Lewie Part 12

"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 repet.i.tion 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 circ.u.mstance 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 appet.i.te 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.

XII.

LEWIE AT SCHOOL.

"The child is father of the man."--WORDSWORTH.

Had our friend Lewie heard Mr. Malcolm's prediction relative to his school experiences, he would have had reason to think him a true prophet. He came into the school and the play-ground with the same ideas which had been predominant with him ever since his baby-hood; and though he did not, as then, continually say the _words,_ his actions proclaimed as loudly, "Lewie must have his own way!--Lewie must not be crossed!" He found his school companions not quite so complying as his indulgent mother, and those over whom she had control; and before he had been long in the school, he was known by the various names of "Dictator-General,"

"First Consul," "Great Mogul," &c., and with these epithets he was greeted whenever he put on any of his dictatorial airs.

These constant insults and impertinences, as he called them, irritated his ungoverned spirit, and in consequence many a school-mate measured his length upon the ground in the most sudden manner, and innumerable were the fights and "rows" which were the result. The presence of Lewie seemed everywhere the signal of contention and strife, where all had been heretofore, with very few exceptions, harmony and peace; and yet, but for his hasty and impatient temper, Lewie might have been an unparalleled favorite among his schoolmates. In the still summer evenings, when he took his guitar, and sat upon the steps of the portico, the boys would crowd around him, and listen in breathless silence to his sweet music. As long as his own inclinations were not crossed or interfered with, a more agreeable companion could not be found. He had the frank, open manners, which are not seldom joined with a quick temper, and in many things he showed a n.o.ble, generous disposition; but as soon as the wishes of others in their sports and recreations came in conflict with his own, his terrible pa.s.sion was roused at once, and carried all before it. Many were the complaints which he carried to his mother of insult and ill-treatment; and before he had been six months at Dr. Hamilton's school, he was urging her to allow him to remove to another of which he had heard, and where he fancied he should be more happy. Mrs. Elwyn's health was not as firm as it once was; she was becoming weak and nervous, and dreaded change, and endeavored to pacify her son, and to persuade him to remain at Dr.

Hamilton's school. No doubt he would have effected his object by teazing, but it was accomplished in another way.

There are boys to be found in every large school who delight in playing practical jokes, and in teazing and tormenting those who are susceptible of annoyance in this way. There was a large, stout boy in Dr. Hamilton's school, of the name of Colton, a great bully and teaze, whose delight it seemed to be to torment and put into a pa.s.sion one so fiery as our little hero, feeling safe from the only kind of retaliation which could injure him, as he was so much the stoutest and strongest of the two.

This boy soon found that there was one point upon which Lewie was peculiarly sensitive, and the slightest allusion to which would call the red blood to his face. This was the fact of his being accompanied by his mother when he came to the school, and her having taken board in the village, that she might be near him as long as he was there. Lewie had remonstrated with his mother, when she proposed accompanying him, and had urged her to accept his Uncle Wharton's invitation to make his house her home. He was just at that age when boys love to appear independent and manly, and able to take care of themselves; and he had hoped that he should be allowed to go alone to school, as many of the other boys did, or perhaps to accompany his uncle and cousins. But to be taken there under the care of a _woman_, and to have her remain near him, as if he could not take care of himself! Lewie thought this a most humiliating state of things. But for once his mother was firm. It would be like severing her heart-strings, to separate her from her darling son; and wherever he went, she must go as long as she lived. This ingrat.i.tude on the part of Lewie and evident desire to rid himself of her company, after so many years spent in devotion to his slightest wishes, wore upon her spirits, and was one cause, perhaps the princ.i.p.al one, of her nervous depression, and consequent ill health.

As soon as Colton understood the state of Lewie's feelings on this tender point, and noticed How his cheeks would flush with pa.s.sion whenever the subject was mentioned, he took advantage of it to hara.s.s and enrage him, renewing the subject most unmercifully at every convenient opportunity. Thus, whenever, in their sports, Lewie took upon himself to dictate, in his authoritative way, Colton would ask the boys if they were going to be governed by a baby who had not yet broken loose from his mother's ap.r.o.n-strings; and when Lewie could no longer restrain his pa.s.sion, and began to show signs of becoming pugnacious, Colton would advise him to "run to mother," to be petted and soothed.

For sometime prudence restrained Lewie from making an attack upon this boy, so much larger and stronger than himself, for he was almost certain that he would get the worst of it in an encounter with him. But one day when Colton was more aggravating than ever, Lewie suddenly lost all command of himself, and flew at him in a most fearful storm of rage, and with all the might of his pa.s.sion concentrated in one blow, he dashed the great boy against a tree; and after he was down, and lying insensible, with his head cut and bleeding, Lewie could scarcely be restrained, by the united strength of those about him, from rushing upon his senseless body, and by renewed blows continuing to injure him.

His rage was fearful to witness, and his companions stood aghast, for they saw clearly that murder was in his heart, and that nothing but the restraint they exercised upon him, prevented him from carrying his horrible purpose into execution. Colton was borne to the house, and it was long feared that he would never entirely recover from the effects of the severe blow upon his head as he fell. Lewie seemed to feel nothing like remorse; he had always hated Colton, and everything this boy had done had tended to increase and aggravate his feelings of dislike; he thought nothing in his frantic rage of the consequences to himself, but would have rejoiced to see his tormentor dead at his feet.

This last affair decided Dr. Hamilton that it would not do to keep a boy of such fierce, unrestrained temper, longer in the school. Lewie had all this time been progressing rapidly in his studies; a fierce ambition seemed to have seized upon, him, and he applied himself to his books as if he had come to the determination that he would at least rise superior to his school-mates, in his standing in the cla.s.s, if they would not acknowledge his superiority in anything else.

Dr. Hamilton called soon after Lewie's attack upon Colton, to see Mrs.

Elwyn, and while he spoke of Lewie as one on whom he could justly be proud, as the best and most forward scholar in his cla.s.ses, he said it was impossible for him to allow him to remain; that the lives of his other pupils were hardly to be considered safe with so pa.s.sionate a companion, and for the sake of the reputation of his school, he must ask her to save him the necessity of a public dismissal of her son. Sad by this time were the forebodings of Mrs. Elwyn, but they were useless; her remonstrances with her self-willed son were vain. If Lewie was obliged to submit to being accompanied by his mother wherever he went, he seemed determined to show her, that her wishes had not the slightest power over him. The sowing time had pa.s.sed;--the reaping time had begun.

Lewie no longer urged and entreated, but merely expressed his determination to go to the school to which he had so long been desirous to remove, and his poor mother knowing that henceforth his will must be hers, made her preparations for accompanying him.

Boys are the same everywhere; and unless all are willing in some degree to relinquish their own gratification for the sake of others, there will surely be trouble. So Lewie found at Stanwick; so at the next school, and the next; for as he became dissatisfied with one and unpopular there, he removed to another, his poor mother following his fortunes everywhere. Many were the kind and remonstrating letters which Lewie received during these three years of change, from his lovely sister, but the affectionate advice contained in them as to an endeavor to gain command over his temper, and in regard to his treatment of his mother, seemed to have no permanent effect.

All this time, wherever he went, he ranked' among the highest as to his scholarship, and at the age of sixteen he entered college at C----, about ten or fifteen miles from Hillsdale. By the time they were fairly established at C----, Mrs. Elwyn's health completely failed. Lewie's time much taken up with his college duties, and even if it had not been, he was not one to wait with patience upon the humors of a nervous and fretful invalid; and the greater part of the time was spent by Mrs.

Elwyn in loneliness and repining.

And now her thoughts turned often, and rested almost fondly upon the memory of her long neglected daughter. Oh! for such a kind and gentle nurse and companion to be ever near her, to minister to her wants and soothe her lonely hours. The more she thought of her, the more she longed for her presence, and it was soon after Agnes left Mrs.