OR,
AGNES WILTSHIRE.
AUTHOR OF "ÆOLIAN HARP," "SCENES IN THE LIFE OF A HALIFAX BELLE," &c.
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
The Sabbath day was drawing to a close, as Agnes Wiltshire sat at herchamber window, absorbed in deep and painful thought. The last rays ofthe sun lighted up the garden overlooked by the casement,—if garden itcould be called,—a spot that had once been most beautiful, when youngand fair hands plucked the noxious weed, and took delight in nursinginto fairest life, flowers, whose loveliness might well have vied withany; but, long since, those hands had mouldered into dust, and the spotlay neglected; yet, in spite of neglect, beautiful still. There was noenclosure to mark it from the fields beyond, that stretched, far as theeye could discern, till lost in a rich growth of woods, but a fewornamental trees and graceful shrubs, with here and there a plot, nowgay, with autumn flowers, alone kept alive, in the heart of thebeholder, a remembrance of its purpose. A quiet scene of rural beautyit was, and so thought the maiden, as, rousing from her reverie, shegazed on garden, fields, and distant woods, but more lovingly andlingeringly dwelt her glance on a lake that lay embosomed between themeadow and the grove, partly skirted by trees that grew even to itsedge, and partly by the rich grass, whose vivid color betrayed theinfluence of those placid waters, that now reflected every glowing tint,and every delicate hue of the peerless sunset sky.
Quiet at all times, the stillness of the scene was now unbroken, save bythe twittering of