Charles Dickens: David Copperfield

CHAPTER 60. AGNES (continued)

'Is there nothing else, Sister?' I said.

Her colour, which had just now faded, returned, and faded again. She smiled; with a quiet sadness, I thought; and shook her head.

I had sought to lead her to what my aunt had hinted at; for, sharply painful to me as it must be to receive that confidence, I was to discipline my heart, and do my duty to her. I saw, however, that she was uneasy, and I let it pass.

'You have much to do, dear Agnes?'

'With my school?' said she, looking up again, in all her bright composure.

'Yes. It is laborious, is it not?'

'The labour is so pleasant,' she returned, 'that it is scarcely grateful in me to call it by that name.'

'Nothing good is difficult to you,' said I.

Her colour came and went once more; and once more, as she bent her head, I saw the same sad smile.

'You will wait and see papa,' said Agnes, cheerfully, 'and pass the day with us? Perhaps you will sleep in your own room? We always call it yours.'

I could not do that, having promised to ride back to my aunt's at night; but I would pass the day there, joyfully.

'I must be a prisoner for a little while,' said Agnes, 'but here are the old books, Trotwood, and the old music.'

'Even the old flowers are here,' said I, looking round; 'or the old kinds.'

'I have found a pleasure,' returned Agnes, smiling, 'while you have been absent, in keeping everything as it used to be when we were children. For we were very happy then, I think.'

'Heaven knows we were!' said I.