Agnes, or, Beauty and Pleasure — page 380: what you’re looking at

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a a re eel AGNES; OR, BBAUTY AND PLEASUBE. 372 ber cloak as she led the way from the apart- ment. “Whither are you going?” again asked the Countess, full of an intense anxiety. “ You just now epoke with a mingled despondency and bit- terness in reference to your degraded posi- tion ” “ And I am about to take the only step, Lucia, which can possibly be adopted by one in my posi- tion.” “Holy saints! what mean you, sister—dear sister! do you—do you dare to think of suicide P” “No, Lucia!—or else I should not bave thought it worth while to bring these blood-stained gar- ments with me”—and she displayed the bundle from beneath her cluak—“ that I may safely dis pose of such dread evideuce: nor should I have been so cruel as to ask you, Lucia, to come and witness the catastrophe. And yet I am about to leave this world of strife and wretchedness, of jarring interests and fierce passions—a world in which when once the pathway of crime bas been entered upon, it is impossible to make a safe re- treat !—— But here let us pause for an instant,” A bridge wae now reached: a portion of it was being repaired—and tkere were piles of granite blocks and bricks on the side of the pathway. The Princess had noticed them when paying ber visit to the convent of La Trinita. She now stooped down; and opening ber bundle upon the pave- ment, enclosed a couple of bricks; for we shvuld observe that she and her sister stood alone at that hour upon the bridge. In a few moments the blood-stained garments were consigned to the depthe of the river that rolled beneath. “And now whither are you going, Banca P”’ asked the Countess for the third time, as her sister, instead of beginning to retrace her steps, continued to lead the way across the bridge. “ My destination is at no great distance,” re- plied the Princess, “Did I not tell you, Lucia, that I was about to abandon a world wherein existence would be no longer tolerable for me? Aud yet it is not by means of suicide that 1 am about to escape this world!” “Ah! methinks I[ understand, sister!” ex- claimed the Countess, “ But, Oh! is it possible that the blood upon those garments indicates erimes of so deep a dye . “Do not question me, Lucia!” said the Prin- cess, iD an earnest tone: and then she continued in solemn accents to say, “ Rest assured, Lucia, that however great my crimes have been, they will be fully atoned for. Sor it 1s to the peni- tence of this living tomb that | am about to cun- sign myeself:”’—and at the same instant Bianca rang the bell of the convent at the gate of which she abruptly stopped short as she thus spoke. The parting between the twain was brief but deeply aff-cting; and when Lucia tore herself weeping away trom the spot, the massive portals of La Trinita closed upon Sister Agonia! CHAPTER LXV. THE PRISON-CHAMBER. WE have often been necessitated in the course of this narrative to describe phases of profound grief and affliction: but we are now perhaps more than ever at a loss for language wherewith to convey an idea of the immensity of that woe and the wildness of that despair which were ex- perienced by Mrs. De Vere, when looking upon her son as a doomed being, beyond the reach of hope. Vainly did the young man summon all bis presence of mind to his aid, that be might sustain his unhappy mother and console her if possible. But consolation! Ob, the idea was prepusterous! How could she be solaced for the loss of the only being that on earth she loved,— the only one for whom she lived—the joy and the darling of ber heart! To look beyond the moment which ehould snatch him from her, was to gaze upon a prospect so filled with horror and despair that the brain reeled from the contemplation, And then, as she looked upon that strikingly handsome youth, with his slender figure of such perfect masculine symmetry—with his dark hair clustering in natural curls about his well-shaped head—his countenance wearing such an ingenuous candour of expression,—his featurea so perfectly regular—his mouth so finely chiselled, and revealing aset of euch brilliant teeth,—as the poor mother thus contemplated her son, we say, and beheld him in bis Apollo-like beauty, and remembered that his years bad only numbered twenty, she thought it absolutely impossible that any laws were so cruel or any human beings so merciless as to take away the life of one so handsome and so young! But, Ab! those dreamy intervals of doubt and bewilderment were quickly succeeded by periods of the most appalling certainty, when all the reality of the awful circumstances environing that bright and beautiful one could be no longer shut out from her contemplation ! “Ob, my beloved boy!” exclaimed Mrs, De Vere, in one of those moments when all the violence of her distress burst forth, carrying her as it were to the very verge of madness: “ I feel as if I, your own mother, have become your mur- deress! Gwvod God! if I had not spoken harshly to you in Flurence, you would not have fled away —and you would never have become involved in those adventures which are fast leading to a hor- rible catastrophe!” “D> not blame yourself, dearest mother,” said Chartes, lavishing upon bis affiic’'ed parent the tenderest filial caresses. ‘‘Circumstances com- bined against me! I do not blame Lord Ormsby for misjudging me—much less can I blame you for yielding to bis representations, And Oa! I thank G.d that my innocence has been cleared up, and that my poor Agnes”—here his voice quivered, but by dint of an almost preterhuman effurt he conquered the emotiuns that were on the very poiot of bursting forth—and be said, “At all events my pvor Agnes will not have to look upon me as one who was faithless, depraved, and uo- worthy of her!” “No, Charles—no!” murmured Mrs. De Vere, the tears raining down her cheeks, and her bosom COMMICLIOOLKS (©) |