“You, Agnes--you, verily? How came you here? I thought you were ill off your pillow. What pleasant trick is this you have been playing me?” Then taking both my hands in his and surveying me, his eyes the while beaming with soft pleasure, he said: “Oh, I am so happy that you are better. But you are wrong to come here; you will make yourself ill again.” I told him how I had awakened, and of my glad surprise in finding myself in my old chamber again, and how I had insisted on coming down to thank him for his kindness in bringing me hither. “Don’t thank me, Agnes; for you I could do anything. This place shall always be your home. Some day, Agnes, you may learn to appreciate the worth of a heart that truly loves you.” I fell upon my knees before him. “O Mr. Bristed, I do appreciate!” I cried. “I do know that you love me. Let me live for you. Let me by a life of devotion atone for the mistakes of the past!” He lifted me up, and folded me to his breast. CHAPTER XXIII. A few weeks of balmy spring air and soft sunshine completely restored me to health. One day when strolling in company with Mr. Bristed through a path blooming with early hyacinths and crocuses, I ventured to ask him about my school. “It is entirely broken up, Agnes. After the fearful tragedy that transpired within its walls, your pupils scattered like dust in the wind. I arrived the next morning after the death of Richard, unconscious of what had occurred in my absence, but intending to take you home with me. I found you, as I then thought, on your death-bed. I settled with your separate teachers, and closed the school. With the French woman who claimed to be Richard’s wife, and with whom he had probably gone through the form of marriage, as with you, I made an arrangement satisfactory to her to sell the property and give her an equivalent for its value.” “But what motive,” I asked hesitatingly, “could Richard have had for his course?” “Motive? The same that had actuated him through life. With you, Agnes, he would have lived probably as he did with others, until his versatile heart demanded a change. Then, with your little estate in his hands and Herbert’s property in his power, he would have deserted you for some new beauty. “But let the grave cover his mistakes and evils. I believe that a good God will not punish him too severely for propensities which he inherited.” Once more I yielded to the charms of companionship and love. Severe trials had proved Mr. Bristed’s worth, and when he again asked me to make the remnant of his life happy by my care and love--to become his wife, and share his home, and reign queen of his heart--I consented. When the June roses blossomed, we were married. The balmy air and opening buds spoke of a new life. They typified my new life, truly. The glitter and gloss which had deceived me in youth would never beguile me more. I had learned that it was not the external man, but the internal that was worthy of love.