XI.
Ruth Glen.
“The more I looked, I wondered more—
And while I scanned it o’er and o’er
A moment gave me to espy
A trouble in her strong black eye;
A remnant of uneasy light,
A flash of something over bright;
Not long this mystery did detain
My thoughts—she told in pensive strain
That she had borne a heavy yoke,
Been stricken by a two-fold stroke;
Ill health of body; and had pined
Beneath worse ailments of the mind.”
WORDSWORTH.
It had been determined ever since poor Miss Edwards left the Wharton’s, that the girls should be sent to the city, to boarding school, and it was without much difficulty that Mr. Wharton succeeded in obtaining Mrs. Elwyn’s consent to his sending Agnes with them, that the cousins might continue their education together. Indeed, as I have before intimated, Mrs. Elwyn always listened, and answered with the utmost indifference, when any plan respecting her daughter was proposed to her. She supposed, rightly enough, that her own means might be required for the support of herself and Lewie, (for she intended to close her house and accompany Lewie to Stanwick,) and as Mr. Wharton seemed anxious to take the care of Agnes from her hands, and she knew he could well afford to do so, she made no objection whatever to the proposed plan. In short, Mr. and Mrs. Wharton regarded this lovely girl, thus cast off and neglected by her only natural protector, as their own, and cherished her accordingly.
Mrs. Wharton’s health, which had delayed, for some months, the departure of the girls for the city, now seemed fully re-established; Emily, also, seemed better than she had done for years, and it was with light hearts, and many pleasant anticipations, that the three cousins, under the care of Mr. Wharton, started, for the first time, for school. At about the same time, Lewie, accompanied by his mother, went to Stanwick, and began his school life under the care of Dr. Hamilton.
The boarding-school at which Agnes and her cousins were placed, was under the superintendence of Mrs. Arlington and her daughters, ladies who had received a most thorough education in England, and who had long kept an extensive and popular boarding-school there. The hope of passing her declining days in the society of an only son, who had some years before emigrated to America, induced Mrs. Arlington, accompanied by her daughters, to follow him, and though it pleased Providence to remove this idolized son and brother, by death, in a little more than a year after their reunion in this country, the mother and daughters determined to remain, and continue their vocation here, where they had very flattering hopes of success.
Mr. and Mrs. Wharton had long known and esteemed these estimable ladies, and though, in many respects, opposed to boarding-schools in general, yet, as there seemed, at present, no other means for the girls to acquire an education, but by sending them from home, they thought that a more unexceptionable place could not be provided for them than Mrs. Arlington’s school.
Mrs. Arlington, though a woman of more than sixty years of age, still possessed an erect and queen-like figure, a most dignified and stately appearance, and a face of remarkable beauty. She commanded respect at first sight, and there was no punishment greater for her pupils, than to be reported to Mrs. Arlington, and to be obliged to meet her face to face, to receive a reprimand. Her three daughters, Miss Susan, Miss Sophie, and Miss Emma, taught in different departments of the school, and were in every respect most admirably fitted for their different stations. Miss Emma taught music; Miss Sophie, French and drawing; while Mrs. Arlington and her eldest daughter attended solely to the more solid branches of education.
It took some little time, of course, before our young friends felt at home in so strange a place, and among so many new faces. But many of the older scholars, who had been long in the school, were very kind in coming forward to make their acquaintance, and endeavor to do away the feeling of awkwardness, ever an attendant upon the introduction to scenes so untried and new. Grace and Effie were very shy and silent at first, but the peculiarly sweet and unaffected friendliness of Agnes’ manner, won every heart immediately. The younger scholars, especially, seemed to love her the moment she spoke to them, and to feel as if in her they should ever find a friend.
Agnes and her cousins were placed in a large room in the third story; this room contained three beds, one of which was taken possession of by Grace and Effie, another was occupied by two little girls, of the names of Carrie and Ella Holt and Agnes was, for the present, alone. Mrs. Wilkins, the housekeeper, informed her, however, that Mrs. Arlington expected a new scholar soon, who was to be her bed-fellow. For some reason or other, the new scholar did not arrive at the time expected, and it was not till Agnes and her cousins had been some weeks at the school, and had began to feel quite at home there, that they were made aware, by the advent of an old hair trunk and a band-box, that the sixth occupant of their room had arrived.
The new scholar’s name was Ruth Glenn. She was a strange-looking girl; very tall and thin, with a pale, greenish cast of complexion; coal-black eyes, very much sunken in her head; hair as black as her eyes, and colorless lips. When she smiled, which was very seldom, she displayed a fine set of teeth, her only redeeming feature. Her manners were as strange as her appearance. When she spoke, which was only when absolutely necessary, or in reciting her lesson, there was a constant nervous twitching about her bloodless lips; and she had a peculiar way of pulling at her long, thin fingers, as if it was her full intention to pull them off.
We cannot help being influenced by first impressions; and though Agnes felt the sincerest pity for this strange, awkward, shy girl, and did her best to make her feel at her ease, she could not but feel sorry that she was to be her bed-fellow. Ruth Glenn sat by herself in the school-room, always intently occupied with her book, having no communication with her school-mates, and always seizing on the moment of dismissal from the school-room to retire to her own apartment. And yet, as far as the girls could judge, she was full of kindness and generosity of feeling, evinced by many little quiet acts which one school-mate may always find it in her power to do for another.
One night, the third or fourth after the arrival of Ruth Glenn at the school, the girls sleeping in the room with her were suddenly aroused from sleep by loud and piercing screams from little Carrie Holt. Agnes sprang up, and was by her side in a moment. As she left her bed she perceived that Miss Glenn was not there.
“What is the matter, Carrie? Why do you scream so, dear?” asked Agnes.
“Oh, Miss Elwyn!—that tall, white figure!—that tall, white figure! It came and stood by me, and laid its cold white hand right on my face. It was a ghost—I know it was—I saw it so plain in the moonlight. Oh, don’t leave me!—don’t leave me, Miss Elwyn! It will come again!” And the trembling child clung with both arms tightly around Agnes.
“I will not leave the room, Carrie,” said Agnes; “but I must find out what has frightened you so. There are no such things as ghosts, Carrie: you have been dreaming.”
“Oh no, Miss Elwyn, I did not dream that!” sobbed little Carrie; “I was having a beautiful dream about ho-o-o-me and mother, when that cold hand came on my cheek, and I opened my eyes, and saw that tall, white figure. Oh, it had such great hollow eyes! I saw them so plain in the moonlight!”
“Now lie down, dear little Carrie, till I find out what all this means,” said Agnes. The weeping child obeyed, hugging up close to her little sister for protection.
The light had been taken away at ten o’clock, as was the invariable custom at Mrs. Arlington’s; but Agnes opened both shutters, and admitted the bright moonlight into the room, making every object to be discerned almost as plainly as in the day-time. She then stepped to her own bed. Miss Glenn certainly was not there. She went to the door of her room, and found it locked on the inside, as she had left it when she went to bed. Miss Glenn, then, must still be in the room. Agnes walked around it, carefully examining every object: she then went into the closet, and felt carefully all around the walls. She began to think there was something very strange in all this; and the other girls, all of whom had been wide awake ever since they were aroused by the screams of little Carrie, were sitting up in their beds in a great state of agitation and alarm.
“I will not stay in this room another night!” said little Carrie; “I wish we dared to go down to Mrs. Arlington. Let’s all go down together to Miss Emma, and ask her to come up here.”
“No, no; hush, children!” said Agnes. Then she called, as loudly as she dared, without awaking those in the neighboring rooms:
“Miss Glenn! Miss Glenn! where are you?”
“Here I am! What do you want of me?” answered a smothered voice.
“Mercy on us!” shrieked Carrie and Ella in a breath, and springing with one bound on to the floor—“mercy on us! she is under our bed!”
Agnes looked under the bed, and could just distinguish something white, huddled up in one corner under the head of the bed.
“Miss Glenn! what do you mean?” exclaimed Agnes, in a tone of amazement. “Are you trying to frighten these poor children? Come out here directly.”
With all Agnes’ gentleness, she had sufficient spirit when roused, and she was now really indignant at what she supposed was a cruel attempt to frighten little Carrie and Ella. Ruth Glenn was three or four years older than Agnes, but yet she submitted at once to the tone of authority in which she was addressed, and came crawling out from under the bed.
“I think it’s a little too bad,” said the trembling little sisters, crying and talking together; “it’s real mean, to wake us up, and frighten us so. I mean to tell Mrs. Arlington of you to-morrow, Miss Glenn. I know our mother won’t let us stay here to be frightened so!”
Ruth Glenn sat down on the edge of her own bed and said nothing, but Agnes noticed that she shivered, as if with cold.
“Come, Miss Glenn, lie down,” said Agnes, “and let us see if we can have quiet for the rest of the night; we shall none of us be fit for study to-morrow, I fear.”
Ruth Glenn obeyed quietly, and was soon asleep, but the others had been so agitated that it was a long time before their minds were sufficiently calmed for repose. When startled by the rising bell, they got up tired and unrefreshed, and with no very amiable feelings towards the author of the disturbance in the night. Miss Glenn went about dressing as quietly as usual, saying nothing to any one; till little Ella, who was a spirited little thing, just as she was leaving the room, turned about and said:
“Now, Miss Glenn! I am going right down to tell Mrs. Arlington about you.”
To the surprise of all, this cold silent girl sat down on the bed, and wringing her hands, and rocking back and forth, and crying most piteously, she begged little Ella not to tell of her.
“I will do anything I can for you, Ella,” said she, “I will help you in your lessons, whenever you want any help; only don’t tell Mrs. Arlington; she will send me away perhaps, and then what shall I do!” She then implored Agnes to use her influence with the little girls, and her cousins, to ensure their silence on the subject, promising not to disturb them again, if she could help it.
“I don’t know what I went to your bed for, Carrie,” she said, “I did not want to frighten you.”
“Why did you act so strangely then, Miss Glenn?” asked Agnes, “were you asleep?”
“I don’t know; I cannot tell; don’t ask me;” was all they could get from Miss Glenn, who continued to weep and wring her hands.
Though apparently very poor, Miss Glenn possessed some few rare and curious things, which she said her father, who had been a sea-captain, had brought her from other countries, and by means of some of these, she succeeded in securing the silence of the little girls. Grace and Effie were easily induced by the remonstrances of Agnes, and partly by pity for Miss Glenn’s evident distress, to promise not to betray her. None of the occupants of that room felt fit for study that day, except Miss Glenn. She sat alone, as usual, and studied as perseveringly as ever. This was only the beginning of a series of nocturnal performances, continued almost every night, with every morning a repetition of the same scene of begging and remonstrance with her room-mates, to persuade them not to betray her to Mrs. Arlington. Sometimes, as Miss Glenn was quietly leaving her bed, Agnes would wake and follow her, determined to see what she would do, and to prevent, if possible, her waking the other girls. At times she would seat herself upon a chest in one corner of the room, and commence a conversation with some imaginary individual near her; then she would move silently round the room, and sitting down in some other part of it, would talk again, as if in conversation with some lady next her. Then she would open the window very quietly, and look up, and down, and around, talking all the time in a low tone, but in a much more lively and animated manner than was usual with her in the day-time. She would sometimes cross over to the bed where Grace and Effie Wharton were sleeping, but just as she was about laying her hand on one of them, Agnes would touch her, and ask her what she meant by wandering about so night after night, and tell her to come directly back to bed.
“Oh,” Miss Glenn would answer quietly, “I have only been talking to the ladies, and holding a little conversation with the moon and stars—don’t mind me—go to bed—I will come.”
But Agnes would answer resolutely,
“No, Miss Glenn, I will not leave you to frighten the girls again; you must come back to bed with me, and let me hold your hand tightly in mine.” And Miss Glenn would obey immediately.
When the moon was shining brightly into the room, these performances of Miss Glenn’s were only annoying, but when the nights were very dark, and nothing could be seen in the room, it was really horrible to hear this strange girl chattering and mumbling, now in one corner, now in another, sometimes in the closet, sometimes under the beds; and one night, in a fearful thunder-storm, she seemed to be terribly excited, and when the lightning flashed upon the walls, the shadow of her figure could be seen strangely exaggerated, performing all manner of wild antics.
This conduct of Miss Glenn’s puzzled Agnes exceedingly: she could not decide in her own mind whether the girl was trying to frighten them, whether she was asleep, or whether she had turns of derangement at night. Neither of these suppositions seemed exactly to account for her singular actions. Her evident, and, Agnes doubted not, real distress, at the possibility of Mrs. Arlington being informed of her nocturnal performances, and the sacrifices of every kind that she was willing to make to ensure silence, convinced Agnes that it was not done merely to alarm them; her vivid remembrance of all that she had said or done in the night, and her answering questions, and coming to bed so readily when addressed by Agnes, without any appearance of waking up, led her to suppose it was not somnambulism; and as Miss Glenn never showed any sign of wandering of mind in the day time, Agnes could not suppose it to be derangement. Miss Glenn was a perfect enigma; night after night disturbing her room-mates with her strange performances, and every morning going over the same scene of earnest expostulation and entreaty, accompanied by violent weeping, to induce them not to betray her to Mrs. Arlington. Poor little Carrie and Ella kept the secret bravely, though, on the night of the thunder-storm, they were so terrified by Miss Glenn’s conduct, that, wrapping themselves in the bed-blankets, and persuading Agnes to lock the door after them, they went out, and sat upon the stairs till morning. The very next day, two sisters who slept in another room received tidings of the death of their mother, which hurried them home; and as they were not to return that quarter, little Carrie and Ella, with Agnes to intercede for them, requested to be allowed to take their vacated place. Mrs. Arlington readily acquiesced, as, she said, it would be much better to have four in each room.
Thus things went on, till, one night, Agnes was horror-stricken to find that Miss Glenn was endeavoring to climb out of the window. As I have said, they were in the third story of the building; and the distance to the ground being very great, the unfortunate girl would inevitably have been dashed to pieces upon the flag stones below, had not Agnes suddenly caught her, and, with a strength that astonished herself, succeeded in drawing her back into the room.
The terror and agitation into which Agnes was thrown by this circumstance determined her to do something decisive the very next day; she was now convinced that it was her duty, and resolved to do it, in spite of Miss Glenn’s tears and persuasions. She thought it right, however, in the first place, to acquaint Miss Glenn with her determination, and began by informing her, when they were alone the next morning, of the imminent danger from which she had been so fortunate as to save her in the night. Ruth Glenn seemed to remember it all, and shuddered as she thought of it.
“Now, Ruth,” said Agnes, “I really think we have all kept silence as long as could be expected, or as it is right that we should. You will bear witness that we have endured very patiently all this nightly disturbance. I have long been convinced, whatever may be the reason of your conduct, that you have not the control of your own actions at night; and I think we shall be very culpable if we conceal this matter longer from Mrs. Arlington; for, as you must now be convinced, the consequences may be fatal to yourself, or perhaps to others. You need not fear that Mrs. Arlington will dismiss you, but I think she will consult medical advice in your case, which most probably should have been done long before this.”
Ruth acknowledged the justice of all that Agnes said, and at length consented that she should make Mrs. Arlington acquainted with all that had transpired in their room. “But, oh, Agnes!” she said, “do persuade her to let me remain, and finish my education. It has been my hope for years, that I might be enabled to prepare myself to be a governess. My father was lost at sea, and my poor mother died of a broken heart, and I was left all alone to take care of myself at the age of fourteen. Since then, I have sewed night and day, night and day, denying myself sleep, and almost all the necessaries of life, in the hope of getting an education. That hope, with all my unwearied industry, would never have been fulfilled, had not a kind lady for whom I sewed offered to make up the requisite sum; and now, if Mrs. Arlington sends me away, what will become of me? The hope of my life will be disappointed.”
“Well, I do not wish to discourage you, my dear Ruth, but you must see I think that you are totally unfitted to have children under your care at present.”
“I suppose I am, Agnes, but I have been hoping that I should get over this; it seems to grow worse and worse, however, and you may now do as you choose. You have exercised great forbearance with me, dear Agnes. You have been a true friend, and whatever may be the result, you may go to Mrs. Arlington.”
Mrs. Arlington was very kind, and only regretted that she had not before been made acquainted with Ruth Glenn’s singular conduct. She said she did not doubt that it was entirely owing to her state of health, and her sedentary manner of life for years past, and sent immediately for her family physician, and made him acquainted with the case.
Agnes was sent for, and questioned as to Miss Glenn’s actions and appearance, when thus restless at night, and she as well as the different teachers, were interrogated as to her habits in the day time. The doctor thus learned that it was with the greatest difficulty that Miss Glenn could be persuaded to take any exercise, and Agnes told him what Ruth had related to her of her mode of life for the last few years. The doctor thought it one of the most singular cases he ever met with, and prescribed a strict course of medicine, diet and exercise, insisting particularly upon the latter.
It was a hard thing to persuade Ruth to take her early morning walk, and other exercise advised by the physician, and Mrs. Arlington was at length obliged to tell her, that only upon condition of her obeying his directions, could she consent to allow her to remain in the school. This, together with the indefatigable endeavors of Agnes, prevailed upon Ruth Glenn to take the accustomed walks, which Agnes with great cunning contrived to lengthen every morning, until at length Ruth Glenn would return with a slight tinge of color in her cheek, and an unusual brightness about her eye. The result was very soon seen, in more quiet nights in the third-story-room, and, before long, Ruth confessed that she felt like another creature, and began to realize an enjoyment in life, of which she had known nothing since her childhood.
Often, however, the old feeling of indolence returned, and it was very amusing to Grace and Effie to hear poor Ruth beg and plead with Agnes to be allowed to remain quiet “just one morning,” and to see how vigorously and perseveringly Agnes resisted her appeals, rousing her up and leading her off, poor Ruth looking much like a martyr about to be dragged to the stake.
Before Agnes and her cousins left Mrs. Arlington’s school, Ruth Glenn was so changed for the better, that she would not have been recognized as the same pale, strange girl, who came there three years before. Her spirits and appetite were good, and there was no longer any complaint of disturbance at night by her room-mates.
It was a sad day in the school when Agnes and her cousins took their final leave, but no one seemed so broken-hearted as poor Ruth Glenn.
“Oh, Agnes,” said she, “who will be the friend to me that you have been? Who will drag me out with such relentless cruelty?” and here she smiled sadly through her tears, “through rain and sunshine, heat and cold; I am afraid I shall be as bad as ever, for my walks will be so dull without you.”
But Agnes told her she hoped she had now received sufficient benefit from her regular exercise, to be willing to make a little sacrifice, and obtained from her a solemn promise that she would continue the course they had so long pursued together.
Agnes had employed herself most perseveringly while at Mrs. Arlington’s school, in becoming thoroughly acquainted with various branches of education and accomplishments, being fully determined in her own mind no longer to be a burden to her uncle, but to use the means he was so kindly putting into her hands, in enabling her to gain her own support hereafter. But she had no sooner left the school than other duties claimed her attention, as will presently be seen.