so rapidly that he surprised her. She hurriedly spoke first.
‘You are leaving London very suddenly, Henry. Is it business? or pleasure?’
He did not answer her. He pointed to the flaming letter, and to some black ashes of paper.
‘Are you burning letters?’
‘Yes.’
‘His letters?’
‘Yes.’
He took her hand gently.
‘I had no idea. Forgive me, Agnes – I shall see you when I return.’
She signed to him, with a faint smile, to take a chair.
‘We have known one another since we were children,’ she said. ‘Why should I have any secrets from you? I sent back all your brother’s gifts to me some time ago. I will keep nothing that can remind me of him.’
She looked into the fire. The tears were in his eyes. He muttered to himself,
‘Damn him!’
She looked at him again.
‘Well, Henry, and why are you going away?’
‘I am out of spirits[13], Agnes, and I want a change.’
She paused before she spoke again. His face told her plainly that he was thinking of her when he made that reply. She was grateful to him, but her mind was not with him: her mind was still with the man who had deserted her. She turned round again to the fire.
‘Is it true,’ she asked, after a long silence, ‘that they have been married today?’
He answered ungraciously: ‘Yes.’
‘Did you go to the church?’
‘Go to the church?’ he repeated. ‘How can you ask? I have never spoken to Montbarry, I have not even seen him, since he treated you like the scoundrel[14] and the fool that he is.’
She looked at him suddenly. He understood her, and begged her pardon. But he was still angry.
‘He will rue the day when he married that woman!’ he said.
Agnes took a chair by his side, and looked at him with a gentle surprise.
‘Is it quite reasonable to be so angry with her, because your brother preferred her to me?’ she asked.
Henry turned on her sharply.
‘Do you defend the Countess?’
‘Why not?’ Agnes answered. ‘I know nothing against her. On the day when we met, she appeared to be a timid, nervous person, looking dreadfully ill. She fainted under the heat of the room. We know that she did not want to hurt me; we know that she was not aware of my engagement.’
Henry lifted his hand impatiently, and stopped her.
‘Try to forget them both, Agnes!’ he interposed.
Agnes laid her hand on his arm.
‘You are very good to me, Henry; but you don’t quite understand me. I was wondering whether my feeling for your brother could really pass away. I have destroyed the last visible things that remind me of him. In this world I shall see him no more. But is the tie that once bound us, completely broken? What do you think, Henry? I can hardly believe it.’
The old nurse appeared again at the door, announcing another visitor.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you, my dear. But here is Mrs. Ferrari. She wants to know when she may say a few words to you.’
Agnes turned to Henry, before she replied.
‘You remember Emily Bidwell, my favourite pupil years ago at the village school, and afterwards my maid? She left me, to marry an Italian courier, named Ferrari.’
Henry rose.
‘I will be glad to see Emily at any other time,’ he said. ‘But I will go now. My mind is disturbed, Agnes. I will cross the Channel[15] tonight. A few weeks’ change will help me, I hope.’
He took her hand.
‘Is there anything in the world that I can do for you?’ he asked very earnestly.
She thanked him, and tried to release her hand.
‘God bless you, Agnes!’ he said.
Her face flushed again. He lifted her hand to his lips, kissed it fervently, and left the room. The nurse hobbled after him.
‘Don’t be sad, Master Henry,’ whispered the old woman. ‘Try her again, when you come back!’
Agnes tried to compose herself. She paused before a little water-colour drawing[16] on the wall, which had belonged to her mother. It was her own portrait when she was a child.
The courier’s wife entered – a little meek melancholy woman, with white eyelashes, and watery eyes. Agnes shook hands with her kindly.
‘Well, Emily, what can I do for you?’
The courier’s wife made a rather strange answer:
‘I’m afraid to tell you, Miss.’
‘Sit down, and let me hear. How does your husband behave to you?’
Emily’s light grey eyes looked more watery than ever. She shook her head and sighed resignedly. ‘I have no positive complaint to make against him, Miss. But I’m afraid he doesn’t care about me; and he seems to take no interest in his home – I may almost say he’s tired of his home. It will be better for both of us, Miss, if he travels for a while. Not to mention the money.’
She put her handkerchief to her eyes, and sighed again.
‘I don’t quite understand,’ said Agnes. ‘I thought your husband had an engagement to take some ladies to Switzerland and Italy?’
‘Oh, Miss, one of the ladies fell ill – and the others won’t go without her. They paid him a month’s salary as compensation. But the loss is serious.’
‘I am sorry to hear it, Emily. Let us hope he will soon have another chance.’
‘Miss, you see, there are so many couriers at the moment just now. If someone privately recommends-’
She stopped.
Agnes understood her directly.
‘You want my recommendation,’ she rejoined.
Emily blushed.
‘It will be such a chance for my husband,’ she answered confusedly. ‘A letter, inquiring for a good courier (a six months’ engagement, Miss!) came
I am out of spirits. – У меня скверное настроение.
he treated you like the scoundrel – он выказал себя перед тобой подлецом
the Channel – Ла-Манш
water-colour drawing – акварель
