View source for The Angel and The Demon CHAPTER 5.

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<p>"Mother, can't I take my music-lesson first?" said Agnes. It was on the morning after her fruitless effort to be <em>mistress </em>instead of scholar.<br><br>
    Mrs. Dainty was in the middle of one of the most absorbing chapters of the <em>"Mysteries of Paris," </em>a novel which she had read until twelve o'clock on the night previous, and to which she had turned, immediately after her late breakfast, with the eagerness of a mere excitement-lover. She did not heed her daughter's question. Only the sound of a<em>disturbing voice </em>was perceived.<br><br>
    "Mother!" Agnes uttered her name in a loud, impatient tone, grasping her arm as she spoke, and shaking it to attract attention.<br><br>
    "What do you want, you <em>troublesome </em>girl?" Mrs. Dainty turned <em>angrily </em>toward her daughter.<br><br>
    "Can't I take my music-lesson first?"<br><br>
    "I don't care what lesson you take first! Go away, and don't disturb me!"<br><br>
    This was the mother's <em>thoughtless </em>answer. Agnes glided away in triumph, and Mrs. Dainty's eyes fell back to the pages of her book, unconscious of the meaning of her reply.<br><br>
    "I'm going to take my music-lesson first!" said Agnes, as she came into the study-room, where Miss Harper was seated with George and Madeline. And she tightened her lips firmly, elevated her chin, and tossed her head jauntily — while from her clear, dark eyes, she looked out upon her teacher a spirit of <em>proud defiance</em>.<br><br>
    "Very well," replied Florence, in a voice that showed not the slightest disturbance. "At twelve o'clock I will be ready to give the lesson."<br><br>
    "I'm going to take it <em>now</em>," said Agnes, drawing up her petite form to its extreme height — and looking, or rather trying to look, very <em>imperious</em>.<br><br>
    Miss Harper could scarcely help smiling; but she repressed all feeling, and merely answered —<br><br>
    "You can practice your scales for the next two hours, if you prefer doing so, Agnes. At twelve, I will give you a lesson."<br><br>
    "I'll go and tell mother that you won't give me my music-lesson!" said the baffled, indignant girl, flitting out of the room.<br><br>
    <em>"Mother!"</em> She had grasped the arm of her mother again.<br><br>
    "Go away, and don't <em>annoy </em>me!" Mrs. Dainty threw out her arm, and swept her daughter away from her side.<br><br>
    "Mother!" Agnes had pressed back again, determined that she would be heard.<br><br>
    "What do you want!" Mrs. Dainty dropped her book from before her face, and turned, with <em>anger </em>flashing in her eyes, upon her daughter.<br><br>
    "Miss Harper won't give me my music-lesson!"<br><br>
    "Oh, dear! There's to be nothing but trouble with that <em>stuck-up </em>girl!" exclaimed Mrs. Dainty. "I saw it from the first."<br><br>
    And, tossing her book from her, she started up, and went with quick steps and a burning face to the room where Miss Harper sat with the two children, who were leaning upon her and looking up into her face, gathering intelligence from her eyes as well as her fitly-spoken words.<br><br>
    "See here, miss!" exclaimed Mrs. Dainty, as she came sweeping into the room, "I'm getting tired of this kind of work, and it must end! What do you mean by refusing to give Agnes her music-lesson?"<br><br>
    "Do you wish her music to precede her French?" Very calmly, and with a quiet dignity which <em>rebuked </em>the excited mother, was this question asked; but Mrs. Dainty was partially blinded by anger, and, obeying an ill-natured impulse, made this answer —<br><br>
    "I want no <em>airs </em>nor <em>assumptions </em>from <em>such </em>as you! I hired you to instruct the children, not to annoy them. I saw from the beginning, that you wouldn't suit this house — that a little brief <em>authority </em>would make a <em>tyrant </em>of you, as it does of all <em>vulgar minds</em>."<br><br>
    Mrs. Dainty was losing herself entirely.<br><br>
    The face of Miss Harper flushed instantly, and for a moment or two, an indignant fire burned in her eyes. But <em>right thoughts soon find a controlling influence in all superior minds</em>. The assailed young governess regained, almost as quickly as it had been lost, her calmness of exterior; nor was this calmness merely on the surface. She made no further remark, until the stubble fire in Mrs. Dainty's mind had flashed up to its full height and then died down for lack of solid fuel. Then, in a voice that betrayed nothing of disturbed feeling, she said —<br><br>
    "If it is your wish, madam, that Agnes should take her music-lesson first, I have no objection. My duty is to teach her, and I am trying to do so faithfully. But things must be done in<em>order</em>. Establish any rules you deem best, and I will adhere to them faithfully."<br><br>
    "Give Agnes her music-lesson!" Mrs. Dainty spoke with an <em>offensive imperiousness</em>, waving her hand toward the door.<br><br>
    Miss Harper did not move.<br><br>
    "Do you <em>hear </em>me?" exclaimed Mrs. Dainty. The <em>fires </em>had received a new supply of <em>stubble</em>.<br><br>
    <em>"Fool!"</em><br><br>
    Mrs. Dainty turned quickly, a shame-spot already on her cheek, and met the angry eyes and contemptuous face of <em>Uncle John</em>, who had thrown his voice into her ears alone.<br><br>
    <em>"Fool!"</em> His lips shaped the word for her eyes; and she saw it as plainly as if it had been written in staring capitals.<br><br>
    Uncle John beckoned to her with his head, stepping back as he did so, in order to prevent the other inhabitants of the room from seeing him. Mrs. Dainty obeyed the signal, and, without venturing another remark, retired from the study-room, and, sweeping past Uncle John, sought refuge in her own chamber.<br><br>
    "Aren't you going to give me my music-lesson, miss?"<br><br>
    If her <em>mother </em>had retired from the field, there was no disposition whatever on the part of <em>Agnes </em>to follow her example.<br><br>
    "Certainly," was the mild, evenly-spoken answer.<br><br>
    "Come along, then, and give it to me now."<br><br>
    "I will be ready at twelve o'clock, Agnes."<br><br>
    "Mother told you to give it to me now, and you've got to do so."<br><br>
    "Oh, don't talk so badly to Miss Harper, Aggy!" said Madeline, her voice trembling and her eyes filling with tears.<br><br>
    The words came just in season. Miss Harper felt that all this was more than she ought to bear; and <em>outraged pride </em>was about rising above convictions of <em>duty</em>.<br><br>
    "Georgy and I love you. We will say our lessons." The sweet child lifted her large, beautiful eyes to the face of her governess.<br><br>
    "Tell us a story, won't you, Miss Harper?"<br><br>
    It was George who made the request.<br><br>
    "As soon as you and Madeline have said your lessons, I will tell you a nice little story." And Florence won him to her will, with a <em>kiss</em>.<br><br>
    The lesson-books were opened instantly, and, the light tasks set, the little ones entered upon them with willing spirits.<br><br>
    "Come and give me my music-lesson!" broke in, discordantly, the voice of Agnes.<br><br>
    "At <em>twelve </em>o'clock, Agnes." There was not the smallest sign of disturbed feeling in the manner of the governess.<br><br>
    "Mother will turn you out of the house! I heard her say so!"<br><br>
    A red spot painted itself on the brow of Miss Harper. But it faded as quickly as it came.<br><br>
    Seeing that she was not to have her will with the governess, Agnes flitted from the room, and sought the room to which her mother had retired.<br><br>
    "Mother! mother! That <em>upstart thing </em>says she won't give me my music-lesson for you nor anybody else!"<br><br>
    Now Agnes went a step too far, and at the wrong moment. It was just then dawning upon the mind of Mrs. Dainty that her daughter had <em>exaggerated </em>the conduct of Miss Harper, and led her into an unladylike exhibition of herself. The sting of mortification excited her quite enough to make her turn with sharp acrimony upon this willful daughter.<br><br>
    "I don't believe a word of it!" she said, angrily. "All this trouble has grown out of <em>your bad conduct</em>. Go off and say your lessons at the right time. I won't be annoyed in this way any longer."<br><br>
    "But, mother!"<br><br>
    Mrs. Dainty took her by the arm and thrust her from the room, saying, passionately —<br><br>
    <em>"Don't let me see your face again today!"</em><br><br>
    For several minutes, Agnes sat upon the stairs leading up to the study-room, so <em>disappointed </em>and <em>mortified </em>that only <em>anger </em>kept her from tears. Down from this room came the low murmur of voices; and her ears recognized now that of Madeline or George, and now that of Miss Harper. How <em>musical </em>was the latter, compared with the sound of her mother's <em>rebuking </em>tones which were still in her ears! In spite of pride and self-will, her heart acknowledged the contrast; and, with this acknowledgment, <em>touches of shame </em>were felt. Even with base false accusation on her side, self-will had failed to triumph. Success would have blinded her to the quality of her own spirit; but <em>failure made her vision clearer</em>.<br><br>
    All remained still in the mother's chamber and still through the house, as the mortified girl sat almost crouching on the stairs, and quiet was only disturbed faintly by the muffled voices that were heard in the study-room.<br><br>
    Agnes could not help but think, for her anger was subsiding; and thought dwelt naturally upon the people and circumstances by which her anger had been aroused into turbulence. A contrast between the <em>mother's </em>spirit and the spirit thus far shown by Miss Harper, forced itself upon her mind, and she saw the <em>beauty </em>of the one — and the <em>deformity </em>of the other. In spite of her pride, a feeling of <em>respect </em>for Miss Harper was born; and with this <em>respect</em> — something of <em>contempt </em>for her weak, passionate mother found an existence.<br><br>
    "Now tell us the story, won't you, Miss Harper?"<br><br>
    It was the voice of George, ringing down from the study-room. The lessons were over; and the <em>promised story </em>was to come.<br><br>
    Scarcely conscious of what she was doing, Agnes moved quietly up the stairs, until she was near enough to the door of the study-room to hear distinctly.<br><br>
    "There was once a little flower-bud." Miss Harper began her story in a low voice, and Agnes leaned forward, listening earnestly. "It was very small, and two green leaves gathered their arms closely around it, for there was a <em>hidden treasure of sweetness </em>in the heart of that bud. One day the <em>cold, angry wind </em>came along, and wanted the bud to open her beautiful pink leaves — and give out from her heart, the sweet perfumes which were hidden there. He blew harshly upon her, throwing her little head first on one side and then upon the other, and called angrily for her to open, that her sweetness might breathe in his ugly face. But the two green leaves only hugged their arms closer around the bud. Then he dashed her head upon the ground, and tried to trample the life out of her; for he did not love her at all — he only loved himself. The light stem which held the bud did not break, but only bent down — and, when the cruel wind was gone, raised up again from the ground and lifted the bud into the <em>warm sunshine </em>that was coming abroad.<br><br>
    "It was very different when the <em>gentle, loving sunshine </em>came and asked the two green leaves to unclasp themselves and let the bud grow into a flower, that the sweetness might come out of its little heart. Greener and softer grew these leaves, and they seemed almost to smile with pleasure, as they gently fell back from the swelling bud, which opened and opened in the face of the sunshine until it became a beautiful flower — the perfume in its heart filling all the air around."<br><br>
    Miss Harper paused.<br><br>
    "What a sweet story!" said Madeline, looking still into the face of her governess, and with wondering eyes, for she felt, child as she was, that the story had a signification.<br><br>
    "<em>Love and kindness </em>are always better than <em>anger</em>," said Miss Harper, answering the child's eyes.<br><br>
    "The <em>sunshine </em>was love?" said Madeline.<br><br>
    "Yes — and the <em>cold wind </em>was anger."<br><br>
    "And what was the <em>flower</em>?" asked the child.<br><br>
    "You and Georgeare <em>human flowers</em>, dear;" and, from the swelling love in her pure spirit, Miss Harper pressed a kiss on the lips of both the children.<br><br>
    "Am <em>I</em> a flower?" asked George.<br><br>
    "I call you a little human flower," answered the governess — "a little human flower, with love in your heart, hidden away there like sweetness in the heart of the bud I was telling you about. Will you let <em>me </em>be your sunshine?"<br><br>
    The wayward boy flung his arms around the neck of Florence and clasped her tightly, but without speaking. He <em>felt </em>more than he could <em>utter</em>.<br><br>
    A tear dropped upon the hand of <em>Agnes</em>, as she sat upon the stairs near the door of the study room. It seemed to her as if <em>Heaven </em>were in that room — while she was on the outside. Never in her life had she felt so strangely; never had such a sense of <em>desolation </em>oppressed her. That lesson of the <em>bud</em>, the <em>wind</em>, and the <em>sunshine</em> — how deeply it had sunk into her heart! Acting from a sudden impulse, she started up, and, going in where the young governess sat with an arm drawn around each of the two children, she said, with burning eyes, and a voice unsteady from emotion —<br><br>
    <em>"Be my sunshine also,</em> Miss Harper! Oh, be my sunshine!<em> I have long enough been hurt by the angry wind!"</em><br><br>
    An appeal so unlooked for, surprised Florence; but she did not hesitate. Rising instantly, she took the extended hands of Agnes in both of hers, and answered —<br><br>
    "I have <em>only sunshine </em>to give, dear Agnes. Regard me no longer as an <em>enemy </em>and an <em>oppressor</em>. I am your <em>friend</em>."<br><br>
    "I know it, I know it, Miss Harper!"<br><br>
    "Your <em>true friend</em>," added Florence, kissing her. "And now," she added, in a sweet, persuasive voice, "let us make this room sacred to <em>peace</em>, <em>order</em>, and <em>instruction</em> — and open all its windows for <em>love's warm sunshine </em>to stream in upon us daily."<br><br>
    "It shall be no fault of mine, if otherwise," was the low, earnest reply of the young girl, whom <em>love had conquered</em>.
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