gladly have left a place where she was so thoroughly uncomfortable; but
the thought of the children, to whom she had become attached, and who
seemed now to be rewarding her pains and trouble by their rapid
improvement, deterred her from taking a step which should separate her
from them forever. Poor Tiney too, who seemed rapidly failing under the
power of disease, and who clung to her so fondly, how could she leave
her?

XVI.

Death and the Fugitive.

"She came with smiles the hour of pain to cheer,
Apart she sighed; alone, she shed the tear,
Then, as if breaking from a cloud she gave
Fresh light, and gilt the prospect of the grave."

--CRABBE.

One summer night, Agnes, who had been up till very late, soothing and
quieting poor Tiney, and had at last succeeded in singing her to sleep,
left her in Susan's care, and returned to her own room. It was a lovely,
warm, moonlight evening, and Agnes stood by her raised window, watching
the shadows of the tall trees which were thrown with such vivid
distinctness across the gravel walks and the closely trimmed lawn, and
thinking of a pleasant walk she had taken that day, and of some one who
joined her, (as was by no means unusual,) on her return from the woods
with the younger children.

Suddenly her reverie was broken by the sound of a few chords struck very
lightly and softly upon a guitar. The sound came from the clump of
trees, the shadows of which Agnes had just been admiring; and she
supposed they were the prelude to a serenade. Her heart whispered to her
who the musician might be, for though she had never heard him, with whom
her thoughts had been busy, touch the guitar, yet with his ardent love
for music, she did not doubt that he might if he chose, accompany his
rich voice upon so simple an instrument.

But now the blood which had crimsoned her cheek flowed back tumultuously
to her heart, as she heard a voice she could not mistake, humming very
softly the notes of a sad and touching air, which she and Lewie had
often sung together. This plaintive singer could be no other than her
brother. But why here, at night, and in this clandestine manner,
evidently trying to win her attention, without arousing that of others?
The house seemed quiet: and Agnes, throwing a shawl about her, quickly
descended the stairs, and, quietly opening a side door, crossed the
lawn, and in another moment stood beside her brother, under the shade of
the tall old elms