled your temper, Agnes ?”

"Oh, mamma took advantage of Mr. Gale’s absence to read me a lecture. They are angry because I refused that offer of marriage last summer. That man has written to papa, and he took the opportunity to mention it when we three were alone. I tried to keep cool, but mamma began to talk of ingratitude and all such stuff. I could hold in no longer. I said what I thought of girls of twenty marrying men of fifty. So papa requested me to leave the room and give him a proper answer before I went to bed.”

“Try, for my sake, Agnes, to govern your impulses and be content with the consciousness of right. They can’t make you marry this man.”

“If I could do anything it would be for you,” she replied in a low, subdued tone. He took her hand and held it tightly as though to give her courage. Apparently he succeeded, for she returned the pressure and said more bravely.

“I am^ so glad I met you. I behaved so foolishly — expect because I had not seen you for so long. Don’t let it be so many days again, doctor.”

“I have been too busy to call even at The Elms. But this evening I am at liberty, and will walk home with you.”

“We will go now,” said Agnes.

“Gale,” said Dr. Heathcliff, come on, we are going back to The Elms.”

They walked along almost in silence. As they were passing the doctor’s house, a man appeared to be in eager conversation with one of the maid servants. The doctor saw at a glance that his services were needed somewhere.

i8

“I am sorry/' said he, “I shall have to leave you, Gale. Take Miss Cheswick home. Good night to you both.” He was gone.

Agnes spoke first. “Let us go on, Mr. Gale, I want to get home.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Gale, “how could I be so thoughtless as to let you stand here? Lean on me,” he finished impulsively.

She accepted his arm, and when they had gone a little way, said : “I think you and Dr. Heathcliff get on.”

“Yes, he seems able to tolerate me, and I feel a due amount of elation at the thought, because I do not fancy he has many confidants.”

“No ; he is more popular among the poor than the rich. You cannot imagine how good he is to them. I do not know what they would do without him.” Just then they turned a corner in the road and came in sight of The Elms, residence of Archibald Cheswick.

It was a large and entirely modern house, standing on high ground, with no trees immediately surrounding it, and though handsomely built, with many plate-glass windows, the effect of the whole was stiff and unpleasant. Nothing had been left to nature. Every flower bore signs of being under the care and control of man. Not a weed defiled the perfect order of the well-rolled gravel paths.

Agnes shrugged her shoulders as she looked towards the mansion, and said :

“My grandfather built this house; papa saw nothing which needed improvement when he came into it. See how they light the gas and crowd into it on a perfect summer evening.’’

“Well, I suppose they like it. Why interfere with their liberty?”

“I am willing to respect it if they will respect mine,” was her answer.

Gale said nothing ; he did not know what Agnes and the doctor had been talking of, only he had a vague idea that she had been in trouble that evening and that further disaster was hanging over her head. She did not speak again until they were inside, and then, as they paused to lay aside their hats, she said :

“I am going to ask you to do me a favor. I want you not to come into the drawing room with me now. I have an answer to make to papa which would not be very interesting to you. So if you would not mind going into the billiard room, I will come and tell you when you can come in.’"

She smiled, and he saw that in the few moments since they had entered the house her face had undergone a great change. Before she had been looking subdued and depressed, now her eyes were bright ; she carried her head erect and her whole bearing was full of spirit.

“Do not trouble for me,” he said, as he let one admiring glance rest on her before they parted. Agnes went into the drawing room. There were only two persons there — Mr. and Mrs. Cheswick. Her father was a tall man with a narrow forehead and thin lips. His features were regular and well cut, but almost devoid of expression. He was reading. Mrs. Cheswick was working, and the light fell strongly upon her face, showing every feature. Even in repose her lips were curved into a sneer. A quiver of dislike shook Agnes as her eyes rested upon her stepmother. She went forward until she stood close by her father, and said, “Papa.”

Mr. Cheswick looked up from his paper with a frown.

“Well,” was his reply in an ungracious tone.

“You told me to give you my answer this evening. I have not changed my mind. I shall not marry Mr. Marston.”

“Very well ; it is your own affair.’’

So far as he was concerned the subject was at an end, but Mrs. Cheswick had listened to the little dialogue.

As Agnes was moving away she spoke :

“As usual, Agnes, you think only of yourself. You profess to be unhappy here, but when a chance comes for you to get away, you let it slip. Perhaps you think you have only to pick and choose like Eleanor. You forget that you have not her beauty. It was your duty to accept Mr. Marston. You seem to forget that I have been a mother to you since you were a baby, and it is now your duty to repay me by gratitude and obedience.”

Agnes’s lips parted in a smile, as she said : “Do not suppose I shall marry contrary to my inclinations to save your reputation as a stepmother.”

There was neither rudeness or want of respect in her tone and manner, and when she had finished, she moved towards the door.

“Where are you going?” asked Mrs. Cheswick.

“To tell Mr. Gale he can come in. He came home with me and I asked him to wait until this had passed over.”

Before Mrs. Cheswick could give expression to her feelings of outraged propriety Agnes had left the room.

A day or two later Agnes and Forest were lounging on the lawn. It was a peaceful summer afternoon, and Agnes had suggested this mode of spending the time. Forest had expected some astounding piece of intelligence as the result, but he heard nothing more surprising than this :

“You remember my telling you about Eleanor, my sister? That you would not see her till the end of this month, as she is in London for the season with her aunt?”

'T remember it perfectly, because you had told me of her wondrous beauty.”

“I do not like her,”, said Agnes, “but she is beautiful. You will fall captive to her — everybody does. But now you will have to look forward a little longer. She will not be home until October, as she is going with her aunt to the Continent.”

“Have you ever been on the Continent?”

“I have been nowhere scarcely beyond Derbyshire all my life.”

^‘Your traveling days are to come yet,” was his somewhat commonplace offer of comfort.

wonder what you will think of Eleanor; though I can guess when you begin by setting beauty above everything.”

“You are very unfair; there is something I set very high above beauty.”

“How should I know your pet vanities? Tell me.”

“Intelligence,” he said, looking rather fixedly at her.

“I knew it was intelligence, said she, smiling to herself and not looking at him.

“Where are you going,” he asked, rising, as he saw her get up.

“Into the house to see about something I had forgotten.”

She went away, leaving him in uncertainty, and he resumed his recumbent attitude on the ground and gave himself up to reflections which were a little disturbed by the ever-recurring question: “Will she come back ?”

Chapter III. Advancement

The feeling which had remained uppermost in Forest’s mind after hearing all Dr. Heathcliff had to tell him of Agnes was pity. He was by nature tender and chivalrous ; he would not have given an instant’s pain or suffering to anything weaker than himself. To give a woman a moment’s anxiety would have been impossible for him. So when he found that through no fault of her own, Agnes was on one side, and her father, mother and sisters on the other, his sympathies went with her. Had she been different from what she was his sympathy might have been dulled, but his heart was smitten with pity for this small, delicate creature, who had such a hard battle to fight. Nothing so decisive as a battle either; a battle once fought is lost or won. His sorrow for her began to take a practical form. He began to wish he could do something to alleviate her fate. ‘Tt is an awful life,” he thought.

^‘Awful, for I see no end to it unless she marries. She has no fortune, and a girl like her cannot go out and earn her own living. Women have a hard time of it. I am glad I am not a woman, and when they love it is so different from man s love. Man knows not love — such love as woman feels. In him it is a vast devouring flame— resistless ; fed — in its own strength consumed. In . woman’s heart it enters step by step, concealed, disowned, until its gentler ray breathes forth a light,' illumining her world. Man loves not for repose ; he woos the flower to wear it as the victor’s trophied crown ; whilst woman, when she ^ glories in her love, moves like the dove, in noiseless constancy, watches the nest of her affection till ’tis shed upon the tomb of him she loves. But this is not putting my plan into execution. I must do something to help her. I cannot bear to see her looking as she looks to-day.

The weeks flew by until it was the beginning of September. Forest had long ago left The Elms and taken up his abode at Sunnyside. There was a growing intimacy between Forest and Agnes. They had become fast friends, and argued and disputed in the way which is only permissible to fast friends. Their characters harmonized curiously. Forest had come to consider that life without Agnes would be a very incomplete and one-sided affair. If they were to be separated he would find her loss irreparable. As he rode back to Sunnyside one Autumn afternoon, when the bare boughs were sighing, the pale flowers dying, and the spirit of coming winter was stealing like a ghost through the trees, he was thinking of Agnes, and, realizing what an important place she already occupied in his life, he felt that he wanted to know that he could have her, see her, touch her, and speak to her every minute of the day. There was only one way of accomplishing this, but as he thought his brow clouded, for he was by no means sure that Agnes felt that absolute need of his society, which he was conscious of in regard to hers. If she did, she concealed it, for she seemed to find life bearable without him. He pondered over it as he rode along and decided that before speaking the words which sooner or later he would speak, he would study Agnes a little longer and try to find out what her real feelings were.

Chapter IV. In A Dream

It was a perfect autumn afternoon as Agnes walked across to a small island, her favorite resort. She went quickly and carelessly so long as she was on the rocks. Once on the sands her face changed and she went very slowly, keeping a sharp lookout for anything like quicksand. She reached the island at last and seated herself on a large rock. She had come to this lonely place for a set purpose, namely, to give herself a good moral bracing. So she soliloquized. ‘"He likes me, and we are friends; but we shall never be anything more. Somehow I do not have it in me to inspire people with a very deep attachment. It will all be over in one month, for then Eleanor will come home. I shall have to behave as if I see no change, and I am not sure I shall be able to. I wonder if I shall ever learn not to act upon impulse. I made such good resolutions at first, because I knew he would only care for me as long as he could compare me with no one else. I kept my resolution for so long, and then he was so kind and pleasant I could not help liking him. At last, I threw prudence to the winds, and thought I would have one pleasant summer in my life at any rate. I have enjoyed myself as I never did before. I did not think it would be so hard to give up at the end.”

Her face had grown thoughtful and sad as these thoughts passed through her mind, and presently she went on :

“If I only felt sure he really loved me. However, time will show. But should I win his love, it will only be for a time, for it is one thing to attract a man and another to keep him. It needs a wise woman to keep what she has attracted. I am not wise, I am so feeble, always longing for the impossible.”

She felt alone in the world. Her mind reached out to him. All that was noble within her; all that was spiritual ; all her love went out to him. She loved him with the breath, smiles and tears of all her life. She remained for some time lost in thought, heedless of time and tide. She was considerably surprised to find on rousing herself that the sun was low and the tide coming steadily in. She sat up and looked about with a view to returning home. The tide came creeping in to a certain point, then a wave suddenly arose and with a bound filled every curve of the island. Agnes saw she was a prisoner till the tide turned.

“How angry they will be when I do not come to dinner. It is better though to be prevented from coming by an accident than to be late through forgetfulness. But what shall I do? I shall have nothing to eat for so long. I shall hardly feel able for my walk when the time comes to take it.”

It was interesting for a short time, but soon it grew dark and cold. It was weary waiting.