The nun, as she concluded, uttered a shuddering sigh, that startled
Emily, who, looking up, perceived the eyes of Agnes fixed on hers,
after which the sister rose, took her hand, gazed earnestly upon her
countenance, for some moments, in silence, and then said,
'You are young--you are innocent! I mean you are yet innocent of any
great crime!--But you have passions in your heart,--scorpions; they
sleep now--beware how you awaken them!--they will sting you, even unto
death!' Emily, affected by these words and by the solemnity, with which they
were delivered, could not suppress her tears.
'Ah! is it so?' exclaimed Agnes, her countenance softening from its
sternness--'so young, and so unfortunate! We are sisters, then indeed.
Yet, there is no bond of kindness among the guilty,' she added, while
her eyes resumed their wild expression, 'no gentleness,--no peace, no
hope! I knew them all once--my eyes could weep--but now they burn, for
now, my soul is fixed, and fearless!--I lament no more!'
'Rather let us repent, and pray,' said another nun. 'We are taught to
hope, that prayer and penitence will work our salvation. There is hope
for all who repent!'
'Who repent and turn to the true faith,' observed sister Frances.
'For all but me!' replied Agnes solemnly, who paused, and then abruptly
added, 'My head burns, I believe I am not well. O! could I strike from
my memory all former scenes--the figures, that rise up, like furies, to
torment me!--I see them, when I sleep, and, when I am awake, they are
still before my eyes! I see them now--now!'
She stood in a fixed attitude of horror, her straining eyes moving
slowly round the room, as if they followed something. One of the nuns
gently took her hand, to lead her from the parlour. Agnes became calm,
drew her other hand across her eyes, looked again, and, sighing deeply,
said, 'They are gone--they are gone! I am feverish, I know not what I
say. I am thus, sometimes, but it will go off again, I shall soon be
better. Was not that the vesper-bell?'
'No,' replied Frances, 'the evening service is passed. Let Margaret lead
you to your cell.' 'You are right,' replied sister Agnes, 'I shall be better there. Good
night, my sisters, remember me in your orisons.'
When they had withdrawn, Frances, observing Emily's emotion, said, 'Do
not be alarmed, our sister is often thus deranged, though I have not
lately seen her so frantic; her usual mood is melancholy. This fit has
been coming on, for several days; seclusion and the customary treatment
will restore her.' 'But how rationally she conversed, at first!' observed Emily, 'her ideas
followed each other in perfect order.'