You don't seem over-pleased, it seems to
me, Agnes, at the notion of a _tete-a-tete_ with your humble servant;"
and Mr. Charles pouted, half in fun and half with annoyance.
"No, no; it is not that, Charles," answered the girl, hastily. "You know
I have no pleasure equal to that of being with you; but I don't like
your mother's looks; she had such a strange air, and spoke so
differently from her usual way. I really scarcely like to leave her."
"My dear Agnes, you don't know my mother," returned Charles, laughing.
"One would sometimes think she had all the care of the world upon her
shoulders when every thing is going as smooth as oil. You don't
appreciate the grave responsibility of taking furnished lodgings for a
week certain. Come along, you little goose." And, drawing her still
hesitating arm within his own, he marched away with her.
Yet Agnes had reason for what she said; and Charles, somewhat selfish as
he was, would have foregone his flirtation and remained by his mother's
side had he seen her the moment after the house door had shut her in.
With a throbbing heart, and a face as white as the handkerchief she
passed over her damp brow, she leaned against the wall of the passage,
ere, with trembling steps, she approached the open parlor door. An aged
woman stood in the centre of the room, with hair as white as snow, but
with a figure straight as a poplar, and drawn up rigidly to its full
height.
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